“Nobody will know?” he asked. He wasn’t going to a room with her or anywhere that Helene might find out about. The possibilities were safely limited although he wished she could go on playing with his cock to her heart’s content.

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t have anything with me, let alone silk sheets. Is that all right?”

  “Everything is all right.” Her last abortion had taken care of that problem.

  “I’m fascinated. What do we do now?”

  She gave him a marvelously frank and lustful look. “Come with me.”

  The price of pastis was marked on a blackboard beside the door. Stuart put a few coins on the table and they rose together. He kept a hand in his pocket for decency’s sake and checked their surroundings as they started along the uneven cobbles of the little quai. There were a few fishermen in sight puttering about with their boats. One of them lifted his eyes to them as they passed. Would village gossip travel as far as Boldoni’s? She wasn’t holding his cock now; perhaps this was the moment for thought.

  The buildings facing the tiny port petered out at a big ramshackle structure near the jetty that thrust a short arm into the sea. It looked as if it had been a boat-building works—wide doors on rollers like barn doors, rusty tracks running out from them. They skirted it and were immediately cut off from the little port. Rocks tumbled into the sea in front of them and beyond was a stretch of beach curving around in front of low farm land. It looked awfully exposed for what she had in mind. He didn’t know whether he was glad or sorry.

  “What a wonderful spot,” he said. “Somebody should do something with this place.”

  “It’s convenient for us.” She followed the back of the building until she came to an open door sagging on its hinges. She stepped through it, reaching back for his hand to lead him in. He was definitely glad to get out of sight.

  They were in a vast dim cathedral of a room that rose two stories around them. It was cool and smelled of mildew and the sea. Light entered from windows high above. Some old crates lay about, and an overturned boat. He saw at the farther end a sort of loft with a ladder leading up to it and sails hanging over a railing. She started for it as if it were their destination. Had she brought other men here? He was thinking hard now, wondering if he could withdraw gracefully.

  “You’ve certainly learned your way around town,” he said, remaining near the door. The loft looked like a trap he didn’t want to get caught in. Anybody could walk in; she was pushing spontaneity to extremes.

  “My friend warned me about certain places,” she explained. “They call this la batellerie. It’s used for lovers’ meetings. She warned me not to come here with a man unless I wanted it to happen. I never have.” She took a few steps back to him and faced him, looking playful and alight with anticipation.

  “If it’s so well known, I’m not sure I should be here.” He lifted his hands tentatively toward her, preparatory to suggesting that they postpone their pleasure for a more favorable time and place. She moved quickly to forestall his reluctance. Buttons no longer confined him. His cock sprang out rigid in her hands. He gasped with the thrill of the release.

  “Ah, quel bel animal,” she exclaimed, staring at it and sliding her hands along it. She made quick adjustments to her clothes and directed it into her. It was happening before he had time to take any initiative. He was being raped. “Va-s-y. Fonce. Oh, que c’est bon. Fonce jusqu’au bout. Quelle bitte incroyable,” she cried.

  He was suddenly gripped by basic urges, exulting in the excitement he was arousing in her and in his mastery of her. He planted his hands on her buttocks and tilted her to him and drove hard into her. She locked her legs around him and they grappled with each other to discover the possibilities of this impromptu position. She rode him avidly, crying out and moaning, her eyes rolling ecstatically in her head. Her body opened to him and he felt himself asserting his possession deep within her. There was no question of prolonging or embellishing the act. They were copulating as simply as animals in a field. He cried out with his orgasm and slowly released her and they leaned against each other for support, her head against his chest. When he’d caught his breath, he wondered what the excitement had been about. It was over as quickly as it had started.

  “Je vous adore, mon beau,” she murmured. She lifted her head, looking tousled and radiantly pleased with herself. “Am I very wicked? I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never seen anyone like you—your man-part is superb. I hope I’ll see it often. I must find a better place for us.”

  He detected a calculating note in her voice but dismissed the thought. There wasn’t a calculating bone in her body. He stroked her hair and smiled down at her. “Well, we managed without silk sheets.”

  She laughed and they broke apart and shook their clothes into order. “I’ll go first. Wait a moment. If you go to the right, you’ll find a path that goes up to Boldoni’s. You don’t have to go back through the port.”

  “Good. I guess we better not push our luck. I’ll see you Saturday if not before.” They kissed lightly and she was gone. Alone, he almost convinced himself that it hadn’t happened. It had been like pausing to light a cigarette. It didn’t count as an infidelity. Yet a connection had been made, a connection with the girl, a connection with the life here. It could have happened only in a place where he felt at home. He glanced up at the high loft. One of the locality’s secrets. Definitely not for tourists.

  He found his family sitting out under the trellis with books. He greeted them from the door. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit late. I’ve got to run up and change my shirt. I’m covered with hairs.” He had a quick wash under the primitive shower and checked his discarded clothes. There were no telltale traces. He changed and joined Helene and Robbie under the trellis, feeling recharged with energy and high spirits. He ruffled Robbie’s hair as he sat and felt Odette’s against his fingers. “Did you have a good afternoon, youngster?” he demanded.

  Robbie lifted his startling eyes from his book, Helene’s eyes, full of adoration. “Oh yes, Daddy. We swam and swam. I made a picture of Mummy. Do you want to see it?”

  “Of course.” The boy jumped up and ran inside.

  “That’s a very good haircut,” Helene told him.

  “I had to wait long enough for it. I didn’t get away until about half an hour ago. I ran into Odette. She didn’t recognize me with my new coiffure. I took her around to the little fishing port for a drink.”

  “That was kind of you, dearest. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “The perils of St. Tropez. Did you think I’d got run over by a bullock cart?” They laughed comfortably together. “I talked to her some more about finding other work. She—”

  Robbie came scooting back to his father’s side. He held out a sketchbook open to a pencil-and-crayon drawing. Stuart recognized Helene instantly. The boy had caught her elegant line and the set of her head as she sat in a deck chair wearing her bathing suit.

  “Excellent. You’re getting very good, young fellow. Maybe we have an artist in the family. Should we get you some watercolors? Have you tried them?”

  “They’re quite difficult,” Robbie admitted, basking in his father’s interest. “Maybe if I practice with them, I could learn to use them.”

  “Good. I’ll look around for some in town.” Stuart called out in the direction of the kitchen. Boldoni’s boy, Michel, appeared, a sullen loutish lad, two years older than Robbie but not much bigger. Stuart ordered pastis for Helene and himself and a lemonade for Robbie. The boy punched Robbie’s arm as he passed. Robbie leaped up and landed a punch on his retreating back.

  “Tu me fais chier,” he cried.

  “Hey. That’s enough of that,” Stuart reprimanded him.

  “But he hit me. You saw him,” Robbie protested, dropping back into his chair.

  “I’m not talking about what you did. I’m talking about your language.”

  Robbie’s great eyes widened. “Oh. That’s another bad word, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “He uses those words all the time.”

  “Well, it may be all right between boys, but not in front of ladies—remember?”

  Helene didn’t think it was all right at all. Finding suitable playmates for the boy would be a problem if they stayed. She doubted if there was much to hope for from the local school but Stuart seemed to think he offered all the companionship a nine-year-old needed. She had to admit that he was a wonderful father, almost too devoted for her comfort. “You were telling me about Odette,” she interjected, feeling as if she were intruding. She gave herself a little mental shake. Only an unnatural mother could be jealous of her son. Michel provided a further distraction as he brought the drinks. Hostilities hung in the air but weren’t resumed.

  “About Odette?” Stuart said, returning his attention to her. “Let’s see. Oh yes, I gathered that she could—” He glanced at his son. “Well, that she could remain an honest woman if she had fifty francs a week. I thought maybe we could let her have it for a few weeks to give her a little time.”

  “It’s very good of you, darling, if you don’t think we’ll get too involved.”

  “There’s no involvement. She seems quite sensible and independent. It’s rather frightening to think how little it takes to alter a life. It can’t be for long. We might not even be here in a month.”

  “Why say that?” It was the first doubt he had expressed about the property and the thought of his being deprived of his dream brought reassurances rushing to her lips. “Boldoni says there’s nothing to worry about. You said yourself you had a feeling it’s ours.”

  “I do but I can’t expect you to rough it indefinitely. Not that there’ll be much luxury if we do get the house. Our seaside hut. Are we crazy?”

  “Probably, but you seem happy.”

  “I am if you are.” He had safely diverted attention from Odette but his thoughts of her were unexpectedly affectionate. In retrospect, the little adventure seemed slightly comic in a way that sex rarely was. It was something they could giggle about and repeat under more favorable circumstances, a highly enjoyable joke they could share. In this more natural world, there was probably a lot about sex to laugh at. Despite the arguments he’d remembered against infidelity, he couldn’t see that it touched Helene in any way.

  Another drink did nothing to lower his spirits. He made a point of speaking seriously to Robbie about what he’d been reading (Dumas in French) but joked with him like an equal about everything else. He drew Helene into the fun and they laughed a lot during their usual enormous dinner under the stars although she could see that Robbie was getting overexcited. He was a robust-looking boy, but troublingly high-strung. In absentminded moments, she sometimes got confused about his paternity and was touched by panic as an image of her husband screaming at her filled her mind. She tried to apply brakes with soothing words to Robbie and warning glances at Stuart. She wished she could send the boy to bed but that would be gross abuse of parental authority; his bedtime was fixed by solemn treaty. Instead of being able to enjoy Stuart’s odd reckless gaiety she found herself resisting it for the child’s sake. What had started it in the first place? There had been nothing notable about the day. A swim? A few hours in the sun? A haircut? At the risk of a childish tantrum she called a halt shortly after they had finished eating.

  “All right, darling,” she said to Robbie. “You’ve had a long day. Run along up. You can read for a little while to put yourself to sleep.”

  “But I’m not sleepy yet,” he protested, cut off in the middle of a rambling story he was trying to tell his father.

  “Obedience above all, youngster, if you want to go to Heaven,” Stuart put in. “Don’t argue. We’ll have the rest of the story tomorrow.” He gave the back of the boy’s hair a little yank and watched him shuffle off, reluctance in every step, Stuart laughed rather heartlessly, Helene thought. She was glad he could still be tough with his offspring.

  “Thank you for not encouraging him,” she said.

  “Oh, he’s a good boy. We don’t have to worry about him.”

  “I still think you should be more careful about the things you say to him. He’s growing up. Is it usual, your being so casual about being naked in front of him?”

  “Why not? I like being naked. Men can be naked together, dearest.”

  “But he’s not a man yet and you’re his father.”

  “That’s all right. Fathers are supposed to be models for sons. It’s good for him to feel there’s no great mystery about my parts, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “They’re rather conspicuous,” she said with a fleeting little smile. “He’ll be finding out about things. It’s all so new for him here. He’d never seen you naked before, had he? I think it might embarrass him.”

  “You mean the dread fact that his mother has been known to pleasure herself with his father’s conspicuous parts?”

  She blushed. She supposed that was part of if. She didn’t like the idea of Robbie being aware of his parents’ sex life. “It’s a question of civilized reticence,” she said, looking her grandest. It made Stuart chafe against civilization’s restrictions. He laughed and gave her shoulder a little shake.

  “I don’t remember being embarrassed by anybody’s parts, conspicuous or otherwise. I always knew what they were for. I just assumed that’s the way things were.”

  “You had a rather special background, dearest.”

  “I want Robbie’s to be special, too. Living in the sun—it gives you a healthy attitude toward life. He won’t be all tied up about sex. It’ll be wonderful for all of us. He won’t be embarrassed by my parts. He’ll be much too preoccupied with his own.”

  “All in good time, perhaps, but we have a duty to protect him during these formative years. Children know much too much about everything these days.”

  “Children always do. In only six or seven years, Robbie will be the same age I was when I first thought I was going to be a father. Maybe I was. At least, the girl said I was going to be. I wish I knew.” He sprang up restlessly. Thoughts of Marguerite ran headlong into thoughts of Odette, both bright with simple careless pleasure. He wished Helene wouldn’t be quite so tight-lipped about the facts of life; it made him think of the fun he’d denied himself this afternoon. Self-denial was life-denying. That’s what they were trying to escape. Had escaped. His high spirits were bursting his seams. He had done his duty by Robbie for the evening. His real fun was always with Helene, the deep rewarding fun that could be shared only by two people completely known and attuned to each other. He circled around behind her and touched her hair. “Come on, old love. Let’s take a stroll down to the port. A little wild night life. They’re going to invent the Charleston any day now.”

  “I don’t know.” She congratulated herself for not leaping to her feet at his summons. If they were going to cut themselves off from the world, she felt obliged to test herself to make sure she wouldn’t become slavishly dependent on him. She had resisted his earlier exuberance. This was a good time to prove that they had achieved self-sufficiency within their close-knit devotion to each other. “You go ahead. I’ll be fine here.”

  “Come on. The exercise’ll be good for you.”

  “Are you telling me I’m getting fat?” she asked, between laughter and reproach.

  “Fat? What a word to use about you. It’s a wonder we’re both not as big as houses, but you can’t get fat. Grow more opulent, maybe, in a very grand sort of way. Come on. Let’s parade you around the port. There might still be a couple of cats out.” Odette? Who else did he expect to see? It was too much to hope that they’d run into M. Giraudon at this hour.

  “I don’t think I want to.” Had she carried independence far enough? It would be a great triumph if he changed his mind and decided to stay with her.

  Because thoughts of Odette had something to do with his restlessness, his conscience compelled him to make a particular effort to take her with him. He moved behind her and ran his hands along her shoulders. “We can’t go to bed yet. We haven’t had time to digest that meal. It’s such a lovely night.”

  “I’m sure it is, dearest, but I’ve told you. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  He had practically begged her. His conscience was clear. “Suit yourself. I’m just going for a wander. God knows, I won’t be late.”

  “I’m sure you won’t in this godforsaken little place,” she burst out, feeling her triumph slipping away from her.

  He chuckled as he took a few tentative steps toward departure. “What do you want me to do? Knock you down and drag you off with me?”

  Yes, she thought avidly. Something violent and unpardonable. The memory of a maniac shouting her name was always close to the surface of her mind, terrifying but striking some obscure response in her. “Never fear.” There was an unexpected edge of bitterness in her voice. “I don’t expect extravagant gestures. We’re much too sensible for that.” Her breath caught. Had she gone too far? Would he turn on his heel and go?

  Her voice brought him to a halt. What was she driving at? Had some careless residue from this afternoon’s frolic affected his behavior so that she felt left out in some way? The bitterness in her voice echoed painfully in his ears. He had never loved her more or felt so protective toward her. He took a few steps back to her and lifted a hand to her neck and stroked it where the heavy knot of hair had been. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m sure you didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he said gently.

  She breathed again. Her triumph was once more within her grasp. The odd keyed-up exhilaration in him had been replaced by his irresistible tenderness. He was with her again. “Forgive me, darling. I’m sorry for the way I sounded. I didn’t mean anything. I don’t know what was the matter with me.”

  “Adjustment,” he said, giving her neck a squeeze. “Too much sin and gin. We got out in the nick of time.” He felt her yielding to him. He wanted her. Perhaps some day the world would accept the fact that there was enough love in people to offer it freely, not measure it out according to convention. He and Odette had exchanged a small gift of desire but it hadn’t diminished the great reservoir of love in him that belonged to Helene. He sat beside her and took her hand. “I don’t give a damn about taking a walk. Let’s have a final glass of wine and go to bed.”