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Noblesse Oblige By Henry H. Hilliard with Pete Bruno Book two An Indian Summer Chapter 22 La Joue Rose
Joni absolutely refused to lift the paintbrush. Remonstrating, cajoling and even bribery were quite useless. "What was that all about?" asked Martin.
"He refuses to name my boat Mala and keeps crossing himself just at the very idea of it," replied Stephen with an odd sort of laugh. "He said it's evil and will surely bring bad luck- mal de mer at the very least."
They were down at the quay in Antibes surrounding Stephen's new boat, as yet just that. Christopher Tennant and Donald Selby-Keam were already sitting in the neat little craft, which was painted an attractive dull red like many of the fishing boats along the coast. Archie Craigth, known to his chums as The Plunger for reasons that were once designed to humiliate but were now almost forgotten, had his easel set up and was busy capturing the bright scene with a pallet knife and thick paint straight from the tube.
A compromise was reached and it was agreed to name the vessel La Joue Rose because she was of that colour and she did have an attractive bottom like Martin for whom the original compliment had been intended. Joni then set to work with a small brush and soon the christening was completed, with any temptation of fate avoided, and it was agreed that the maiden voyage would be the next day when the paint had dried and when Joni had given her a final inspection.
Stephen was thrilled at Martin's gift of the boat and was busy reading up on sailing craft in preparation for Joni's lessons. Donald also had sailed a few times and he was explaining things in English.
The boys had originally assembled in London for the now familiar excursion to the south of France to Stephen's cottage, converted from an ancient shop. They found Branksome House was in turmoil for a number of reasons. Firstly, the electric light was being installed and a company was measuring up for steam heating. Next, Uncle Alfred had approached Edwin Lutyens who didn't seem at all insulted by such a small commission but was terribly busy in preparation for a site visit to Delhi. He sketched some things on the back of an envelope and handed it over to an assistant. This resulted in workmen knocking holes in walls and the ballroom had been converted into a builder's yard. Uncle Alfred himself was enjoying it immensely and was often too busy to even go to the club of an afternoon and could be seen poring over sheets of plans in the library-a room that was safe from alteration.
The final reason for upheaval was that Carlo was to proceed to Paris in a fortnight in preparation for his masters' visit to Germany and he was in the throes of packing two trunks as well as his own belongings, including French and German dictionaries.
Antibes discouraged formality and all the boys wore clothes like the local fisherman, although The Plunger's own costume was more like that of an admiral of the fleet, but he tended to opt for his painter's smock and beret which answered very well. In addition, The Plunger was cultivating a rather sinister red line on his upper lip, which he claimed was a moustache. Stephen had copied him with more success and Martin, despite beseechingly asking what people thought of 'his moustache', was not encouraged in this fiction, with the result he suddenly announced that he had shaved 'it' off two days before, with Stephen apologizing for not being aware of this step, explaining that he was dreadfully unobservant about such things.
It was high summer and very hot. The boys tended to eat all their meals on the new table under the pergola. The grape vine had reached the top, but as yet did not provide much shade.
In the late afternoon, when they had returned from the beach or from cycling into the surrounding country, they lazily drank the local wine around the outdoor bathtub in which Stephen held court, marveling at how different life was in this part of the world from that of their respective homes.
Their evening meal was usually about 9 o'clock in the bistro opposite the house, where the Patron and his wife, Mme de Blazon, made a fuss of their best customers.
"How do you feel about next term, Chris?" asked Donald. The others also looked for his answer because Christopher's relationship with his father was not without a few problems and money was tight because his father's practice in the north of England was not a lucrative one.
"I am applying to Leeds to study Medicine. My father approves and my marks are good enough. I can get home in the holidays and come south if I have to. I'll like it there. They admit girls too."
"Will you have enough wherewithal, Chris?" said Stephen with concern.
"Well, father's giving me an allowance as long as I don't fail and I'm a chance for a scholarship."
"That's marvelous Chris," he said, standing behind him and kneading his shoulders, "but if you're short you must come to Martin and me, isn't that right, Mala?"
"Yes, Chris. You won't be forgiven if you don't and I insist that you stay at Branksome House if you have to come to London. I will give instructions to the servants. You too Donald," said Martin.
"What about me?" cried The Plunger.
"Your parents keep a suite at the Ritz, why would you want to sleep at a ruin like Branksome House?" said Martin.
"It's not exactly a ruin, Martin, and you've got the architect of the capital of India rebuilding it and who said anything about sleeping?"
"Well, we're still at school and you'll just have to sneak into my room if you're lonely. That is all right, isn't it Derbs?" asked Martin with mock seriousness.
Stephen walked over behind The Plunger and started to knead his shoulders. He bent down and put his face close to The Plunger's ear. "Have you been keeping my sweetheart from being lonely Plunger?" he asked in a sinister, low voice.
"Yes, Stephen of course," stammered The Plunger.
"Have you been biting him?"
"Well no...that is when he..." Stephen 'accidentally' knocked his beret to the ground while increasing the grip on his shoulders so he couldn't retrieve it.
"Have you been satisfying his desires, Plunger?" he breathed into his ear in a stage whisper.
"Yes, no...I mean...what do you mean, Stephen?" Stephen bent and chewed his ear lobe.
"I mean I want him satisfied. Have you been fucking him?"
"No Stephen! You said...I mean... he never..." The others watched on in amusement as The Plunger's dignity once more crumbled.
"Would you like to fuck me, Plunger?" crooned Stephen with a wink to the others.
The Plunger's monocle dropped out of his eye and he was utterly confused. "No, well yes of course but..."
"I'll do it," said Martin.
"Me too!" chimed in Donald.
"I'd love to," added Christopher.
"Ah see," said Stephen, straightening up and replacing The Plunger's beret, "I'm not up to The Plunger's Ritzy standards, Mala. I'll sleep with you tonight if you'll have me."
"Very well, Derbs, but I do have some rules if you want to sleep with me. I'll explain them later."
The others could not contain their laughter any longer and The Plunger stalked away, realising that he'd been teased.
"And so you're off to Cambridge, Donald. I wish you were at Oxford so I'd know someone next year-that's if I get into a college," said Martin.
"It's my father's choice," said Selby-Keam, "He was at Pembroke and wants me to go up with my cousin. I think I'd like to try journalism, but father would never let me go down without a degree. He's rather strict. The boys fell silent for a time and The Plunger came back out with another bottle of wine and rejoined them.
It was after midnight and still warm, when they retired. Stephen went from room to room, cock and balls swinging, saying goodnight. Selby-Keam was happily in bed with The Plunger and Stephen went to check that they weren't accidentally wearing pyjamas and were suitably hard under the sheets. Donald threw his arms around Stephen and kissed him while The Plunger looked on, still rather wounded.
"I'm sorry, Archie, I was only teasing," said Stephen. He climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around The Plunger and kissed him passionately. The Plunger surprised himself by responding in kind.
"You know, Donald, he beat me in a boxing match last week," said Stephen, feeling The Plunger's biceps and chest. And indeed it was true for a match had been organised in the Women's Institute Hall and The Plunger had withstood heavy punches from Stephen and in the fourth round managed to unbalance him and Stephen went down on one knee; the referee stopped the fight. "Take care of him, Donald. I love him very much." He gave a parting lick to The Plunger's new moustache and heading down to Christopher in the cool cellar room.
"Are you alright down here Chris?"
"It's nice, Stephen, rather like being in a cave."
"You're not lonely?"
"Oh no," said Chris, with rather more conviction than he felt, "not at all."
Stephen sat cross-legged on his bed. "Chris, I can't tell you how much I admire you for getting into Medicine at Leeds. You really did well in your exams and you'll make a fine doctor. I'll miss you very much next term. You made my life away from home fun, Chris, and you've been my best friend."
Chris felt he was getting tearful and could only think that his whole life was divided into the epoch before he knew Stephen and the one after. "I'll be lonely in Leeds, Stephen."
"No you won't Chris, I promise. I still want us to be friends and our 'little chats' at night have been the happiest part of my year. You also encouraged me to shoot some of my best loads."
"Oh yes, I still want you to be my friend more than anything. You have made me grow up and not be frightened-I was frightened just like Selby-Keam was frightened; you do that to people, Steven; you bring out the best in them. You're such a real man, Stephen, and you made me a real man."
"That's nice of you to say it, Chris, but you were always a man. I haven't put anything there that wasn't already there to begin with. You will always like girls first, I haven't changed that."
"Yes, I think about girls all the time, but I don't mind us doing things together and when I see you and Martin doing things it doesn't upset me at all. I really like being in bed with you both and it just makes me think how wonderful love must be and I wish I could love like that. You know I might just be a little bit in love with you, Stephen."
"And I'm rather in love with you, Chris, and Martin knows that. Have you spilt yet?"
"No, maybe later."
"Let me see." Chris threw back the sheet and Stephen looked at his circumcised cock.
"It's a nice cock, Chris," said Stephen, rubbing his thumb over the slit.
"I wish I was as big as you and had a foreskin," said Christopher.
Stephen knelt on the bed and stretched his foreskin and taking Chris' cock, covered the head. "You can borrow it for a few minutes," he said.
Christopher groaned. "This is nice," he said as he pressed his cock further in and wrapped his hands around the union and slid them back and forth. The intimacy of being inside the boy that he most admired-even loved-was thrilling.
"You can stretch it more Chris; it doesn't hurt; it feels nice". Christopher continued more frantically. "Spill under my foreskin, Chris. I'd like that. Martin can clean it out later."
Both boys were squatting, facing each other and Stephen clasped his hands behind Chris neck so he wouldn't fall backwards.
"Come on Chris, spill; spill in there!" encouraged Stephen. Chris let out a grunt and could be seen pumping out his seed, much of which was now leaking out.
They uncoupled and Stephen pulled back his foreskin to reveal that his head was glistening with Christopher's seed. "Doesn't that look wonderful, Chris?" said Stephen. Christopher had to agree and accepted some from Stephen's finger for sampling. "I'd better save the rest for Martin," he said, allowing his foreskin to slide back down.
He made sure his friend was tucked in, kissed his cheek and blew out the lamp and ascended the stone stairs into the dark garden, letting his sweaty balls enjoy the evening air.
"You've been a long time, Derbs," said Martin.
"Sorry, Mala, I had to tuck my children in and, oh, Chris spilt under my foreskin and I thought you might like to clean it out."
Martin rolled his eyes. "You're very thoughtful, Stephen," he said with some sarcasm that was lost on Stephen. Nevertheless he had Stephen kneel on the bed in front of him and used his tongue to wash every crevice and thought that Stephen's sweaty balls should be cleaned one at a time.
"I need to be inside you, Mala. Get the oil." The oil was applied and Stephen lifted Martin out of bed and positioned him on the rag rug on the floor. Stephen squatted on his haunches, with his knees apart. He then got Martin to straddle him with his legs spread very wide beyond his thighs. Stephen then spread his knees even further, thus spreading Martin's legs wider still. "It think this will stretch your hole open, Mala. Lower yourself."
Martin wasn't sure if Stephen was correct because it was still a painful struggle at first but he enjoyed it and because he was facing him and he could see the expressions of concern and pleasure on his face.
Martin started to raise and lower himself, aided by Stephen's thrusts. He threw his head back in ecstasy and pressed his chest to Stephen's face. Stephen bit one nipple and then the other. "A bit harder, please, Derbs," gasped Martin. Stephen nipped with his teeth and Martin yelled: "Yes, just like that!" and Stephen set to work again. Soon Martin spilled between them. "Spill inside me, Derby. I want it in me." Stephen increased his upward thrusts and the intensity of his concentrations and soon Martin had the pleasure of seeing his blue eyes sparkle beneath his black hair, which had fallen forward at the climactic moment.
Martin found he could barely walk when he got up. He turned around to show Stephen that he had done a good job of it. Stephen's bent legs had gone to sleep and Martin had to rub his thighs to restore circulation.
When they were in bed Martin said: "You do take care of us like children, Derby. It's one of the nice things about you."
"Do I, Mala? Well, I do love you all. You know Chris was a bit tearful at the thought of being away in Leeds."
"Let's go down to him," said Martin, "he'd like that and so would you."
The two naked boys went down the stairs, through the house and out into the garden and softly knocked on Chris' door.
"We were feeling a bit lonely, Chris. Could we sleep down here with you? It's so lovely and cool," said Martin.
Christopher, now awake, moved over to allow Stephen to get into the middle with Martin beside him. Stephen put his big arms around them both.
"Have you come to tell me a bedtime story, Stephen?" asked Christopher.
Martin was anxious to hear one too so Stephen began telling the well-known tale of the young medical student in the provincial town who lived below the two lady interns. These girls did not wear bloomers below their white coats and academic gowns and routinely pleasured each other in their room of a Sunday teatime, but suddenly found they needed a male specimen upon whom to practice their study of Physiology. So Stephen went on, to their rapt attention, with interruptions from Christopher who supplied more accurate Latin names that he knew from his father's Gray's Anatomy.
"I think I'd like my nipples chewed on," said Stephen at last, thinking how much Martin had enjoyed it. The two boys set to work and presented the image of suckling piglets. Stephen's big brown nipples were sucked and licked and pulled with their teeth, Stephen proud of how he could withstand the pain. "You're good boys. Now I'm going to sleep. I've got to go sailing tomorrow, but I do expect to be covered in your seed when I wake up in the morning." The boys thought that would be possible and Martin leant over and kissed him. Stephen looked expectantly at Christopher who had never kissed him. Christopher hesitated and then leant over and kissed him softly on the lips.
The maiden voyage of La Joue Rose was a great success. Joni was waiting at the Port de l'Olivetti where Stephen paid him for his time. Martin was worried that the boat would not hold six, but Joni assured him it was safe.
Stephen was given control of the tiller while Joni put up the sail. Donald relieved him when Joni wanted Stephen to come closer to see how something was done. The little craft skimmed lightly over the water and Joni explained how it was important not to get in under the cliffs, for there was no offshore wind and the waves would drive them to disaster on the rocks.
Joni showed Stephen how to prevent the sails 'luffing' and how to keep the boat at a comfortable 10 degree heel. There was much to do with lines and cleats and the others helped when Stephen became flustered.
They had sailed south then Joni instructed Stephen to turn the tiller so they could head back towards land. They were carful of the boom and Joni, aided by Donald explained how to tack to avoid a headwind. The land grew larger and Joni took the tiller and steered them into a little sandy cove not far from Juan-les-Pins. The sail was quickly lowered and the vessel was secured at anchor. The boys jumped out into the shallow water, keeping the all-important picnic hamper dry.
They sat under some stone pines and ate rolls and cured meat. There was fruit, and a bottle of wine was passed from lips to lips. Stephen wanted everyone to take their clothes off but Joni told him that this beach was not suitable, as it was owned by an influential family who lived on the cliff above and they were likely to find themselves arr?t?s. However, he did know a place where they might like go that night. He was going with H?lias and there would be dancing and young fishermen, but they must wear clean clothes or the fishermen would not dance with them, he said very gravely. The boys all broke into laughter but eagerly said they would like to go.
It was easier to push the boat out a little way until it swung into the wind and, clambering on board, they were soon underway. Martin found that he was good with knots and lines, keeping them taught and untangled. He vowed to buy some rope and practice his knots. The Plunger was quite good at navigation and pointed out the direction of the wind to Stephen who was now learning how to sail close to it.
In an hour they were home and La Joue Rose was tied up where Stephen had paid for moorings.
H?lias and Joni appeared at the door at 9:00 and inspected the boys' clothes and apparently they would not disgrace the fishermen on their holiday. The place was a little bar-tabac down near the quay of the Port Vauban, but it was to an upstairs room they were admitted after being vouched for by H?lias. The room was rather bare. There was a zinc bar set up on one side and a number of tables and chairs. H?lias arranged for some of these to be put together to accommodate the seven of them and the patron's face lit up when he became aware that the visitors were foreign and had money. There were several groups of men in the room, mostly young, but with a few older ones earnestly talking to one another and quite frequently casting looks in the direction of the newcomers. Some plates of food arrived with the wine.
"These men are all fishermen," translated Stephen from what he understood H?lias and Joni to say. "Today is the festival of Saint Pierre their patron Saint."
Presently a man came over with a box. "He is collecting for the widows among their number," explained H?lias and the boys contributed sixty francs and were rewarded with fulsome smiles from the room when the generosity became known.
Two young fishermen came up the stairs and they looked about. One nudged the other when he saw the table and they both came over. "Don-al', mon ami," cried one and embraced Selby-Keam and pinched his cheeks.
"These are the boys who lent me the fishing net, do you remember?" Of course the boys remembered the dinner where they entertained Mr Asquith and Mr Churchill dressed as fisher folk and where a lot of wine had been consumed.
The boys sat down and put their arms around Donald and The Plunger and they became very lively when more wine was ordered. They hailed many of their friends as they passed by and then hushed the table when a priest took the floor. He said a prayer, which apparently blessed the fleet and the fishermen and their families. The room crossed itself and said 'amen' before the priest took a glass of brandy and departed.
Two violinists and an accordion player appeared and struck up lively tunes. The fishermen began to dance with some rough-looking women who gutted fish and opened oysters and then they danced with each other. The two fishermen and a friend pulled Donald, the Plunger and Christopher to the floor and whirled them around. H?lias was already clasping Joni around the waist and dancing with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Martin and Stephen were left at the table until Stephen persuaded Martin to dance.
"I've never danced with you in public, Mala," he said laughing and they tried to imitate the energetic jigs of the fishermen. There were some changes of partners and many breaks to quench thirsts.
About 11 o'clock H?lias spoke to Stephen who translated to the others. "Jaume, Maius and Rafeu want us to go with them to their boat. They have cognac and wine on-board."
The boat proved not to be far away and they climbed on-board and went below. "It is my boat," said Jaume proudly, and Stephen translated, "or rather my father's boat but he is too ill to go out."
The cabin was clean but airless and, worse than that, there was a pungent smell of fish. The fishermen and H?lias all lit cigarettes and were joined by The Plunger who took out his pipe. Glasses of strong spirit were produced. Through the haze Martin could see Donald sitting on Jaume's knee while Maius was openly feeling him through his trousers. The Plunger had his arm around Rafeu who was quite stocky but attractive. Joni had taken H?lias' shirt off and was sitting in his lap and lighting his cigarette for him.
Christopher was feeling a bit awkward so he shifted over to sit next to Stephen. "Stay with me, Chris," said Stephen, "things may get rather frisky. Do you mind?" Christopher shook his head.
Jaume and Maius removed their shirts and ties and kissed Donald while Rafeu started to undress the Plunger. They all came over to inspect Archie's long, pale, circumcised cock with the novelty of its red nest, even turning him around and shamelessly parting his cheeks to see if the red hair was everywhere.
"Il est un boxeur," Stephen called out, with the result that the fishermen felt the firmness of his arms and chest and buttocks, although this last The Plunger didn't think was essential to the pugilist's art. Rafeu set to work with his mouth on The Plunger's cock while H?lias, who was similarly being pleasured by Joni, took the cigarette out of his mouth occasionally to call out incomprehensible instructions and suggestions to Rafeu from across the cabin.
When Jaume and Maius let their Sunday trousers drop, they were shown to have strong bodies and unruly pubic bushes. Donald knelt in front of them and got them hard with his hands before setting to work to suck them, the two fishermen urging him to put his hands behind his back lest they be shamed by being thought not stiff enough for the operation to be done by Donald' mouth alone. The fishermen exchanged smirks and moved Donald's head from one to the other, making sure he didn't play favourites.
Stephen looked right to Christopher who seemed a bit un-nerved, if not actually frightened. "Chris, you don't want one of these fishermen?"
"No, Stephen I don't fancy it at all. May I just sit here and watch?" He put his hand on Stephen's thigh and Stephen re-positioned it slightly before rubbing both Martin's cock and Christopher's through their trousers.
The three fishermen left their posts and came across to Stephen who was now sitting with his arms around Martin and Christopher.
"Is this one your lover?" asked Jaume, looking at Martin.
"Yes he is," replied Stephen.
"And this one?" said Maius looking at Chris who was shrinking.
"He is my lover too."
"Ah, les Anglais!" said Maius.
Stephen leaned back and opened his shirt and took off his trousers to air his groin. With his arms around the other two he pulled them to his nipples where they nursed eagerly while Stephen kept a steady gaze on the three fishermen.
Stephen cradled Christopher with one arm while Martin sat with his head resting on the attractive triangular patch of hair (the chief adornment of Stephen's chest) and they waited until the fishermen had finished with The Plunger and Donald.
Jaume was clearly smitten with Donald who was sitting on his lap, and called him his little cabbage and the like. Donald called across to Stephen, "Jaume wants me to stay onboard and go out fishing with them tomorrow, Stephen. We won't be back until the following afternoon."
Stephen looked concerned. He wasn't sure if he trusted these pirates and felt protective towards little Selby-Keam. "Do you want to, Doug?"
"Yes, I love boats. It will be an experience. Jaume said I can sleep in his berth, he said indicating the bunk from which the mattress had been removed.
Jaume assured him that his intentions were honourable and poured out more cognac as a sign of his bona fides and held the glass up for Stephen to come and get. Stephen stood and walked menacingly over and put his hand firmly on Jaume's shoulder so that he might feel the power of his grip. His big balls at eye level also looked suddenly intimidating. "You'd better look after him," he said in English, but it needed no translation. "Il est ? moi aussi!" Donald wondered for a moment if Jaume was going to offer Stephen money for him, but fortunately he didn't. Jaume went to grab Stephen's cock but he snatched it away and let Donald hold it. "Tell him I'll find him and kill him if he harms you, Donald." He bent down and kissed him and swaggered back to the others. "Let's go!" he said.
Stephen fretted all the next day hoping that Donald would be safe with the fishermen. He was imagining having to explain to his father that he'd been drowned or murdered or worse.
As Mrs Chadwick and Mme de Blezon had been invited for `English afternoon tea' the following day, Stephen was supervising Lord Martin Poole, the brother of Marquess of Branksome, as he cleaned his first lavatory. It was a beautiful specimen of Art Nouveau majolica to be sure, said Martin as he wiped the writhing green tendrils and tulip buds that formed the decoration of the otherwise utilitarian pottery object, "But why do I have to clean it with my trousers off, Derby?"
"This is the way it's done, Mala," said Stephen enjoying the sight of Martin's pert buttocks bobbing up and down, with the occasional wink from his pink, puckered hole. "Get right around the back, Mala," he continued. "This is the way Chilvers cleans your lavatory at Croome."
Martin stopped and sat back on his haunches. "Chilvers would never clean a lavatory! And certainly he'd keep his trousers on if he did."
"Oh yes he does, Mala, it's just you've never seen him. He waits until you're out riding or having breakfast or something and then it's off with his striped trousers and down with his head into the bowl. Isn't that right, Plunger?"
"Yes, that's how Hives does it at Fayette, Martin," called The Plunger who was sitting in a basket chair reading. "You're lucky you have a brush."
"But why do you have trousers off, Derby?" asked Martin.
"Oh that's all part of supervision, Mala. If you knew anything about housework you'd know that."
"Well you boys are jolly careless that's all I can say," said Martin, scrubbing the floor.
"It's not me!" protested Stephen.
"Nor me," cried Christopher as he came in from the garden.
"Well it's not me," called The Plunger, "I'm very accurate."
"Well I think I will have to hold your cock in future, Derby, if I'm not going to have this mess every week."
"Go on then," said Stephen and he edged nearer. Martin stood behind Stephen and kissed the back of his neck. He reached around and took his beautiful cock in both hands, pointing it in the general direction of the ornate convenience. Stephen released and Martin had the pleasure of feeling the discharge coursing through the big member.
The piss was a long one. "Were you a horse in a previous life, Derby?"
Martin's aim was good but then Stephen deliberately tried to upset matters and started to laugh. Martin had to hold on firmly and he could feel Stephen getting hard with the result that here was some careless splashing that would have to be cleaned up again. Martin finished off with a shake and a sigh at the thought of his continued labours.
"I've one word to say to you, Derby: linoleum."
"Do you thinks so, Mala?" said Stephen kissing him. "I'll order some."
The following lunchtime Donald arrived home bearing a sack. Stephen hugged him and asked him, with concern, if he was all right.
"Yes, I'm fine, Stephen, although I'm tired." He smelled dreadfully of fish. "Jaume was very nice to me and so were the other six members of the crew. I was passed around a bit, I suppose. You needn't have worried about my clothes; they wouldn't let me put them on until I came ashore."
Then he winced. "Let me see," said Stephen with concern. He unbuttoned Donald's trousers and parted his puffy cheeks. There was some ugly bruising and swelling. He'd been roughly, if willingly, violated.
"Plunger, go and get some ice from the fishmonger, please." The Plunger went.
"What's in the bag, Donald?" asked Christopher. Donald opened the bag to reveal three lobsters and a number of crabs, which promptly escaped and had to be recaptured by an expeditionary force. "These will make an excellent supper," said Stephen and they fell to discussing how to cook them.
The Plunger returned with the ice and it was tipped into Stephen's bath and some water was added from the tap. Donald was stripped and lowered into the chilly brew. "This will take the swelling down. I've a good mind to go and beat the living daylight out of those rogues."
"Oh no, Stephen, they were really rather sweet," said Donald, his teeth chattering.
He stayed thus for half an hour then warm water was added and Stephen washed him all over in an effort to get rid of the marine odor.
The next problem was how to do afternoon tea. Stephen went upstairs and returned with a box that contained a very old and incomplete tea set of Bow china. "Chilvers and Mrs Capstick said it was alright to send this to France as it was surplus to requirements. We're a cup short so I'll drink out of a tin one. I think we should have tomato sandwiches and cucumber ones too."
"Cut the crusts off," said Christopher, thinking of home.
"We'll make scones," said Stephen. The boys looked at him blankly. "How hard can it be?"
There was a disastrous trial run in which the area around the stove was white with flour. There had been a debate about the use of an egg and two had been dropped in the dispute. The mixture had an unfortunate tendency to adhere to doorknobs, noses and trouser flies. The first batch was burnt and had to be buried in the garden. The second batch was in better condition and a dozen were selected from these. Some were designated for the visitors only. "We need to wrap them in a tea towel," said Christopher. There were no tea towels. Stephen added these to his list.
"I know," said Martin and raced upstairs. He returned with a pair of combinations. "They're clean," he said by way of mitigation and the hot scones were wrapped in the inelegant garment.
They rushed to change. The first to arrive at 4:00 was Mrs Chadwick who was accompanied by the Rev. Augustus Podberry from the English Church. Martin and Christopher welcomed them and, after pleasantries were exchanged, asked whether they'd like tea inside or on the terrace. The guests were being conducted through the house towards the back door when Stephen emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet and just wearing the yellow silk pyjama bottoms that sat so low and were so negligent at concealment.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Chadwick, Mr Podberry!" cried Stephen brightly and he shook their hands.
Mrs Chadwick let out a squeak and covered her eyes with her free hand while the Vicar looked down and said, "Good afternoon, Mr Knight-Poole." Stephen excused himself with the obvious truth that he needed to change and the guests were conducted in safety to the new concrete table under the pergola.
Mme de Blezon had seen the guests arrive and hurried across the street in her pantoufles and her best apron. The ritual of th? ? l'anglaise was a mystery to her.
The conversation was held in English with translations for Mme de Blezon's benefit. Mrs Chadwick, supported by Mr Podberry began to bemoan the low caf?s with their sordid backrooms that had sprung up along the quay. "There is a very undesirable type that frequents these low establishments," said Mr Podberry gravely, taking a cucumber sandwich (crusts removed) from the plate proffered by Christopher. "Fishermen and sailors and their doxies."
"I will speak to M. le Maire to see about having them closed. They are probably selling dope," said Mrs Chadwick.
Tea was poured and Mme de Blezon observed how they added the milk last and wondered why anyone would want to eat such tasteless things as cucumbers in white bread.
"On the fishing boats too when the fleet is in it is said that there are 'goings on'," continued Podberry. Donald offered him a tomato sandwich.
"That is why we urgently need a Mission to Seamen here in Antibes," said Mrs Chadwick.
"Some of these mariners are a long way from home and they need somewhere to go for the comforts that they cannot get when away from their wives..." Here Mr Podberry shot her a look of alarm. "I mean away from their own hearths and their wives and family circle, of course." She took a sip of her tea and made a face. "Otherwise the poor devils are prey to the first pretty face they see. Are these scones Mr Selby-Keam? How like home."
The scones were unwrapped from their blanket, which the Mr Podberry thought looked unusual but vaguely familiar, and dishes of English jam and Provencale cream were set out. Mme de Blazon thought that scones were rather unexciting cakes to make such a fuss about and was thinking how much better they would be if flavoured with rosemary and garlic- with perhaps just a hint of white truffle. They were strange people, the English; there was no wine, the food was bland and everyone was so chilly and proper-even these boys were sitting tamely like old women.
The Mission to Seamen was further discussed. Mr Podberry thought he needed a thousand pounds. Martin promised one hundred and all the boys promised to look into the moral welfare of the sailors and fishermen along the coast.
The rest of the holiday proceeded idyllically. La Joue Rose was taken out several times and, towards the end, Joni thought that if conditions were gentle, Stephen could handle her alone.
The boys avoided Cannes with its unhappy associations for Christopher, and to some extent Martin, and similarly Nice was not appealing to The Plunger who still felt the humiliation of being tied up by the German pornographers. Instead, there was bathing at Cap-Eden Roc and also at Antibes where Stephen could wear his daring costume and there was plenty of relaxing under the pergola on the terrace overlooking M. de Blezon's vegetables. Martin had made it a rule that only he was to sleep with Stephen, but quite often he would awake to find one of the other three snuggled in, so he gave up.
It was with a heavy heart they took the express back to Paris. Stephen wondered if he'd ever see Chris and Donald again as they now went their separate ways. The Plunger would also miss Donald, of whom he'd become quite fond, although he had the occasional embraces of Tsindis the painter to fall back on, but about which he said little. Martin's heart was filled with longing- perhaps even mourning- although it was somewhere below the level of conscious thought and he would not have been able to describe it should he have been asked. It was almost as if they had just enjoyed an interlude of la dolce vita that they might very well find hard to recapture later, in less untroubled times; as if this were the last time.
Thanks for reading. If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you.
Just send them to farmboy5674@yahoo.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.