“Oh yes. Are you anxious to get back to town?” he asked. “Would you mind spending the night out here?”

  “You mean in one of these rooms?”

  “Sure. Don’t you like them?”

  “Of course. That would be fine,” the boy replied, smiling in the way Stuart found so appealing. “I thought I’d go back with your friends. I didn’t understand they were staying.”

  “Fine.” He’d have another son staying under his roof. “Tomorrow you’ll meet my wife and boy. Robbie’s a few years younger than you but I hope you’ll like each other. I really must leave you all and go to bed. I’m dead.”

  Robbie saw him while he was having a late-morning swim. He glanced toward shore and was stunned to see a naked youth descending the steps to the beach. Golden curls glinted in the sun. In his haste to get to him, Robbie gulped water and almost sank before he burrowed strongly into the sea. He stood when the water was thigh-high and pushed his way in as the young stranger approached the edge of the rippling sea. He was a vision; Robbie couldn’t believe he was real. He wasn’t quite naked but nothing concealed the athletic glory of his body, the powerful thighs and calves, narrow hips, lithe torso, and light, graceful shoulders. The scrap of cloth around his loins barely contained the private glory. His face was a mask, a drawing composed of a few deft strokes—big eyes set out close to the surface of his cheeks, a straight nose, a bold ripe mouth, a strong jaw. A few squiggles for the crown of golden curls and it was done.

  “Good morning,” Robbie called in French. He freed himself from the pull of the sea and quickly crossed the last few yards of beach that separated them.

  “You must be Robbie,” the Vision said. A fervent wish that Robbie were a girl accompanied Toni’s first close look at him. He was more beautiful than his most recent girl. Since he was obviously, conspicuously a boy, the desire that had sprung up in him died, leaving a residue of unaccustomed affection. He felt instantly protective of him. “I helped with the statue last night. Your father asked me out for a drink and then suggested I stay. Oh, I’m sorry. My name’s Toni.” They shook hands.

  Of course, Robbie thought. It had to be. He was the dancer from the Tour Engloutie. No wonder everybody was mad about him. When he spoke, the mask assumed all the depth and complexity of a handsome young man’s face, a seductive crease at the corner of his mouth, the hint of a dimple, something faintly asymmetrical about the eyes. A face of potent appeal. “I wish I’d known you were here. You could’ve stayed with me.” Robbie blurted it out, wondering if he could make any impression on a vision.

  “If I had, maybe you’d’ve lent me something to wear,” Toni said, as if he would have been glad to stay with him. “I had nothing to swim in except this thing I wear under my dance trunks. I do an act without much on.”

  “I’ve heard about your act. They say you’re sensational.” Robbie permitted himself a closer look at the garment in question. It sat so low on his hips that it just covered the base of his cock. He noticed that his pubic hair was cut in an unnaturally straight line along the edge of the cloth. He tore his eyes away from the engrossing spectacle. “We can swim naked here but not if my mother or anybody’s around. Would you like me to give you something? Why don’t you come up to my house? I’d like to show it to you anyway.”

  “You have your own house here?”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant about staying with me. There’s room for a friend.”

  “You and your father are being very nice to me. Thanks for saying you’ve heard I’m sensational.” He smiled enchantingly, a smile of pure pleasure. He spoke rapid Parisian French, chopping off the ends of his words. Sensationnel became sensas. Robbie decided to drop the drawl he bad adopted from Edward the day before and become a Parisian. “This place is sensational, what I’ve seen of it.”

  “Come on. I’ll show you more.” He resisted the temptation to touch him as he headed him back up the steps. His heart was pounding. With any luck, he was going to see the talk of the town naked.

  “I couldn’t figure out why your father was interested in me,” Toni said. “He made a big point about where and when I was born, as if he knew something about me. I think he was a little drunk.”

  Robbie laughed. “I’ll bet he was. We had a big day. I was supposed to go see you last night but I was too tired.”

  “You didn’t miss much. I’m not really a dancer. I want to be an actor.”

  “Everybody says you’re amazing.”

  “I guess it’s a pretty good act but I’ll be glad when it’s over. I have to shave everywhere.” He lifted an arm to reveal an immaculate armpit. He passed a hand across his lower abdomen. “Even here. My hair isn’t really this color either. I’m pretty blond but it’s been curled and touched up. I feel sort of silly.”

  “You don’t look silly. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Your father said he hoped we’d like each other. I guess we’re going to.” For a devastating moment, he put a hand on Robbie’s shoulder.

  Robbie dropped behind as they started up the path to his house. The little G-string left Toni’s buttocks bare. They were taut and smoothly rounded and looked as firmly sculptured as marble. Robbie was reminded of the statue. He wanted to stroke them as he had the statue’s. “Here we are,” he said as they turned at a clump of laurel. He moved up beside him and screwed up his courage to give him a pat on the back as he ushered him in. His hand tingled with the contact.

  Toni moved into the living room with the assured air of a performer making an entrance and looked around him. His first guest. Robbie’s mind tumbled about trying to remember if he had any experience to guide him in this situation. How had he let the others know that he wanted to make love with them? Toni turned and looked at him with a light of friendly envy shining in his big green eyes.

  “Well, this is pretty marvelous. You have it all to yourself?”

  “Yes, I’m an only child. You see, I want to be a painter.” He nodded at the easel he had set up under the skylight. “This was going to be my studio but it sort of grew into a whole house.”

  Toni’s eyes moved to the open door of the kitchenette. “You can even cook here.”

  “I could if I wanted to.”

  “All you need is a girl. Do you have one?”

  “Oh no,” Robbie objected facetiously. He wasn’t going to make the mistake he’d made with Rico and let Toni think he needed help getting a girl. “I wouldn’t want a girl here. She might get ideas about staying.”

  Toni laughed. “You’re pretty smart for a kid. How old are you? About twenty?”

  “Not quite. How did you happen to help my father with the statue?”

  “He was with people I know, friends of the people who’re staying here.”

  Robbie hovered near him, hoping to pick up some signal of sexual interest from him. He didn’t. The conversation wasn’t leading anywhere. “I’ll get you the trunks.” He hurried off to the bedroom.

  Toni wandered to the end of the room to admire the terrace and the vast seascape beyond. A fabulous place. He continued to be puzzled by the episode—the father’s special interest in him, the air of expectancy in the beautiful boy. There could be an obvious explanation for that, but he was tired of suspecting everybody of being a pederast (un pédé in his truncated vocabulary) and Robbie wasn’t his idea of one. He was too boyish and guileless. He wanted to relax and act natural for a change even though he found it puzzling to feel such immediate affection for the kid. His life didn’t have much room for disinterested friendship.

  “Here. These will probably fit,” Robbie said, returning with a pair of his trunks. His brief absence had given him time to resign himself to being sexually uninteresting to the dancer. Anne was convinced that he was exclusively for girls. At least Toni seemed to like him and he was determined not to do anything to displease him. He was going to prove to himself that he could be a homosexual without committing any social outrages.

  Toni took the trunks and held them up for a brief inspection. “Sure. They’ll fit. We’re built alike. You’re a little taller and I’m probably a bit heavier but otherwise we’re practically the same.”

  “I wish I thought my body was as beautiful as yours.”

  “If mine’s beautiful, yours is, too. I don’t think much about guys’ bodies being beautiful. I’m too busy looking at girls.” He laughed amiably. “It’s probably different for artists.”

  “Maybe. You can find beauty anywhere. Like the statue. It’s a man but it’s beautiful.”

  “I didn’t see it. It was all wrapped up in blankets.” Toni’s hand moved down over one hip. Robbie saw that the G-string was fastened by a little hook at the side. Toni gave it a twist and the bit of cloth fell away. Robbie’s heart pounded up into his throat. His eyes flew to their goal. They gathered an impression of compact vigor that made him clench his fists to keep his hands under control. The balls were tucked up snugly between his thighs and almost concealed by the hang of the ample phallic cylinder. It was unquestionably, discouragingly inert.”

  The clipped and shaped pubic curls gave it startling prominence so that it swelled into enormous erection in Robbie’s imagination. “I’ll bet your fans would give anything to see you like this,” he said, lifting his eyes.

  Toni responded with his enchanting smile. “A pretty girl can have a look for nothing. As for the pédés, they’ll have a long wait. You’re my friend. We don’t have to stand on ceremony.”

  Robbie turned away, breathless with his effort at self-control. Toni hadn’t suspected anything. He would never let him find out, even if he had to turn himself into a different person. The most sought-after boy on the coast was his friend. “Come on and have a swim,” he said, hitting the right note of comradely masculinity.

  Stuart woke up feeling as if life had taken a momentous turn. He lay for a moment with his eyes closed, piecing together the events of the previous day. Of course. He had found a son. That was momentous enough. He had always suspected that he had another son. A brother for Robbie. He had yet to find out if he liked the youth but he was bound to like his own son. When had he been born? August 1915? His mind came to a stop before a mathematical impossibility. Only a few months off but try telling that to a pregnant girl.

  Maybe he’d misunderstood in that noisy place. Maybe dates had been juggled to legitimize him. Except that Toni had never heard of the Sémillons. That tore a fairly big hole in his theory. He could shore it up by assuming all sorts of intricate plotting but what would be the motive? Rested, his mind clear, he knew that only intensive investigation could prove anything. Yet the sensation of having found a son was so stimulating that he decided pretending was almost as good as knowing. Nothing need prevent him from taking an interest in the boy and offering him a second home. He opened his eyes and saw that Helene’s bed was empty. He looked at his watch. It was almost noon. The window was shuttered but through it he could see the gleam of sun on the sea.

  When he came out onto the terrace he saw Robbie below on the edge of the water. As he looked, Toni rose from the sea and came splashing up beside him. The two stood together with their heads bent, looking at something Robbie held in his hand. Stuart didn’t move, gazing down at them with a mixture of pride and excitement. There were like two sides of a medal. Robbie was all poetry and spirit, with his dark brooding eyes and his sensitive mouth. His splendidly developing body seemed almost to belong to somebody else. Toni was all physical, with the vigorous beauty of nature, a patrician athlete-warrior. From this distance they looked about the same age. As he watched them, he heard steps behind him and Helene’s voice.

  “Well, lazy one, what finally got you out of bed?” She followed the direction of his gaze. “He’s absolutely superb. What a pair they make. What’s he doing here? Where did you find him?”

  “Have you met him? Have you talked to him? He’s the dancer at that new place in town.”

  “I’ve been busy all morning in the kitchen going over everything with Boldoni. Felix said we had an extra house-guest. I just saw him down there with Robbie.”

  It couldn’t have worked out better. Stuart was delighted that the two boys had met without the inhibiting presence of elders. “You know the Marguerite story. He comes from the same neighborhood. Last night I was drunk enough to decide that he was my long-lost son. I’m not so sure this morning but I don’t guess it really matters. If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll ask him to stay.”

  “You can ask all of St. Tropez, if you like,” she said with a laugh. “Boldoni’s taken over completely. He thinks he’s back in the hotel business. I’ve never seen a happier man in my life.”

  “I knew that would work out. Did you tell them people are coming for drinks? We better have something to feed them in case I said lunch. I’m a bit vague. I’m not even sure who I asked. The admiral’s crowd and a few others, I think. We shall see. How about a swim to give us courage?”

  “I’d like one. I’ll run put a suit on.”

  Helene met Toni. It was quickly apparent that Robbie was fascinated by him and she opened her heart to him. She wanted to hear more about Stuart’s notion that they were half brothers.

  Stanley and Pat wandered down full of praise for the beds and the breakfast. Stuart regretted having asked them to stay. He wanted to get the feel of just the four of them together. His new family. “Oh, did you see the statue?” he asked Robbie.

  “No. Toni said you brought it out. Where is it?”

  “We left it in the car. I guess it’s still there.”

  “Come on, Toni. Help me get it out to the terrace.”

  “Ask Felix to help you,” Stuart said. “Toni’s not supposed to do that sort of work.”

  “Oh, that’s what they tell you in class but I can’t be bothered.”

  “Okay. I’ll come hold my end. I haven’t ruptured anything yet.” The three of them went off together.

  They struggled through the last stage of the statue’s journey and unwrapped it and stood it at the head of the stairs leading down to the beach. It beckoned toward the sea.

  “You’re right,” Toni said to Robbie as they stood around it admiring it. “It is beautiful.”

  “Wait till we get a pedestal for it. It should be up three or four feet higher so that it dominates the whole place. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. You could put a sign on it saying “This way to the beach.’” They all laughed together. Stuart had had time to see, from the way the boys worked together, from the constant references they made to each other, that they’d already made friends. It was all he’d been waiting for. “I’d like to talk to you for a minute, Toni. Shall we go to your room?”

  Toni’s suspicions of the night before stirred again as they left Robbie with the statue. It was unlikely that his host would take him off in front of his own son if he intended to make a pass at him but stranger things had happened to him. He was glad he’d changed into Robbie’s trunks; he was asking for trouble wearing the little thing he’d had on earlier. Sober and in the bright light of day, Cosling was a very good-looking man with an amazingly trim body for his age, but Toni couldn’t imagine allowing him to make love to him, no matter what he was prepared to offer in return. Something was in the air. The speculative glances the older man kept giving him were getting on his nerves.

  They crossed the inner courtyard to the room where Toni had spent the night. The bed had been made and his clothes put away. Stuart closed the door. “When did you say you were born?” he asked without any preliminaries.

  They were going to go through that again. “August 13, 1915.”

  “That’s what I thought. And you’ve never heard of a family called Sémillon?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Never mind.” Stuart approached him, looking into his green eyes. They stood facing each other near the end of the bed. He liked the boy’s steadfast gaze. The fresh purity of his good looks was striking, almost masklike in its lack of hidden depths. He could find no trace of resemblance today to Robbie or himself; only the radiant smile supported his suspicions of last night. He wasn’t smiling now. He looked watchful, guarded, even faintly hostile. Stuart smiled reassuringly. “Do you like it here?”

  “Of course. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m glad you think so. You must be wondering why I keep harping on when you were born. I’ll explain. This is going to sound a bit mad but last night I thought you might be my son.”

  “Your what?”

  “Yes, I know. It sounds like something in a play. The fact is, it’s possible. You’d have to’ve been born five or six months sooner but otherwise it fits. You see, I was in love with a girl I mentioned last night. Marguerite Sémillon. It was just before the Great War. She thought she was pregnant. I was all ready to marry her but our various parents intervened.”

  “You were in love with her?”

  “As only a boy of seventeen can be. Just about Robbie’s age. You might wonder why I left her but it wasn’t just the parents. It was the war. I had no choice but I’ve always wondered if I had a son your age somewhere in Brittany.”

  “I’ll be damned.” The watchful look faded from Toni’s eyes and the radiant smile lighted up his face. No wonder this man had behaved strangely with him. He wanted a son, not a lover. It was impossible, but he was as intrigued by the idea as his host seemed to be. “But look, my parents’ name is Guilloux,” he pointed out. “My mother’s name is Ernestine. We don’t know any Sémillons.”

  “Exactly. The only thing is, when you smile you look very much like Marguerite. I noticed it immediately last night. It’s easy to make up a likely story. Say Marguerite wasn’t married off quickly but was sent away somewhere to have a baby. The Guilloux agreed to take it for one reason or another. The later birthdate could have been fixed to throw me off the scent if I’d ever come back to inquire. It’s not too farfetched. I’m enjoying pretending to be your father. Wouldn’t you like to pretend to be my son?”