Along the Infinite Sea (12 page)

“Like what?”

“Like you want to take it all back.”

“No, never. It's done now. We're in God's hands.”

“Listen to you. A moment ago you were offering me a villa by the sea and a shameless apartment in Paris.”

“Because I did not think you would be so foolish as to accept. I thought you would slap me as I deserved and stalk back to your father's house.”

“But I'm unexpected.”

“Unexpected and beautiful.” He pulled my hands from his face and
kissed each one, and he drew me into his chest and settled us in the grass. I lay bare and marveling in the curve of his body, thinking, My God, we are lovers now, we have actually made love together.

The silence stretched out lazily. I said, “I've shocked you, haven't I?”

He laughed. “You have shocked and delighted me beyond words. But I must think a little. I must think what is to be done now.”

“You mentioned a villa.”

“Yes, I did. But this villa is something of a dream, and there is a reality to be considered first.” He shifted me on his chest and reached for his jacket, and this time he drew out his cigarettes and lit one briskly with his gold lighter. “Do you know what I have been thinking about, this past week?”

“I know I've spent the past week wishing that I did.”

“I have been thinking how I have arranged my life in a certain way, according to certain principles, and a rather arrogant belief that this was what God intended of me, and he would therefore overlook any little sins I might commit. And I have been wondering whether perhaps God has intended something entirely different, or if he has merely decided he should punish me after all.”

“Is this one of those little sins?”

“Yes, I suppose it is, according to the covenant. But I don't regret it, I will never regret this moment. I am only pondering the path now before us.” He lay there, smoking quietly with one hand and holding me to his chest with the other. “You are a great complication, you know,” he said solemnly, after a moment.

“Am I?”

“A tremendous complication. So I suppose, before I ponder this matter any longer, I should humble myself to ask you what
you
want. What path you imagine for us. Since I find myself bound to you, by the pint of your blood that communicates in my veins, and now by honor, so therefore I am your servant on earth.”

This time, it was my turn to laugh. “I love your chivalry. You talk like a man from a hundred years ago.”

“Hmm. Yes. And what is your plan for this ancient servant you have brought under your command?”

“Well. I like the sound of this villa of yours, with the olives and the grapes.” I paused, because I had left something out, and I wanted to see if he would supply the word for me. But he said nothing, and I went on: “And then there's that talk about Paris, and by a strange coincidence, I was just thinking this morning that an apartment in Montparnasse might be the very thing for me.”

“Montparnasse! Annabelle in Montparnasse?”

“Yes. Why not? It's crammed with Americans and art. It's the most interesting place in the world right now. I could live in some grubby little room above a café and teach the cello to the daughters of the bourgeoisie.”

“You realize that in Montparnasse, you will be expected to take a new lover every night, as a matter of course?”

“Ah, but I'm unexpected, remember? I think I'll be happy with just the one.”

“I see. I suppose, so long as this lover is me, I cannot object.”

“Yes, this lover would be you.” I rolled over and propped my chin on my hands, atop his chest, between the white sides of his unbuttoned shirt. Stefan stubbed out his cigarette in the grass and cupped his hands around the backs of my bare shoulders. I felt suddenly daring and desirable, like somebody's mistress. I said, “What do you think of my path, Herr Silverman? Would you like to travel it with me?”

He kissed me. The smoke was returning to his eyes. He kissed me again, a little harder. “This is your path. This is what you want of me.”

“Only if you want it, too.”

He studied me, kissed me, and then studied me again, as if the kiss might have made a difference. “All right, then. All right, Mademoiselle de Créouville. I will see what I can arrange. I will take care of everything for us. But come. The tide will be turning soon. I must be off.” He reached for my blouse and helped me into it.

“The tide?”

“Yes, the tide. I have left the tender at the Hôtel du Cap.”

“But where are you going?”

He was standing up, fastening his trousers, buttoning his shirt. “To my ship, of course. She is off to her winter mooring in Monte Carlo, which I must oversee. You will stay with your father for a few more days, and then I will return and take you—”

My hands froze on my buttons.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My father. My God, I forgot all about it.”

“Forgot about what? Why are you laughing?”

“I can't stay here with my father. He's leaving this morning for Paris. That's why I ran out here, to see if I could find you somehow, because he's already packed, we're to leave right away. Poor Papa, he's probably mad with impatience by now.”

“Ah, yes. So it is true. I heard a rumor that a certain impoverished prince was experiencing some new difficulties in his poverty, which is why I woke up this morning and thought perhaps it was time to act. Well, then. It seems God, in his wisdom, has arranged things in a very satisfactory manner. You will come with me, of course. We cannot have you going off to Paris with your father and forgetting me altogether.”

“I don't think there's much chance of my forgetting you.”

He kissed my hand. “Then come. We will telephone your father from the hotel.”

“What on earth am I going to tell him?”

“The truth, of course. That you're not yet ready to leave the seaside, and will spend the last few days of summer with your very dear friend, with whom you were staying before.”

“And then?”

He picked up his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and leaned down to place a soft kiss on my lips. “And then we will see what comes next.”

3.

When we caught up with the
Isolde
in Monte Carlo, she was already moored in the harbor, surrounded by a few dozen yachts of similar proportion, but without her elegance. Stefan pulled me to the tender's wheel. “Wait here just a moment,” he said. “I have a few instructions for the crew.”

I kept the tender close, no easy feat in the constant chop of the busy harbor. The sun beat on my head; I hadn't worn a hat. I looked up the familiar sides of the ship and remembered how I had arrived with Stefan at this exact spot in the middle of the night three weeks ago, on the brink of adventure, and now here I was again and the adventure had grown into dazzling dimensions, an infinity of adventure.

I looked at my hands: one on the wheel, one on the throttle. There was still a soft ache between my legs. My skin felt as if it had been rubbed all over by a very fine grade of sandpaper. An hour ago, I had been lying on the grass with Stefan, and now I was running away with him, we were lovers running away together.

True to his word, Stefan climbed back down the ladder a few minutes later and jumped nimbly into the boat. I smiled up at him and he took my shoulders and said, “My God, you're here. It wasn't a dream.”

I laughed, because I'd been thinking the same thing. “No, of course not.”

There was a hum of energy surrounding him, crackling the air. I wanted to fling my arms about his neck and kiss him, but instead I stepped back from the wheel so he could grab it. He took the wheel in one hand and the throttle in the other. “Let's go,
Liebling
,” he said.

“Where are we going?” I shouted, over the engine and the salt breeze.

“I have a friend who keeps a place here, just outside of town. He lets me use it when the ship is in port for repairs and so on. It's very nice,
though the staff is all gone. I hope these nuns of yours have taught you to cook in addition to applying tourniquets.”

“I guess I can boil an egg or two, in a pinch.”

“Good. There is plenty of wine and a bakery in the fishing village, a kilometer away. I will bring us our daily bread, how does that sound?”

I leaned into his ear and said, “I don't have any things with me.”

“Ah, don't worry. Did I not say I would take care of everything for us?” He brought his arm around my shoulder, drawing me close as we edged westward out of the harbor, toward Stefan's little place, just outside of town.

4.

The house was small and beautiful, a miniature villa tucked into the cliffs, made of crumbling yellow bricks and crumbling red tile on the roof. There was a tiny dock and boathouse and a stairway cut into the rocks, leading up to the house.

Inside, the house smelled like the sea and the eucalyptus that grew near the windows for shade. “First of all, I must draw you a bath,” said Stefan. “I am a terrible blackguard for taking you on a forced march like this, instead of making sure you are comfortable.”

“I'm perfectly comfortable,” I said, and he laughed.

“You are such an eager little liar, Annabelle,
Liebling
. Come. Let us see if the old boiler is working.”

Stefan got the boiler working, and in half an hour the taps ran hot. He showed me the rooms, the kitchen and the living room, and the beautiful terrace overlooking the sea, planted with lemons. The bedroom upstairs had a balcony that opened out into the lemon branches, so that the scent of lemons mingled with the brine and the eucalyptus. Stefan stood behind me and stretched out his hand. “See there, to the east? You can just find the
Isolde
, if you look hard.”

I peered past his pointing finger. “Oh, yes! I see her.”

“I have always loved coming here. It is the most peaceful place I know, and yet Monte Carlo is a half hour's walk away. I come here to be alone and think.”

“Then I'm interrupting your solitude.”

“No, you are improving it beyond measure. I have never wanted to bring another human being here until now.” He kissed my temple. “Let's get you in your bath.”

He made the strangest chambermaid I'd ever known, moving about the marble bathroom with his cigarette stuck at the corner of his mouth, sniffing a bottle of bath oil while the faucet poured forth with hot water. He added a few drops to the tub and replaced the lid. “That will do, I believe,” he said, and turned to me. His hair curled with the steam. He smiled, the kind of too-wide smile that made me think he was nervous. “I will walk into the village and get us a little lunch while you are soaking, Mademoiselle. But there is no hurry. Is there anything else I can do for you? How are you feeling?”

I thought, I love you.

He frowned. “Annabelle?”

I took the cigarette from his fingers and crushed it into the tray on the windowsill. “I'm very well, Stefan, thank you. I guess losing your virginity isn't a mortal illness after all, whatever those old nuns used to tell us. Now, will you help me with this dress?”

5.

When Stefan returned, an hour or so later, he found me standing on the balcony, wrapped in a dressing gown that was several sizes too large. I held up my flopping arms. “The best I could do. But at least I'm all freshened up.”

He dropped the net bag on the floor. There was a soft thump of a bottle hitting wood. “Oh, God,” he said.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

I pushed my loose hair over my ear. The sun flooded Stefan's face, turning his eyes to caramel, touching the tiny bristles of his beard. He looked stricken and beautiful. I nodded at the bag on the floor. “Did you find lunch?”

He stepped toward me and laid his hand along my cheek. “I don't remember,” he said.

6.

“So, then, Mademoiselle. You enjoy this sort of activity,” said Stefan.

“Shouldn't I?”

We were sitting together on a chair on the balcony, perfectly still. I was on Stefan's lap, wrapped in a single white sheet and glowing like a forge. The sea glittered before us, crossed by lazy boats. I smelled the lemon and the eucalyptus and thought, I will always remember this, the scent of lemon will always remind me of this moment.

“Not every woman does,” he said, and then added hastily, “or so I am told.”

“Well, I do. I enjoy it very much indeed.”

He kissed my hair. “For this, I am most profoundly glad.”

“But you know,” I said, after a moment, “I think I like this even more. The afterward.”

“This?”

“Yes. Sitting together like this, still humming. Close your eyes.” I passed my hand over his eyelids. “Do you feel it?”

“Hmm. Yes. I see what you mean.”

“It's as if I'm inside your skin, and you're inside mine at the same time. Like we can say things to each other, without speaking.”

“And what am I saying to you now,
Liebling
?”

I listened carefully to his heartbeat. “That you have fallen in love with me. That you love the way my skin smells, and the way my belly feels under your hand.”

“Ah, very good. But you didn't mention the rest. How I love your hair and your soft, round breasts and your enormous brown eyes, and your crooked toes and your legs, and the hollows of your arms, and your wide American mouth, and the way you look at me when I am inside you.”

“How do I look at you?”

“As if I could do anything. As if I am invincible.”

“But you are. You
are
invincible.” I stretched out my leg and wiggled the foot. “Are my toes really crooked?”

“Yes, they are beautifully crooked. I want to kiss every one of them.”

I laughed. “You see what I mean? This is the best part of all.”

“No, love. You are the best part of all. Because this has never been the best part for me, until you were in it.”