Perfect Freedom (7 page)

“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.”

“Yes, darling. That would be lovely.” Her triumph was complete.

He filled their glasses and took a thoughtful sip from his. Not for the first time, he was aware that by dispensing with the legal formality of marriage he had denied himself the liberties that ordinary married men could permit themselves, safe in the knowledge that the bond wasn't to be lightly dissolved. Odette had been a liberty he had taken too casually. He thought of their haphazard copulation, stumbling about for balance while he drove into her eager body. He had been putting down roots, he thought with private amusement, but he wouldn't like it if Helene felt the need for similar roots.

“I've been thinking,” he said, breaking a brief silence. “There's no reason we should leave ourselves completely at old Giraudon's mercy. We might be able to rent a comfortable house while we're waiting. If the old devil doesn't turn up in the next day or two, it'll be quite a scramble getting the hut ready before the bad weather anyway.”

“Poor darling. Is it dreadful being burdened with a woman? I'm sure you'd be perfectly happy pitching a tent on your land.”

“Who'd keep me warm?”

“I have my uses. It's sweet of you to worry about a house for me. I must admit that Boldoni's for the winter doesn't appeal to me.”

“We'll go looking tomorrow. Maybe that'll break the Giraudon jinx.”

“I'm sure it will.”

“The perfect wife. Are we ready for bed?”

“Very much so.” Their eyes met and she glanced hastily away so that he wouldn't see the craving that she was sure hers revealed. He could always melt her resistance when he set his mind to it. She wished she were smaller so that he could sweep her up in his arms and carry her off to their room.

The next day, a notice from the local bank arrived informing Stuart that the money had been credited to his account and the Coslings spent a good many fruitless hours asking every likely source for houses to rent. Renting was a concept that had apparently not yet reached St. Tropez. Every habitable house was inhabited by its owner. Others were falling to ruin because families had been disrupted or died or drifted away. They found a few more places for sale but nothing to compare to the property Stuart regarded as already his.

“That settles it,” he said when they returned to Boldoni's for a drink before dinner. “We've got to find the old man. We have no choice. I'll give him two more weeks and then I'm going to the police. He might've dropped dead somewhere.”

“Will you still have time to get the house ready before the bad weather?”

“With luck. Now that the money's here, I can start ordering materials. Boldoni's got that builder friend of his. We'll be ready to go before the ink's dry on the deed.”

They continued to discuss the housing situation and didn't pay much attention to Robbie when he joined them, wearing a look of angelic innocence. Helene had excluded him from the house-hunting on the grounds that it would be tiring and boring. In fact, she hadn't wanted him to interfere. Stuart was inclined to invite his opinion of matters he knew nothing about, which was sweet and sometimes entertaining but often wasted a lot of time. She didn't want finding a house to turn into a game.

When Boldoni lumbered out of the kitchen to tell them that dinner was ready, Stuart questioned him further about M. Giraudon's habits, trying to think of some angle he'd overlooked.

“I wish you'd tell everybody we're leaving if we don't finish with this deal in two weeks,” Stuart said. “Maybe word will get to him.”

“He speaks to nobody. Perhaps you should be thankful that he's disappeared. Has Maître Barbetin got the papers in order?”

“We saw him this afternoon. He's still fussing about the confusion in the title I told you about. I said I didn't care, for the hundredth time.”

“You may be right. Nobody wants land here. It's not like farther along the coast. Giraudon won't let you get away.”

Property remained the topic of the evening. Confident that nobody would take much interest in anything he said, Robbie was emboldened during dinner to ask the question that had been on his mind most of the afternoon. “Daddy, doesn't
baiser
mean ‘to kiss'?” he inquired.