Perfect Freedom, page 15
He stood up, shaking sand from his trousers, and followed Robbie slowly up the rocks.
The place was a shambles. There were piles of building materials everywhere; work on the first of their proposed houses, here on the edge of the cliff overlooking the small beach, was to begin day after tomorrow. Just in the last few weeks he had arranged for preliminaries to get underway. Plumbing was being installed in the old house, which was to be expanded into a guest house and the glade was crisscrossed with trenches.
Stuart paused when he reached the top of the rocks and looked around him in order to see it in his mind’s eye, the landscaped terraces, the fountains, the great rooms opening wide to the sea. The final plans were settled on and drawn up. He couldn’t wait to get started. He leaped a ditch and ran down the glade to the house. He found the door to Robbie’s room closed and he heard them laughing behind it. Robbie’s room was being turned into a modern bathroom. His bed and chest of drawers stood in the middle of the living room. He called out and Robbie answered.
“Don’t come in. We’re trying to repair the ravages of time.” This was followed by an explosion of laughter and muffled exclamations. Stuart smiled at the door and then pulled off his shirt and went to the kitchen corner to wash.
He was rubbing his chest briskly with a towel when Robbie flung open the door and announced, “La Reine de St. Tropez.” Helene followed, not liking to be in the position of asking for Stuart’s approval but doing so because Robbie expected it of her. She stood beside Robbie and took his arm. She was wearing a white skirt and blouse she had had for years but Stuart was scarcely aware of her clothes. They had worked on her hair, arranging it softly around her face. Her eyes and mouth were subtly made up, her tanned skin glowed, her hair shone, her body looked rich and ripe and desirable. She bloomed. It seemed to Stuart that she must have been storing up her beauty for this moment. There was poise and maturity in it but none of the blurring or softening of age; she looked indestructible and eternal. Stuart stared in dumb amazement and Helene looked from him to Robbie with a slight shrug as if repudiating his admiration.
Stuart moved forward to her. “Give me a kiss. You’re the loveliest in the land.” She turned her cheek to him and laughed deprecatingly. Then she slipped away from him.
“Let’s see what you have in the way of a shirt for the old man.” Stuart followed Robbie into the embryonic bathroom.
They left the house when the setting sun was bathing the land in a rosy glow. Even the piled-up sacks of cement beside the garage had acquired a luster. The air felt new. Their voices as they walked to the car fell into the glade clear and liquid. The shared felicity of being washed and cool and looking their best drew them together and created the illusion of profound harmony.
“Let’s tell everybody you’re my sister,” Robbie said excitedly to Helene. She blushed and looked up at him adoringly.
“My poor motherless children,” Stuart said. Robbie laughed and took a couple of exuberant skips beside them.
Everything stood out separate and distinct as they drove up through the woods to the main road; every twig, every leaf seemed to make a shadow of its own. Our park, Stuart thought. “Woods” wasn’t grand enough to go with the new house.
When they reached the town Stuart let the Rolls drift with the crowd along one side of the port and around the other, past the British admiral’s yacht. He found a parking place at the end of the quai near the old tower. There was a perilous-looking gangplank leading across the rocks to it and a sign in lights over the door proclaimed it to be LA TOUR ENGLOUTIE.
“Well,” Stuart said, “where shall we start? The Café de la Mer or whatever it’s called now?” They climbed down from the car and paused, bracing themselves to face the crowd. Robbie was looking around, wide-eyed and solemn. “Yes. It has seniority—like us. Come on, into the fray.” He took them both by the arm. The bear bicycled past them, wheeled sharply, and pedaled off down the quai. Stuart burst into laughter at the look of amazement on Robbie’s face.
“This looks like fun,” the youth exclaimed.
Stuart guided them across the quai to what had once been the Café de la Mer. He noticed that the men they passed cast speculative glances over Helene and he was proud of her. He caught the eyes of a few girls himself. He saw both males and females doing double takes at Robbie. The place had already acquired a reputation for sexual variety. They were a triple threat.
When they reached the edge of the plot of red and white tables enclosed by boxes brimming over with pink and mauve petunias, they stopped. Every table seemed to be taken. A plump dark man in a waiter’s white jacket was in front of them, bowing and smiling.
“Ah, Monsieur Cosling. We are so glad to see you at last. How fortunate there is still a little room, though of course for you we would always find a place.”
Stuart glanced from Helene to Robbie, feeling rather pleased with himself.
“Very kind of you,” he murmured. They followed the waiter through a narrow aisle to a vacant table wedged in between the others. People looked up from their drinks with curious stares as they passed. When they had seated themselves the waiter rubbed his hands.
“Now what can I offer you? A nice champagne wine? The management would be proud to offer you a bottle.”
“Why, yes,” Stuart said, “that would be very nice, thank you.” He waited until he was sure that the waiter was out of hearing and exploded with laughter. Helene and Robbie joined in.
“Well,” he said when they had subsided, “it apparently pays to play hard to get.” The sky was a pink dome shading down to reddish orange at the horizon, and the yachts rode motionless in a copper sea. Stuart was so intrigued by a woman who strolled by with a curious loose-jointed sway that it took him a moment to realize that it was Marlene Dietrich. He leaned forward to impart this information to Helene and Robbie. Music began to thump from the interior of the café. The waiter returned and presented the champagne with a flourish.
“I trust this will be the first of many visits, Monsieur Cosling.”
“Thank you, I’m sure it will be.” The Coslings caught each other’s eyes and their mouths twitched with amusement. Stuart lifted his glass when the waiter had left them and bowed first to Helene and then to Robbie.
“To the first family of St. Tropez,” he said solemnly, and they all drank.
The color faded from the sky as they drank their champagne and the blue-gray mist of twilight drifted over them. The sea turned to lead and the encircling hills became an inky black. The day was dying and the languor induced by the white heat of the sun was thrown off. People sat up in their chairs, voices grew sharper, eyes looked into eyes with a new intensity. Music erupted from the row of cafés in sudden blasts. There was laughter in the air, tense and anticipatory. Lights glared on all the way around the quai, limiting the world to the area they illuminated.
“Well, you must admit it’s nicer than the way it used to be,” Helene said to interpose herself between father and son. Stuart was treating Robbie like a contemporary, urging him to drink up and ragging the boy about his inability to keep pace with him. She was already aware enough of Robbie’s increasing maturity.
“Come on. We’ll share the dregs,” Stuart teased.
“The bubbles tickle.” Robbie giggled and almost upset his glass as he put it down.
“Remember how you got drunk the day we bought the place?”
“I did not get drunk.” The fun drained out of his expression.
“Oh, yes you did. We had to put you to bed in the car.” Helene and Stuart laughed at the recollection but Robbie couldn’t join in. Any suggestion of grossness in front of his mother troubled him. He fixed a pale smile on his lips.
“Isn’t it about time for dinner?” Helene suggested, watching him. They had settled on the restaurant on the fishermen’s port that was reputed to be the best or certainly the most expensive in town. They emptied their glasses and rose and the round little waiter was once more at their side, assuring them of the joy of the management at being so honored. Stuart gave him a handsome tip.
The dingy little square of the old port had been transformed. The great tree was still there but under it the whole area was filled with tables that glittered with silver and crystal. Again, Stuart thought at first glance that every table was taken and again he was greeted by name.
“Ah, Monsieur Costing, you should have called for a table,” the maître d’hôtel cried with elaborate dismay as he hurried up to them. “Of course, we’ll find room for you but it won’t be the best:” He snapped his fingers and issued orders to waiters who swarmed around him. Yes, this was definitely celebrity and definitely agreeable.
A table was squeezed in close to the sea wall for them. A full moon was just rising above the nearest roofs. Everything looked expensive and desirable. Stuart glanced out at la batellerie. It had been converted into a handsome private house.
The maître d’hôtel continued to devote his attention to them. When they were seated he handed them enormous cards bearing the bill of fare and left them. Robbie’s eyes widened as they ran down the list of prices.
“Can we afford it?” he gasped.
Stuart encouraged him to order lavishly and to select his wines carefully. Aside from his boyish exclamation at the prices, Robbie remained rather haughtily indifferent.
“This sort of elaborate food doesn’t mean much to him,” Helene said approvingly. So long as Stuart didn’t try to win Robbie away from her, she was delighted to be away from the stove, to be cool and perhaps not too dowdy-looking. It would be pleasant to spend some money on herself again. She was aware that Robbie took an interest in her appearance. And Stuart would no longer have any excuse for neglecting himself. He really must buy himself some new clothes and do something about his hands. Not that she cared, but it would be nice for Robbie to have presentable parents.
After dinner, Stuart proposed a visit to Boldoni’s old place as the first stop in their sampling of the local night life. As they climbed to the top of the town, the whole quarter, once so abandoned at this hour, was alive with activity. Under the streetlights one caught glimpses of pretty girls and smart women and well-dressed men. When they arrived in front of the old inn Stuart and Helene made an unconscious move toward each other, for here one could believe that nothing had changed. For a moment, Stuart was tempted to go no farther.
“Let’s see what they’ve turned this into,” Helene said, and they went on.
The only changes were those that Boldoni had described—a coat of paint, little tables with gay covers instead of the long bare ones, a low wooden platform covering the cement patch where a five-piece band was banging out jazz. Several couples were dancing. The Coslings sat in silence for a moment looking about them and remembering. Around the corner of the main building Robbie saw the shed and the clump of mimosas that screened the house next door and he looked away, feeling his skin prickling under his shirt. Helene looked up through the vines at their old bedroom window and saw that there was a light in it. Stuart was threatened with melancholy as a succession of memories crowded his mind.
“Well, what will it be now?” he asked. “More champagne?”
People were arriving in increasing numbers. As one group passed their table a gray-haired, square-faced woman detached herself from it and stopped before them with a cry of recognition.
“It’s the Coslings! Stuart! Helene! How delightful. It’s been years.” Stuart rose, startled, and recognized Mrs. Rawls, a widow who had been among their acquaintances during the New York years. She entertained lavishly and had cultivated Stuart for his connection with the publishing world. She was the sort of person one would expect to meet at a newly fashionable resort. Before he could speak, she had taken Helene’s hand and was concentrating on her the full force of her charm which, Stuart remembered, was overwhelming.
“My dear, you’re absolutely breathtaking,” she announced. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely. Where have you been? What have you been doing? You simply disappeared. I want to know all about everything.” All this came out in a flat harsh voice but there were undertones in it. Her words trembled with delight. Stuart remembered this quality and her trick of tilting her head slightly and smiling with winsome girlishness. “And dear Stuart. It’s so very nice to see you. You’ve both discovered the secret of eternal youth. Who is this enchanting creature? It can’t be your son.” Robbie had followed Stuart to his feet and it was now his turn to receive the benefit of the smile.
“I’m beginning to feel as if St. Tropez were the hub of the universe,” Stuart said.
“You must’ve just arrived. But wait, you’ll see everybody you’ve ever known. You must let me take you under my wing. You might say I discovered St. Tropez. Don’t you think it’s fascinating how rich everybody seems over here? Such a relief after the States. I couldn’t stand the drabness another minute. Though I do think Roosevelt is doing wonders. So handsome. Of course, I’ve known the whole family for years. Why don’t you come join us? I’m with some people you must meet.” This last was addressed to Helene with the winning smile.
“It’s very nice of you but do excuse us tonight,” Helene said. She was suddenly overwhelmed at the prospect of social intercourse. She would have to recover her ease so as to be ready when the time came to make an effort for Robbie’s friends. “We’re having a sort of family celebration. Do come see us one day. We’re in the midst of building so we can’t make it a real invitation.”
“Building? Here?” Mrs. Rawls asked vaguely.
“Yes, we’ve lived here for years,” Stuart interposed. “Just ask for the place. Everybody can tell you how to find us.”
Mrs. Rawls appeared not in the least discomfited. “How stupid of me. Can you be the mysterious Americans I’ve heard about who own all St. Tropez? How clever of you. And how fascinating. You must come to dinner with me. I know some charming girls who’d give a great deal to meet this delightful young man. I’m hoping for Cole and Linda. Marlene’s here already. Oh yes, we’re going to have a grand time. You’re quite the most attractive family I’ve ever laid eyes on. A real addition. A bientôt. A bientôt.” She shook hands warmly with each of them and made her way buoyantly over to her table, nodding and waving to people as she went. Stuart and Robbie dropped back into their chairs.
“How can anyone be so ridiculous?” Helene wondered aloud. “She made me feel as if I were losing my mind.”
“I thought she was quite nice,” Robbie said judiciously.
“Flattery works,” Stuart said. “You liked the idea of those girls.”
“I did not.” Robbie blushed deeply. “I don’t want to meet any of her girls.”
“Don’t worry,” Stuart said. “We’re not going to get tied up with her fancy crowd.”
“Heavens, all that seems far away,” Helene murmured, and Stuart smiled in agreement. Yet who were they going to see? For whom were they building the guest house? When was Robbie going to make friends of his own?
The music stopped abruptly. There was a fanfare and as heads turned the band burst into a familiar tune. A small woman with a pert urchin’s face walked briskly through the crowd to a table beside the dance floor, followed by a handful of good-looking young men. It was Mistinguett.
The evening was getting underway. The dance floor was suddenly crowded. Somewhere a woman screamed and a violent argument broke out behind the Coslings. Stuart turned to see a large dark man and a small red-headed woman snarling at each other in Italian. They were interrupted by a powerful man in a tight striped jersey and tight white pants. He seized the woman by the wrist and lifted her out of her chair.
“Viens, ma poule,” he said rudely and led her off toward the dance floor while her abandoned companion half rose, spluttering, and then sank back into his chair. As he followed the oddly matched couple with his eyes, Stuart saw a younger man in sailor’s uniform approach the Mistinguett table. He tapped one of the young men on the shoulder and said something to him. The party clapped and cheered as the young man rose and was led off in a dance by the newcomer. Stuart felt it was time to leave.
“Let’s see what the other places are like,” he shouted above the din.
On the way down toward the port they passed a lighted doorway from which issued the sound of music and laughter.
“Hold everything,” Stuart said. “We might as well have a look at this one.” The door opened onto a stairway leading down to a cellar. They couldn’t see what they were getting into until Stuart had reached the foot of the stairs and a fluty male voice cried, “A man! Divine!”
There was a burst of laughter and he saw they were in a low, vaulted cellar around three sides of which ran banquettes and tables. The only light seemed to come from a small bar in one corner. On the floor in the middle, men and women were dancing with partners of their own sex. Stuart’s first impulse was to turn and run, but he thought immediately of Robbie. Stuart didn’t want to give him the impression that they were flying from some terrible mystery. In his moment of indecision, Helene took charge of their retreat. “It’s breathless in here. I can’t stand it.” As she spoke she started back up the stairs, pushing Robbie gently before her. Stuart followed gratefully, to the accompaniment of a chorus of obscene witticisms and more laughter.
“What was the matter?” Robbie asked. “Was it too hot? I didn’t get down far enough to see.” He felt better as soon as he had uttered this falsehood. He had been to school in Cannes for two years. He had heard of such places. Witnessing the scene in his parents’ presence had been a moment of horror for him.
“It was absolutely stifling,” Helene said hastily. “For a minute I thought I was going to faint.” She was shocked and troubled. She had gathered from a line in a newspaper, from a chance remark, from her own observation of the people on the port, that St. Tropez prided itself on the laxness of its morals, but this was worse than anything she had imagined. Robbie apparently hadn’t understood any of the things those unspeakable creatures had called out to them. Thank heavens the house would soon be ready and they could entertain friends of their own choosing and avoid the town.
