One for the Gods (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (16 page)

At sunset, they dressed in crisp white and drove to the port to announce their decision to the Kingsleys, Charlie parked on the quaiside beyond Senequier’s cafe, the social center of the town; he hoped to avoid a chance encounter with Jean-Claude. All the buildings along the waterfront were just beginning to emerge from the rubble the Germans had left behind them five years earlier. A great unsightly crane looked as if it had been abandoned near the entrance to the harbor. They left the car and strolled along the rank of moored yachts, sleek racing sloops, more imposing yawls and ketches and schooners, big, luxury motor cruisers, looking for the Kingsleys. They found the boat hidden beyond a miniature liner with a smokestack. The deck was deserted.

She was a sixty-foot double-ended yawl, with a black hull and teak decks, called
Cassandra
, to remind them, Jack had explained rather heavy-handedly, to pay attention to any warnings she might issue. There was nothing sleek about her, she sat solid and broad in the water. The bowsprit gave her a rakish, piratical look. Charlie had liked the look of her when he had first seen her.

Peter had paid little attention to the boat before, but now, thinking of the next six or eight weeks, he thought she looked rather small. They stood at the foot of the gangplank, and Charlie called out, “Ahoy,
Cassandra.”
In a moment, Jack Kingsley’s head bobbed up in the open hatch. When he saw who it was, he climbed nimbly out on deck.

“Is this the boat that’s going to Greece?” Charlie asked. “Are you looking for a crew?”

Jack laughed. “Come on aboard. You make a devilishly handsome crew. And stylish too. I’m afraid the old tub can’t live up to you.” They all met on the narrow stern with a good deal of laughter and backslapping. “You really mean it?” Jack asked. “We’ve finally won you over?”

“We’d better go over the details again but I think we can work it,” Charlie said. “We definitely want to. Right, Pete?”

Peter agreed, pleased at being consulted, pleased with the diminutive even though it was Charlie’s usual signal that they must assume the protective coloration of the straight world and beware endearments.

“Well, this calls for drinks for all hands,” Jack exclaimed. He was looking very much the seafaring man, wearing only jeans cut down to shorts, frayed around the bottoms. His body was hard and trim, with a furring of gray hair on his chest. He waved a hand around him. “Watch the varnish. She’s pretty nearly ready to go. Hey, Marty.”

Martha appeared in the companionway wearing a crisp, blue cotton dress and stepped out on deck beaming at them. “I don’t believe it. What a glorious surprise. Are you really coming with us? “They all talked at once for a few minutes and then the three men settled into the roomy cockpit while Martha went below for drinks.

“I know neither of you will regret this,” Jack said. “It certainly solves a big problem for us. You can’t take just anybody on a trip like this. You two guys obviously get along well together. I’m really delighted.”

“She must be beautiful under sail,” Charlie said. “She’s much bigger than anything I’ve handled.”

“With all your experience, you’ll probably handle her better than I do. I’ve read all the books, but I don’t kid myself. There’s no substitute for growing up with it. I’ve had people out on her who can turn her into a racer. Peter and I will crew for you.” He slapped Peter’s knee. “What say, mate?”

“Aye, aye, sir.” They all laughed at nothing in particular. Martha’s head appeared in the hatch with a tray bearing ice and glasses and a bottle of pastis. Charlie sprang forward to help her. She smiled her thanks up at him. While Jack poured drinks, she took Charlie’s hand and looked him directly in the eye.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am. I think we’re going to have a glorious time.”

“I don’t see how we can help it.” He smiled at her, liking the look of her. He was reminded of some Dutch painter, he couldn’t remember which one, but one of them had done women with Martha’s very feminine but no-nonsense quality. Her heavy, fair hair, her direct blue eyes, her round cheeks, her pretty, easily smiling lips, her trim but ample body all evoked some earlier, more disciplined era. He wondered if Anne was still expecting him. Anne had reminded him of his wife—skinny little strings of girls, both of them. Martha was a full-blown woman, competent and self-contained; he felt again that he could be friends with her without fear of misunderstanding. The way she looked him in the eye and held his hand communicated only outgoing, uncomplicated good feeling.

Glasses were handed around. They all lifted them to each other. “Happy sailing,” Martha said. Peter and Charlie exchanged a look that registered the felicitous moment. Jack rattled his glass.

“I hope you won’t expect all these frills at sea. I understand ice is a problem in Greece. Not much yachting in those waters since the war.”

“Haven’t they been having a revolution or something?” Peter asked. A rich Greek client had said something to him about it.

“There was some sort of trouble, as I remember,” Jack confirmed. “That was a couple of years ago.”

“I should think the most important thing is to decide when we want to leave,” Martha put in. “When will we be ready, darling?”

Jack scratched a graying temple. “Under a week. Say by Monday. I don’t want to take up any of Charlie’s painting time, but if Peter could help with some of the chores, we could make it even quicker.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Charlie said. “I only need a day to finish up some things I want to get done. The sooner we go the better, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t you agree, Pete?”

“Absolutely.”

It was decided that they would leave no later than Saturday. They moved on to other matters—supplies, how expenses would be shared (the Kingsleys would be responsible for fuel, harbor charges would be split between them and so forth), the route they would follow. When questions of sailing and navigation were touched on, Peter dropped out of the conversation and observed with delight the transformation that had taken place in Charlie: his eyes were bright, his expression eager and interested, he was completely himself again. Peter was deeply grateful for the miracle; Charlie had known what he wanted and had said so without wasting time with regrets for the rented house. The house had been a mistake. If Peter had known they were going to find such a blatantly queer community, he would have chosen some other place. He could sense the potential of boredom in this nice, straight couple, but better that than the hazards he had allowed to ensnare him.

As the others continued to discuss every aspect of the trip, he began to feel that they were really going and he studied the boat with awakened eyes, looking along the deck, cluttered with unfamiliar gear, and up the tall mast with its heavy rigging. An inkling of how completely the boat would contain them and set them apart from the world crossed his consciousness. He wished that he and Charlie were going off alone, just the two of them, away from everything and everybody.

“Well, it all sounds really great,” Charlie said with enthusiasm after they had had several more drinks. He looked at Peter and smiled, really smiled at him deep into his eyes as he hadn’t smiled since the day before at Porquerolles. “What do you say, Pete?”

Peter burst out laughing with gratitude and happiness. “I say let’s get going. I don’t see how we ever thought of turning it down.”

“It’s definitely understood, isn’t it, that eight weeks is absolutely maximum for us?” Charlie addressed the Kingsleys.

“Absolutely,” Jack agreed. “You say you don’t mind flying back if we decide to stay on and winter there. The same applies if we get held up for any reason and we just can’t get you back here on time. Right?”

“Right.” They all got to their feet as they drained their glasses. Peter eagerly agreed to come back in the morning and start learning his way around and helping out in any way he could. The Kingsleys accompanied them to the stern and stood at the top of the gangplank and waved them ashore.

“I don’t believe they’re queer, no matter what people say,” Martha said when they were out of earshot.

Jack laughed. “Women can’t ever believe any guy is queer. They can’t stand the idea of a cock getting away from them.”

Martha frowned as she wandered back to the cockpit and poured herself another drink. “Don’t be crude. No, Peter may have had a schoolboy crush on Charlie once upon a time. They’re obviously devoted to each other. It’s probably just as simple as that. People have such foul imaginations.”

“Are you intending to find out?” Jack asked as he took the bottle from her and poured himself another drink.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just watch your step. That’s what I mean. A small boat is no place for hanky-panky. I thought we decided we wanted them with us
because
they’re queer.”

“Don’t be silly. We wanted them with us because we like them.”

“I see. Well, they’re queer, all right. I can assure you of that. So I don’t think we need really worry about any repetitions of the troubled past.”

“Oh, Jack,” Martha said wearily. She took several long swallows of her drink. “It’s a bit odd your being so insistent about it. How can you be sure of a thing like that? Perhaps
you’re
intending to find out.”

Jack laughed. “I think I’d have more success than you. Unfortunately, we have no secrets from each other so it’s hardly worth wasting an innuendo. However, a blow-job is a blow-job. If either of them offered to oblige, I wouldn’t necessarily turn them down. Especially Peter. He’s the tastiest trick I’ve ever seen in my life. Those eyes. He’d bring out the queer in any man.”

“He’s very sweet.” She drained her glass.

“You prefer Charlie, of course. I know your type. He’s hung. That’s certainly obvious. Well, you might as well drown your dreams in drink. We’ve had the sense to pick two nice faggots who’re nuts about each other. Let’s leave it at that. We’re going to have a nice quiet trip.” He held the bottle over her glass and poured out a generous measure.

Preparations for departure kept Peter and Charlie very busy for the next few days. When he was with the Kingsleys, Charlie felt wholly alive and keen for adventure. Alone with Peter, he was still aware at times of a deadness in himself. He didn’t know what it was. Something was gone, something was broken. Whether it was something that time would restore, repair, heal, he couldn’t tell, but it filled him with curiosity. Life was taking on more interest than it had had for a long time. When his curiosity flagged, he fell into long moments of deep depression from which he felt nothing could rouse him. Peter could, with his sweetness, his bright vitality, his evident determination to pretend that nothing was wrong. Charlie would find himself laughing with the same delight he had always felt with him. Still, he was looking forward to being on the boat where he felt he would be able to arrive at a cool assessment of the future.

Peter immediately became Jack’s preferred and adept helper. He learned much more quickly and competently than Charlie about the workings of the motor. He was able to shinny up the mast to fix a block that had got jammed. Charlie had always liked being with him in a healthy, outdoor atmosphere, playing tennis with him, swimming, playing an occasional Saturday afternoon game of touch football with neighbors. It seemed to mitigate the onus of the forbidden bond that held them. He was pleased that Jack and Peter got along so well together.

Jack’s preparations converted what at first had seemed a casual cruise into a serious and complex undertaking. Charlie’s experience had been confined to off-shore racing with an occasional brief cruise along the New England coast. He was fascinated by the navigational equipment that he didn’t know how to use. He was amazed at all the facilities available to yachtsmen, the detailed charts with their depth markings, the Mediterranean pilot book with its careful descriptions of the lights and shelter and holding ground of every port they planned to visit. He found it extraordinary that the governments of the world permitted yachtsmen to buy duty-free liquor and fuel and cigarettes. If he could believe his eyes, a bottle of the best Scotch would cost one dollar and five cents on board.

After three days, they had developed into a well-meshed team and the boat was ready to sail. There was no authorized dealer in duty-free stores at St. Tropez, so Jack planned to put in at Antibes before really getting under way. There were people in Cannes that Peter felt he ought to see on business. As a consequence, they were to make this first short stage of the trip independently the next day, Charlie and Peter by car, the Kingsleys alone on the boat. They would regroup in Antibes the day after.

“Be sure to bring lots of sweaters,” Jack said as they were having a farewell drink.

“Really? Why?” Peter asked.

“It can get chilly at night. I suppose you don’t have any wetweather gear. It doesn’t matter. We can share out what we’ve got on board.”

“Jack will never get over crossing the Atlantic,” Martha said, smiling at Charlie.

Charlie smiled in return. “Who can blame him? I don’t think I’d want to try it.”

“Really?” Martha looked at him with the pleasure of discovering an unexpected ally. “Jack thought I was an awful coward for not going with him.”

They made elaborate farewells that would have been appropriate to a permanent separation; a special tie of comradeship had grown up between them in these few days. Martha kissed Charlie and Peter on both cheeks in the French fashion, a sweet and sexless embrace. They shook hands and patted each other and exchanged assurances that they’d meet in Antibes day after tomorrow.