Perfect Freedom (55 page)

Carl leased his house and reported that he would be able to move into it in another week or so. He undertook to widen their social horizon. After a few phone calls, he arranged for them all to be invited by Maxine Elliot to a party in Cannes. Stuart remembered her name as that of a great American beauty who had had a career on the stage and who had retired to England where she had become the familiar of royalty before the war. He was surprised to hear that she was still alive.

“Very much alive,” Carl assured him. “Quite a fat little lady but still beautiful in the face.”

Toni pointed out that the date conflicted with a party some of his film friends were giving locally, a party to which he'd already arranged to take Robbie. In the way that constantly endeared him to Robbie, Carl backed them up.

“Yes, yes, stay here for your party,” he urged them. “The other will be very grand, for older people, not much fun for you boys.”

Stuart was aware of being pushed aside even in the life of the family and was outraged by Helene in a way he had never had cause to be before. Why did she allow it? He could persuade himself that she needed a flirtation, an affair, whatever it was, at this peak period of her life, but she should have the sensitivity and consideration to make sure that it didn't encroach on his basic rights. He would stand aside for her but he wasn't going to stand aside for Carl to take over the household. It was time for Carl to get out; he wondered how much longer he could put up with him.

Once more he went over the argument that he'd been having with himself, starting with his own transgression with Odette. Helene's beauty was still unblemished but it couldn't last indefinitely. After forty-five, no woman could hope to retain the bloom that most men looked for in a casual love affair. This might be her last chance to renew herself at the passionate source of life before they settled down for the long haul of middle age and the horrors that followed it. He could imagine trotting out the same justifications for himself if he suddenly fell for a pretty girl. What was good enough for him should be applicable to her. He would forgive her when it was over if she didn't humiliate him while it was going on. She hadn't had a clue about Odette until he had chosen to tell her.

Dates fell into place. Carl was going to take possession of his house the day after the party in Cannes. By then, August would be more than half over and the summer would be on the wane. The Coslings' plan to give a party for Carl somehow became an end-of-season affair, more a farewell party for Toni and Robbie. Having a party given for them seemed to Robbie like a public consecration of their love. He couldn't see beyond it to an actual parting. Life without Toni was unimaginable; something would happen at the last minute that would permit them to stay together. Perhaps Carl would help him make a case for giving up school and going to study in Paris instead.

“I'm going to miss Toni. I love watching them together,” Helene said. She was sitting on the beach with Carl in the late afternoon on the eve of the Cannes expedition. Robbie had just come down from work to join his friend for a swim. They were the one bright happy note in her increasingly tormented life. Stuart had chosen to withdraw completely. He drank steadily most days and was spending a lot of time indoors, claiming that he had business to take care of. Her time was running out. When Carl moved day after tomorrow she would learn how deep his grip on her was. She hoped that his being gone would free her and that she would slowly return to an even keel, but the thought of him alone in a nearby house, waiting, continued to be unnerving.

“They are beautiful young animals,” Carl said as they emerged from the sea adjusting their trunks. He had no intention of leaving without jolting her into making some positive move toward him. It was time to play his trump card. “To see Robbie head over heels in love is a joy, although it should also make me a bit jealous.”

“You would call it being in love?”

“Most definitely. I thought we agreed about that.”

“I said something about platonic love. I don't see how anybody can be in love without its becoming—” Her voice trailed off. She was touching on something that had drifted through her mind as an amorphous thought but that she hardly dared put into words.

“Without its becoming physical? That, too. What I said about Toni is true, but a quite normal man can have pleasure with a boy. I'm sure they have found ways of satisfying each other that aren't offensive to him. With Robbie it is quite different. You are surely aware that he is a lover of men.”

Her breath caught on a gasp. “Is he?” She sounded more bewildered than outraged. He glanced at her and saw that her lovely face looked thoughtful but not dismayed.

“Of course. Do you mind?” he asked.

“Mind? How could I help minding? It would be a terrible tragedy. I don't believe it's true.” She minded because she knew she should mind, but her thoughts had strayed close enough to the possibility to have prepared her to accept it. Somewhere deep within her, she welcomed it. She could dismiss the threat of girls forever.

“I can assure you it's quite true,” he said. “I had intended to tell you sooner or later. He offered himself to me in Greece. We have been lovers.” He sat back calmly without looking at her and felt the bombshell rock her.

“You're a monster.” Her voice came out with a strange forced rasp. She wanted to scream. She wanted to leap up and fly from him. He leaned forward and held her with his eyes.

“Am I? Is it monstrous for me to have wanted him when you, his mother, want him also? I knew from the beginning that I would have you both. He is beautiful in the same way that you are beautiful. It is impossible to want one of you without wanting the other. Boys have played little part in my life, but he gave himself to me unsparingly and it was glorious. I will provide the physical link that you crave with your son.”

She cringed from him, staring into his hypnotic eyes. Her mind was filled with an. image of Robbie's graceful young body bending to his implacable will. She saw a perverse beauty in it but she wanted to destroy it with her own reality. She wanted to replace Robbie's body with her own. The control of years crumbled under his probing gaze. She raged with desire. She remembered her mad husband and the searing lust that Stuart had been able to unleash in her and her body began to tremble. She wanted to tear Carl's trunks off. She wanted him to take her here on the beach. She wanted Robbie as a witness. She was appalled by herself and alive. “Please,” she begged in a hushed voice. She was aware of the boys coming closer. “No more now. I'll come to you on Thursday.”

“Of course. That is why I am here. That is understood.”

“Stuart knows nothing about Robbie, does he?” she added in an urgent undertone.

“No, no. It would be a great misfortune if he did.”

Carl had arranged for them to dress for the party after the drive to Cannes, where friends had offered the use of their villa. Stuart was to take Jane and the admiral, who already knew Maxine Elliot. To allow for the more than two-hour drive, they were ready to leave in the middle of the afternoon.

“See that somebody puts these things in the car, will you, dearest?” Helene said, giving herself a few last-minute touches at her dressing table. They had packed their evening clothes and toilet articles in a small suitcase.

“Sure,” Stuart said. He left her and went in search of Felix. He encountered the boys, who had come to see them off. Carl appeared. Robbie and Toni stood holding each other in a loose embrace, arms around shoulders, hands on hips, leaning against each other. Stuart had seen them stand like this dozens of times but today it bothered him. Robbie was absently toying with the hair on the back of Toni's neck. Weren't they beginning to overdo this sort of public intimacy? He must warn Toni that it might look odd to others.

They chatted about their respective evenings until Helene joined them. They told each other that they might meet in the early hours of the morning and then the trio of elders was off, Helene in Carl's car.

They had almost reached town when Stuart realized that he didn't have the suitcase with him. He honked and Carl pulled over and Stuart stopped beside the little car. “Do you have our clothes?” he called to Helene.

“You said you'd take care of it,” she replied with a little frown of impatience.

“Never mind. You two go ahead. If the Cumberleighs don't keep me waiting, I'll be only ten minutes behind you. I have the address.” They waved and Stuart backed up and turned around.

He found the suitcase where they'd left it and had started back to the car when he heard a cry from below. He recognized Robbie's voice. The cry struck him as odd, like panic or ecstasy. He dropped the bag and went to a tree near the steps where he could look down at the beach without being seen. The two heads, blond and brunette, were bobbing in the sea quite close to shore. They moved in toward each other. Neither appeared to be in any kind of difficulty that would explain the cry. As he watched, a wave broke behind them and tumbled them over and cast them up on the beach on their backs. They were both naked. They both had erections. They rolled lazily over to each other and their mouths met. Their bodies moved against each other. They broke apart and scrambled up and, covering themselves with their hands, ran in a crouch toward the beach house and disappeared from view.

Stuart stood rooted to the spot. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He had never seen two men kiss. He gagged and swallowed his nausea. He had an impulse to go down and tear them apart, give Toni a good beating and throw him out. He thought of Robbie's age and let it pass. He was finally able to move and turned and went to the drinks table. He poured himself a slug of brandy and swallowed it and held the empty glass while he stared sightlessly at bottles and his mind grappled with what he'd seen.

He had seen two young men with erections. He had seen them kiss. He had seen their bodies move lasciviously against each other. One of them was Robbie. He hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered with a cheerful tinkle. Rage boiled up in him. What were they doing now? He wanted to mutilate Toni's beautiful face. That damned vicious—He thought again of Robbie's youth. Enough damage had been done. He didn't want to add to it. Perhaps by tomorrow he would have got himself sufficiently under control to deal with it reasonably. The brandy was already dulling his rage. He made a rush for the suitcase and hurried to the car.

Another quick brandy on the admiral's yacht made it possible for him to smile and chat sociably. Negotiating the perilous curves of the Esterel was a disagreeably sobering chore and anger and anguish once more stirred in him. The scene on the beach had acquired the blurred edges of a dream but it hadn't been a dream. He had witnessed it. He thought of all the times in the last few weeks that he had seen them reach for each other, hold each other, lean in against each other. They had dared carry on under his very nose. Everybody knew that such things happened with schoolboys but Toni wasn't a schoolboy; he was a symbol of what the place had become, a haven for every corrupt and depraved taste. Who was responsible? He had admitted the hordes of serpents into his paradise. It was up to him to limit the damage.

He wondered about Edward. Did the sensible woman at his side know things about her stepson that would be helpful in dealing with Robbie? It might be a comfort to talk to Jane, but how could he admit to anybody that his son was a moral and social leper? Besides, Robbie was too young to be discussed in such terms. There was time to save him.

More brandy awaited him at their destination. By the time they had all changed and arrived at the party, Stuart was insulated against further shock. He took in the spectacular setting from an alcoholic distance. The “château” was wedged into the rocks between railroad and sea. Vast terraces descended to a swimming pool hanging precariously at the edge of a cliff. A chute of water connected it to the sea below. Stuart decided that he would slide down it before the evening was over.

He dutifully paid respects to his hostess, a fat imperious little lady with astonishingly beautiful eyes. He wandered aimlessly among the rich and famous, beaming at anybody who met his eye, wondering why he was here. He beamed at the portly figure of Winston Churchill, acknowledging a kindred spirit; he too had seen all his hopes and plans go awry.

“Barry's son, eh?” the failed statesman growled after Stuart had introduced himself. “I shouldn't think that would be much fun. Sorry about Ben. I miss him. You have any objections to being a lord someday?”

“A lord? Why me? I'm an American.”

“An American like me. American mothers. Makes us tough. Barry's pushing for a peerage. He's not satisfied with Ben's baronetcy.”

“You mean one of those lifetime things?”

“The old rascal's not satisfied with that, either. Wants the real thing. Dare say he'll get it once the war's on. Useful to us.”

“There's going to be a war?”

“Next week. Next month. If not, I see little hope for the future of civilization, do you? Who's that Hun you have with you?”

“We're with him, really. He brought us. He's a friend of Miss Elliot.”

“That so? Something fishy there. Rings a bell. Must ask the old girl.”

They drifted apart as Stuart looked around for another drink. There was plenty fishy about Carl. Carl. Robbie. The world was falling apart around him but this wasn't the time to think about that. He would face a few facts tomorrow. Take a stand. Tonight was for dancing on the edge of the volcano. Had to watch his feet.

He was still on them, although he was developing a tendency to bump into things, when he found himself making an effort to focus on Hilliard. He leaned forward, peering, and put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. “Is that you, Stanley? Are you still here? I thought you'd left.”