Thoughts of his lost love made him feel a tender responsibility for Odette. When she told him that she had left home because her father had tried to seduce her, he decided he had to try to save her from the fate she had so far avoided; it was as if one of his family needed help.

  “Ah, qu’il est beau,” she proclaimed of him to the world at large as he led her from the floor. It was time to rejoin Helene. “It’s a shame you’re not as rich as you are handsome.” Her mockery was playfully impudent.

  “That’s not possible, is it?”

  “Me, I’m so poor. Isn’t it terrible to be so poo-oor?” She made poverty sound absurd. Fun bubbled close to her surface. So like Marguerite, dark and older, but giving him the treacherous feeling of being a kid again. He reminded himself to act his age and spotted Helene surrounded by men. Tables were pushed together helter-skelter and everybody sat wherever they found themselves. He and Odette squeezed in beside her and Helene greeted the girl kindly. She was amused by her ingenuous infatuation with Stuart and was pleased with, herself for not feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy. Everything about these Saturday evening gatherings was too remote from her experience to seem quite real. Despite the infectious joie de vivre that was generated, she couldn’t overlook the fact that the men were rough and coarse and were inclined to put their hands where they shouldn’t if she didn’t remain on her guard. Once upon a time, Stuart might have made a scene about the way they pulled her up for a dance without a word. Now he made her feel as if she were on her own. Too much so? No, they had achieved what she had always wanted. Balance. An even keel. They wouldn’t have been able to handle so much that was new and unfamiliar a few years ago. Even though she couldn’t think of anything to say to Odette, she understood Stuart’s interest in the cheerful little waif. She was another ticket of admission to the alien environment that he was so enthusiastically adopting as his own. With a shiver of delight, she watched him dazzle the girl. She loved his feeling free to show off in front of her.

  When Odette was unceremoniously lifted out of her chair, Helene laughed and pressed herself briefly against Stuart. “You haven’t lost your touch,” she said into his ear to make herself heard above the din of laughter and music.

  Stuart shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had a hard on. Odette had deftly stroked his cock and given it a squeeze just before she was dragged away. It made nonsense of his placid thoughts of assigning her an uncomplicated place in his life. He liked her playing with his cock and now couldn’t help wanting more. It was obviously out of the question. If circumstances were absolutely right (a chance encounter on neutral, territory with no chance of their seeing each other again) he might succumb to her appeal, but nothing was right about getting involved here. To demonstrate that he wasn’t launched on a secret life, he gave Helene a fragmentary account of Odette’s story against the sounds of revelry around them. “I feel as if I ought to save her from a fate worse than death,” he concluded.

  “Think of something.”

  “It’s just a question of money. Don’t you think an offer of money might be misinterpreted?”

  “We’ll do it together. That should make it clear that your intentions are honorable. Would a hundred francs do any good?”

  “She could probably live on it for a month.”

  “Good. I have it with me.”

  When Odette returned she squeezed in beside Stuart and moved her thigh against his. Helene leaned forward with her elbows on the table to make contact with the girl, although conversation was more a matter of smiles and gestures than words. He felt Odette’s hand slip over his thigh and settle once more on his erection. She stroked and explored it and seemed to be gauging its dimensions. He was tempted to slip a hand under her skirt but there was no room to maneuver and he submitted helplessly but not unwillingly to the exquisite torment. He made an effort to keep his expression from relaxing into sensual lethargy. Her hand grew bolder. Buttons gave way. He felt her fingers on his tautly stretched naked skin. He took a quick breath and suppressed a gasp. Her hand grasped all of him and moved up and down slowly and purposefully. A passing sailor seized Helene unceremoniously and carried her off. Stuart turned to his tormentor. She sparkled with mischievous glee and squeezed the swelling flesh.

  “C’est trop beau,” she exclaimed. “Vous êtes magnifique.”

  “You’re very naughty.”

  “Vous êtes extra-orrrdinaire.” She rolled the r extravagantly and giggled. “What girl could resist? We’re a little bit lovers now. I know how big I can make you.”

  “Girls have that effect on me. You’d better let go or we might have an unfortunate accident.”

  She withdrew her hand hastily. “Oh no. Not like that.”

  He buttoned himself up. “You notice I didn’t do much to stop you, but don’t expect this to go any further. You can tell from the way I look at you how tempted I am.”

  “You look at me and make me very daring. It’s very wonderful that you’re going to live here.”

  “I think so. If my wife gives you a present, will you take it without making a fuss?”

  “Your wife? Why?” She looked shocked, almost frightened.

  “It’s just an idea. She likes you. Will you take it?”

  Her eyes yielded as she looked at him. “If you wish me to.”

  He touched her hand, which was now on the table. Helene was returned to them and he shifted so that this time she was seated between him and Odette. He had indulged himself sufficiently. He had made a declaration of sorts and the girl knew that he liked her. It was time to rally his forces. He danced with both of them and the crowd began to thin. The Saturday night gatherings were never very late but the Coslings were always the last to turn in because sleep was out of the question while the fun was going on. Conversation became more possible and Stuart emptied the bottle of wine into their glasses and settled back contentedly. Helene slipped something into Odette’s hand. He saw the girl’s expression cloud. She looked both bewildered and indignant and with a glance at him accepted grudgingly, as if she had been compromised in some way.

  “It’s been such fun having you with us,” Helene said. “We must make a regular thing of it. Everybody has hard times. It’s so lovely to be able to help.” She was pleased with herself. She had lived up to Stuart’s expectations of her by demonstrating that she sympathized with his impulse to help the child. She felt the gesture, as she was sure Stuart did too, as another small commitment to the place. She was beginning to wonder what they would do if their dotty landowner didn’t reappear soon. Summer was almost over. Even Stuart couldn’t be planning to stay here indefinitely, although he wouldn’t talk about alternatives. They had to find something more comfortable, with a bathroom of their own and heating and hot water. They had to settle something about school for Robbie. Stuart didn’t think it was urgent because the boy was a year ahead of his age group, but she wanted to re-establish the routine of New York so that they could have some privacy. She could accept his self-proclaimed liking for “plain, ordinary people,” although they had never known any, and try to enter into the spirit of an occasion like tonight, but she was soon going to have to force him to face practical realities.

  They finished their wine while the crowd dwindled rapidly. Odette stood and said goodnight with French formality and they all agreed that they’d be looking out for each other next Saturday. The Coslings went upstairs arm in arm and Stuart made love with unusually thrilling inventiveness. There had never been anything he could do that she didn’t want.

  Stuart’s sense of responsibility for the girl survived the night. He was confident that sex had very little to do with it. He had felt a strength of character struggling to emerge in her and his creative urge, which had found earlier expression through the writers he had worked with, was aroused. He wanted to help her find an honorable place in the community. He and Helene had turned the offer of money into a family philanthropy but there was something private and personal (he thought of her hand and laughed to himself) that he might be able to offer her, more important than money. He wished he had an opportunity to talk to her under more favorable circumstances so that he could find out if she thought she could make something of her life or if it would be only meddling to impose his aversion to prostitution on her.

  He ran into her in the street one afternoon only a few days later. He had just had his hair cut and was going back to the inn where Helene and Robbie would be waiting for him after an afternoon on the beach. He got the impression that Odette had tried to slip past him without speaking.

  “Ça, alors. Have you forgotten me?” he demanded.

  “Oh. Pardon. Bonjour, monsieur. I didn’t see you. How do you do?” She was prim and polite but she suddenly smiled her winning smile and added, “In fact, you look different.”

  “I’ve just come from the barber.”

  “It makes you look—I don’t know. Different.” She giggled and became more like the girl he had been flirting with for weeks.

  “How goes it? Still saying no to your girl friend?”

  “Thanks to you, for a little longer, but perhaps I’m making a mistake. It’s a good opportunity.” It seemed to cost her a slight effort to strike the tough realistic note.

  “You may yet find something else,” Stuart said, aware of the emptiness of the words.

  “What work is there for a girl? In Paris, perhaps. But here?” She shrugged again and her habitually cheery expression faded. Stuart thought he recognized her little summer dress from the other night. The sleazy material looked as if it would smell cheap and musty but he remembered she smelled of good things, soap on fresh skin and an indefinable odor he associated with the sun. Her broad face was turned up to him, wide mouth, tilted little nose, dark eyes capable of melancholy. His glance wandered down over her generous breasts, her sturdy but well-shaped legs. She looked as if she would be good at the job she was trying to avoid.

  “Let’s talk about it. Come have a drink.”

  She hesitated and then looked at him candidly. “You’re sure it’s all right? People know why I’ve come here.”

  “Then they must know you haven’t started yet,” he said. They were standing in one of the narrow streets in the interior of the village and there was not a soul in sight. It was intensely hot and the still air smelled of open sewers.

  “I was thinking of your wife,” Odette said.

  “My wife liked you. She’ll be interested to hear that we’ve had a talk.” In spite of her forthright manner, the girl was sensitive. He had been aware of it at Boldoni’s. “Let’s go over to the fishermen’s port,” he suggested. She acquiesced and they walked side by side without speaking until they were there. It was much smaller than the principal port—a small jetty covered with a web of drying nets, a small square above it out of which grew an enormous plane tree, a café with a few rickety chairs and tables set out before it.

  They sat and ordered pastis. When they were served, he sipped his in silence, organizing his thoughts. He was feeling her attraction and thinking of Marguerite again. Perhaps wanting to help her was after all only wanting to get her into bed. He preferred to think otherwise. Infidelity hadn’t been a problem for so long that he’d forgotten the arguments against it; he knew only that all his instincts were trained to resist it. In New York, sex seemed as mechanical as all the mechanized artificiality of the city so that it was easy to keep it in its place. Here, it drifted in the air like dust. The sun made him want to cast off inhibitions just as it made him want to throw off his clothes. It would be fun to throw off his clothes with Odette, reveling in the approbation of the new world he was discovering.

  “Well, what about it?” he asked finally. He looked at her and caught a puzzled expression in her eyes. “Can we work something out together?” He wanted to establish the difference between helping her and buying her but it was a difficult point to make with a girl who had held his cock. He thought of his finances. The summer had been much cheaper than he’d expected. He could afford a small offering to the gods. Odette was watching him expectantly. “What if somebody gave you fifty francs a week?” he asked. “Could you get by until some other work turns up?” He leaned back, holding his glass up between them, and their eyes met. The desire in hers was unmistakable; he supposed that his were revealing, too. They burst out laughing together.

  “Why would anybody give me fifty francs a week?” she asked.

  “Just like that. Because they like you. Why did we give you that little present the other night?”

  “I’ve wondered. I wondered if it was right to take it. I think not. You can’t take money from people just like that.”

  “But it’s all right if you do something for it—like going to bed with them?” This was the tricky part, this was where he risked hurting her feelings.

  “That’s natural,” she said as if it went without saying.

  “Even if you go to bed with people you don’t want, just for money?”

  “Want, want,” she burst out. “Rich people do what they want. The rest of us do what we have to do.”

  He smiled at her placatingly. “Not necessarily. You didn’t have to do anything for that present. Would you’ve preferred it if you had?”

  “I wouldn’t have wondered then,” she said.

  “You make it difficult for me,” he said, his smile becoming mischievous. “I can’t do anything for you without asking something in return.”

  “Of course if you put it like that—” She took a thirsty swallow of her drink and looked at him with unabashed desire. “I find you odd. You make everything seem different from the way it usually is.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Can you get along on fifty francs a week?”

  “I could manage for the moment, as long as my friend lets me stay with her.”

  “Well, I can spare it for the moment. I don’t know for how long. For the next few weeks anyway.”

  “Just like that?” she asked.

  He avoided meeting her eyes directly so that whatever she might see in his wouldn’t give her the impression that there were strings attached. “Just like that.”

  A small frown creased her brow. “I don’t understand you. When you look at me, you make me feel that I please you.”

  “You do, very much.” He wished she were holding his cock again to prove it. “I just want you to know the money has nothing to do with it—”

  “I don’t understand but I believe you. You’re nicer than most men. You know what I want more than money. You’ve warned me not to expect it.” As she spoke, she became merry and playful once more.

  Stuart was pleased. He had managed it without offending her. He chuckled as she leaned her breasts against the table and tilted her head flirtatiously at him. “Then it’s all settled. I don’t have much money with me. I’ll give it to you at Boldoni’s on Saturday.”

  “You’re very good. Maybe some day I can pay you back. Anyway, I would do everything I could to stay out of that house—because you want me to.”

  He touched her hand and let himself enjoy the titillating sexual currents that swirled around them. A man could want every girl in sight without doing anything about it. He shifted in his chair and put a hand in his pocket to make adjustments for comfort. Her hair was bobbed and combed out around her head in a windblown effect. He wanted to run his hands through it. He thought of the fun he’d had with Marguerite and felt sixteen again. It would be ridiculous to start acting sixteen. “I really must stop thinking how much you please me,” he said, letting her hand go. “After all, I’m a married man.”

  “Oh, married men.” She gave a saucy shrug of her shoulders. “We’d all be virgins if it weren’t for married men. I’m sure your wife would agree.”

  “I doubt it. I haven’t been unfaithful for years.”

  “No? If you make love I’m sure it must be in style—candlelight, champagne, silk sheets. That would make infidelity difficult.” She was teasing him but it summed up the impression he made on her. He seemed made of some finer substance than any man she had ever known. The texture of his skin looked smoother, his coloring finer and more delicate, his whole being godlike. She could see the hard line of his chest muscles under his light shirt and the thought of being taken by him made her head reel. In spite of his exquisite perfection, he was a real man where it mattered but even there he was different, hard but smooth, like iron sheathed in satin.

  “Specially the silk sheets,” he said, laughing with her. “I can’t take them with me wherever I go. What about you? Can you be seduced without candlelight and champagne?”

  “Me, I’m French. Wherever we find ourselves, that’s the place to make love.” Her laughter sounded rich and creamy in her throat.

  “Well, here we are. Is this a good place?” he said, taunting her. He couldn’t see how she could take him up on it.

  She met his eyes boldly. “We wouldn’t have far to go.”

  “You mean it?”

  “But of course. We want each other. I found that out the other night.” She dropped a hand onto his lap and ran it over him, exerting pressure. He remembered the arguments against infidelity. They had to do with lies and deception, with mutual consideration and not cheapening the relationship he valued most in life. They were useful in circumstances that offered time for thought but lacked force when a pretty girl was caressing his cock. He began to ache for release. Their eyes explored each other and little bubbles of mirth escaped her.