Her mind fixed on all the unfamiliar talk of the money Stuart might make. Money to send Robbie away? Money to restore Stuart’s leisure? No, things were better as they were. She refused to acknowledge the constant effort she was obliged to make to resist him, to sublimate her passion in her devotion to Robbie, but she sensed danger in anything that might ease the burden of his work. She warmly endorsed his stand against the threatened invasion. It was all he wanted to hear from her. So long as they were in accord they would win in the end.

  He talked himself into believing that he would hear no more about it, that Odette’s offer had been made in good faith, but he couldn’t recover his peace of mind. It was almost a relief when a second note arrived from her asking to see him.

  His own nerves were partly responsible for the conversation getting off to an unpleasant start. The setting was the same; they were alone again in the bar. This time, she didn’t prepare a tray of drinks but came out from behind the bar and locked the door.

  “You won’t get anywhere by taking me prisoner,” he said with a playful smile.

  “I don’t want to be interrupted,” she said without looking at him.

  “Listen,” he said, “I haven’t much time. I suppose it’s more about Ladouceur?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “In that case, I have even less time. It seems to me that Etienne is playing a dirty game.”

  “He’s offered to buy your land at a fair price,” she said. “There’s nothing dirty about that. If you refuse to sell, why shouldn’t he be interested in how M. Ladouceur’s claim turns out? What’s wrong in that?”

  “I should think our friendship would mean enough so that you’d persuade him to keep out of it.”

  “Our friendship!” Odette cried. That was all it had meant to him. She had expected very little, only some small recognition of a girl’s blind love, but he had always remained aloof, playing with her. If he had shared only one defenseless moment with her, she would be defeated now. “Our friendship?” she repeated. “I have a husband. How dare you think I would consider you before him? I will do everything for him that I would once have done for you.”

  Stuart’s own anger was checked as he realized how much it must be costing her to be caught between two loyalties. “Yes, I understand,” he said placatingly, “but what do you want of me now? I would never ask you to betray somebody you care for.”

  “You wouldn’t? But you would take money and not be too concerned about where it came from.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means just that—the Widow Muguette!” She laughed harshly. “A child wouldn’t have believed such a story. Where do you think I got that money? I got it from a married man who made the mistake of writing me letters. I’m ready to do as much for Etienne. I warn you you’ll be sorry if you refuse his offer.”

  So that was it. Stuart shook his head. “Is it possible you mean what I think you mean?” he asked quietly. “Is it blackmail you’re suggesting?”

  “I don’t care what you call it.”

  “But I didn’t make the mistake of writing any letters.”

  “Your wife will believe me. I can tell her enough in five minutes so she’ll believe me.”

  Stuart was too shocked to protect himself. Afterward he realized he had only to tell her that Helene knew all about it to take all the wind out of her sails. “You’re talking like this because you’re angry,” he said, “but I know you’re not capable of doing such a thing.” He reached out and gave her arm a little shake as if to coax her into being herself, but she shook him off.

  “I’m capable of many things you know nothing about,” she cried. “The man I went to had plenty of money. I did him no harm. And I made it possible for you to have what you wanted most in life. Now Etienne has his chance to make his fortune and he’s willing to pay you well. There’s nothing wicked about that.”

  Stuart turned away from her with a sigh. Had he completely misjudged her? Had she always been a tough little schemer? He was so hurt at her turning on him that he kept forgetting the threat she represented. Her voice recalled him to the business at hand.

  “Shall we discuss the details?” she suggested.

  “Do you really want me to believe you’d go to Helene?”

  “You’re making a great mistake if you don’t believe it.”

  “And you think you’re doing nothing wrong even though I tell you I don’t want to sell? What if I sold the whole place and made my fortune, too? You know I don’t care about being rich. I like the way I live now. You know how grateful I am to you. Don’t you think it’s wrong to try to destroy the good you’ve done?”

  “Most people are happy enough to make money,” she replied. “Maybe you’d better stop trying to be so different. It doesn’t get you anywhere. I’ve found that out.” Her tone was bitterly vindictive and he knew that there was nothing more he could say.

  “I suppose eventually you’ll make me angry, but for the moment I’m too surprised by you to feel anything else. Now I think you’d better unlock the door and let me go.” She glanced up at him, as he lounged against the bar, and in spite of his shabby clothes his look of unattainable superiority made her courage falter.

  “You might as well face it,” she said defiantly. “Either you accept Etienne’s offer or I go to your wife and you’ll lose the place anyway. Do as you like.”

  “Let me out of here.” His voice was filled with such violence that she fumbled with the key and it took her a second to get the door open. He didn’t move until she had done so and then he strode past her without a word or a glance. He went to the car and started home with a pounding heart. How could he have been so wrong about her? A blackmailer! She had blackmailed to help him. Everything he had done with the money seemed tainted in the shock of the discovery.

  He gripped the wheel and felt pain all through his body as if he’d been poisoned. He rolled through the familiar country without seeing it but aware that it was threatened, just as he was threatened by a danger to which he could no longer close his eyes.

  All the while, there was the other aspect of the situation clamoring for his attention. What was he to do? Tell Helene? The alternative was to give in and let Etienne have his way, but Helene had made it clear that she thought he should hold out. The place was hers as much as his. He would have to take his medicine. They could face this together. The affair with Odette had had no real importance and had been over for years. He reminded himself how Helene had developed and he was able to hope she wouldn’t take the matter as seriously as he did.

  Dinner was difficult. Robbie really was a nuisance sometimes. Even after he had gone to bed and they were alone, they would have to whisper. Several times during the evening Helene asked if he was worried about anything and each time he had to lie. When Robbie finally kissed them both goodnight and left, Stuart stood in front of the dying fire and waited while Helene prepared for bed.

  “There is something I have to tell you,” he said in a low voice when she approached. She glanced at him in surprise and began to gather up the cushions.

  “Well, come to bed,” she said. “It’ll be warmer.”

  “No, I’d rather tell you now.”

  “What are you whispering for?” She joined him in front of the fire, holding the cushions in her arms. He nodded at Robbie’s door.

  “He mustn’t hear.” He looked at her gravely for a moment and then with head averted he told her of Odette’s threat of blackmail and of the circumstances on which it was based. He spoke rapidly and it took only a minute to cover the facts, including the part Odette had played in helping them through the difficult period of Robbie’s illness.

  As Helene grasped the import of his story, a strange hollowness grew in the pit of her stomach. She felt her arms go tense and she wanted to lift her hands and strike out at the head bowed in front of her. The peace she had achieved was shattered in an instant. I don’t care, she told herself. Let him sleep with anybody he likes. She saw his mouth moving, with the full upper lip that had once so touched her; she saw his powerful shoulders and arms and imagined them locked around another woman.

  “It had no importance as far as you and I were concerned,” he was saying in his hushed voice.

  Of course it had no importance. Nothing he does has any importance. That’s the meaning of these recent years. It’s simply disgust I’m feeling, disgust at his man’s body and its trivial needs. She found her fingers clamped into the pillows and she threw them down. He looked up, prepared for an outburst, ready to humble himself in any way. He was astonished to see so little emotion in her face. She looked rather seriously preoccupied, as if he had asked her opinion about some household problem.

  “I suppose you should expect this sort of thing if you let yourself get involved with a cheap little creature like that,” she said coldly. She had scarcely dared speak but the words came out quite easily. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she despised him. Wasn’t the fact that she could speak at all proof that she was cured of him? There was no further need of any communication between them. Her life was complete and whole with her child. She was glad they weren’t married. It might make things simpler some day. There was no doubt in her mind about where Robbie’s loyalties lay.

  “It’s been rather a blow,” he said. “I didn’t think of her as a cheap little thing.” The equanimity with which Helene had listened to him was a letdown and he felt a perverse regret that such a revelation hadn’t provoked her to throw things at him.

  If only there were a little more money. He would like for them to be able to park Robbie somewhere and go off together, just the two of them, and recapture the old sense of excitement. She had picked up the pillows again and piled them on a chair. She started to turn from him but he caught her hand. “I’m glad to get this out and over with,” he said. “It’s good of you not to try to punish me.” He thought she was very beautiful in the flickering firelight as she glanced at him composedly and then looked away.

  “Why should I want to punish you?” She was determined to reveal nothing of the crisis she was passing through. She wanted to weep and she wanted to snatch her hand away and she wanted to strike him. Even while she was shaken by these conflicting emotions, she knew that it had nothing to do with now. The deception he was referring to had taken place during the happiest period of her life when she had lived for him and believed in him completely, to the point of denying Robbie the love she owed him. She had been a fool, a wicked fool. She would never trust him about anything again. “If you owe her so much don’t you have an obligation to let her have what she wants?” she asked.

  “Certainly not. I paid back everything she lent me.” Because Helene was being so sensible he didn’t feel he had the right to exact the absolution of an affectionate gesture so he let go of her hand.

  “And you’re not afraid they’re apt to cause you trouble with their legal actions?”

  “I don’t think they have much of a case. Of course, I’ve got to find out what lawyers cost. I don’t want to get involved in expenses that would make it even more difficult to send Robbie to school.”

  She started to take the cover off the bed. “I don’t think legal costs are high here,” she said.

  “They may realize they haven’t got enough to go on. I think they counted on blackmail to force my hand.”

  And it didn’t work, she thought as she folded the cover briskly. It didn’t work because you can’t blackmail a man who’s willing to tell his wife about his affairs. From now on, she would make the decisions concerning Robbie.

  He watched her going through her familiar routine. These were surely the worst moments they had gone through since they’d started living together and she seemed to have taken them in her stride. Perhaps she hadn’t yet taken it in. Perhaps there would be a delayed reaction. He squared his shoulders. He was prepared to atone for his transgressions.

  Two days later a letter came addressed to Helene. She recognized Odette’s handwriting and handed it to Stuart without opening it. He tore it up. Then, with the torn bits of paper in his hand, curiosity stirred in him. What had she written? He held the torn letter thoughtfully, wondering whether she might not have committed some indiscretion that he in his turn might use against her. Then he walked across the room and threw the crumpled paper into the fire. Descending to her level, doing battle with her would become a greater involvement with her than making love had ever been. He had always avoided any real entanglement.

  In the next few weeks the attack being prepared by Etienne Dunan unfolded. Papers were served indicating that Ladouceur had instituted suit. In addition, somebody called Marville had taken action to have the sale of the whole Giraudon property declared illegal on the grounds of the old man’s insanity. The two procedures were independent of each other and Dunan’s name figured in neither.

  To Stuart, seeing it all in writing was almost as much of a blow as if a judge had handed down an adverse decision. The unexpected attempt to dispossess him completely made it seem more likely that they might win at least part of their action. Had they prevailed on M. Giraudon to go along with them? He wanted to feel the support of the community and he went immediately to see Antonin.

  “Tenez. Warm yourself with that.” His neighbor handed him the inevitable glass of cherries. They were alone in the Roquièttas’ clean ugly kitchen. The winter rains had started and it was cold and blustery out.

  “Have you heard what they’re trying to prove about M. Giraudon?” Stuart asked.

  “Mmm,” Antonin grunted, looking at the cherries in his glass.

  “It’s nonsense, of course. Everybody knows the old man was queer but he was quite able to take care of himself.”

  “I’ve heard things that make him sound pretty crazy.” Antonin’s sharp seamed face looked stubbornly secretive and Stuart found himself struggling against a sudden distrust.

  “Well, the old man himself can prove he’s not crazy.”

  “But surely you know,” Antonin looked at him directly for the first time. “M. Giraudon is dead. He died over a year ago.” Stuart’s heart sank. Maître Barbetin. Now M. Giraudon. Thank God for Boldoni, he thought suddenly. Boldoni was his man. Boldoni had participated in the transaction.

  “Well, you knew him,” Stuart persisted. “You can tell them he was sane.”

  “Oh, moi, vous savez—” Antonin had to say no more to make it clear that he didn’t consider it his affair. Stuart chose to ignore the remark and hurried on.

  “It’s good I’m holding out. You know what they want to do? A hotel and villas and God knows what.”

  “Yes, things are changing. Still I understand they want to bring water out and electricity. Even the telephone. That would be an improvement. I understand they offered you a good price.”

  “I never bothered to ask the price.” Stuart stared at him gloomily. His neighbor wouldn’t help him. If he wasn’t actively against him now he would be eventually. Community solidarity and self-interest would be too much for him. Only Boldoni was left. He wasn’t for “progress.” He would testify to M. Giraudon’s sanity. Stuart must look him up right away. He must find a good lawyer.

  He finished off his drink and left with a feeling that he would never again be really welcome here. After deluding himself that he belonged, that the faces he saw around him were approving, that his affection for Odette was reciprocated, that Antonin was a loyal friend, what was left? Only Boldoni—and perhaps even he would fail when put to the test.

  He had no trouble finding the house on the outskirts of town that Boldoni had retired to. Boldoni greeted him with shaggy cordiality at the glass-paned front door and led him back through a narrow corridor to the kitchen, which was littered with newspapers and magazines. The stove was making a gurgling noise and it was very hot. Boldoni’s massive bulk seemed to crowd the room as he moved clumsily to fetch a bottle and glasses.

  “You see what I’m reduced to,” he said when he had seated himself, breathing heavily. “It isn’t like the old days, eh?”

  “It certainly isn’t,” Stuart agreed, “and they’re just beginning to go to work on me.” He told his story while Boldoni grunted in indignation.

  “Well, you should have expected it,” he said when Stuart had finished. “They can’t do much without you: They need room to expand. After all, you have the best beach in the region.”

  “At least you’re still, here. You can tell them I didn’t swindle a crazy man.”

  “Everybody knows old Giraudon was crazy,” Boldoni exploded, throwing out his arms. “He ate nothing but roots. But he knew what he was doing. He told me his price and he got more from you. He wasn’t crazy when it came to money.” He hunched himself over the table studying his glass. Stuart felt considerably cheered.

  “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he said. “Just don’t let anything happen to you until the hearing comes up.”

  “Happen to me.” Boldoni grunted. “I sit here all day long. What is there to do? If I go to town all I hear is money, money, money. I hear they have a jazz band at my place and little tables with candles on them. I do nothing but sit here and look at my wife. I’ll live forever.” He seemed profoundly depressed at the prospect. Having achieved the purpose of his visit, Stuart encouraged him to talk about himself and stayed longer than he had intended.

  Through Boldoni he found a lawyer in Draguignan who had no local interests. The case had given the innkeeper a new interest in life. He admired Stuart’s intransigence and Stuart appreciated his support. But it was Stuart who had to pay the lawyer’s fees and the cost of his trips to Draguignan and the lawyer’s expenses when he came to St. Tropez to search through the records at the town hall in a vain effort to throw some light on the Giraudon-Ladouceur controversy. The case wasn’t scheduled to be heard before spring.