Perfect Freedom (42 page)

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?”

Toni's smile had become a permanent delight. He laughed. “I have a sister who was almost fifteen when I was born. She's always talked about how huge my mother was when she was carrying me. Do you suppose she went around with a pillow under her dress until it was time for me to be born?”

Stuart laughed with him. “All right. Stay a Guilloux if you want to but I still have plans for you. Let's sit down. Wait. We mustn't get the cushions wet. I'll get towels.”

While Stuart did so Toni had time to assess this odd development. Now that suspicions had been allayed, he found that he liked the man who wanted to be his father. There was something youthfully responsive and generous about him; he wasn't grasping or self-centered the way people seemed to get as they grew older. He'd liked the way he'd thrown himself into the chore of getting the statue home instead of letting others do the work. He couldn't think of him as his father—he had a father and a family and loved them—but he wouldn't mind being treated like a rich man's son. Stuart returned with two towels and dropped them into chairs.

“Did you say Robbie is only seventeen?” Toni asked as they sat.

“Yes.”

“The little rascal. He let me think he was twenty.” His smile continued to dazzle.

“Don't tell him I let out the awful truth.”

“There's something funny about him. I mean, the way I feel about him. I took to him right away, almost as if he were my brother. Do you think people have some instinct for recognizing blood ties? That might mean more than the way I smile.”

“If they do and you really are my son, you should feel it with me.”

“Maybe I do. Enough for pretending, anyway. Does Robbie know about this, about the girl and everything?”

“No. Why don't you tell him? If I do, he might think I'm trying to make some big point about it. I don't think I always handle him right.” Stuart hitched his chair closer and put a purely paternal hand on his knee. “What I've been wanting to suggest is that you stay with us for the summer.”

Toni more or less expected it. Faced with a decision, he hesitated. He had become a local star overnight and he liked the attention he was getting, or at least some of it. He had broken free from his family. Did he want another one? He would undoubtedly meet all the important people here, but only as a member of the Cosling party. You had to be a loner to get ahead. The strange world he had so recently entered imposed certain conditions and he had quickly gathered that one of them was that he should remain free to be pursued.