Date: Mon, 2 May 2016 16:09:08 -0400
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Chapter 12

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reproductions are allowed without the Author's consent. (See full statement
at the beginning of Chapter One.)

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who have written to tell how much
you're enjoying the story, I hope you stay tuned.  For all the readers
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Noblesse Oblige
By Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 12
Le Bijou

Stephen was trying to distract Martin.  He tried to interest him in the
doings of village cricket team from which he was granted a leave of absence
if he promised to be back for the match against their old rivals, Holes.
Even his thrilling topic did nothing to help.  He tried to talk about the
funny things that happened at school and how Christopher had unsuccessfully
tried to smuggle a girl back to his room and only narrowly avoided being
caught by Mrs Leybourne by hiding the poor girl amongst the washing on the
line in the backyard.

There was a pile of magazines between them in the carriage and Stephen was
just about to open them again when Martin spoke: "I know it's silly Derbs,
but I can't help but think of poor Papa.  It must have been somewhere near
here that it happened and it is just a year ago."

Not caring that there were other people in the dining car, he reached over
and gave Martin's hand a squeeze.

It was high summer and the boys were off to Antibes to see, for the first
time, the old shop that was now the property of Stephen.  They wore their
travelling clothes, but they had packed their fishermen's outfits for
working because they would be virtually camping out.  They weren't even
sure that they'd be able to sleep in the derelict building.  However, their
meager personal luggage was supplemented by a large trunk containing things
they thought they might need for their new house.

The magazines before them contained items of more than usual interest.
Country Life had the most wonderful spread on the cottages on the Croome
estate with their picturesque new bathrooms and it was accompanied by an
advertisement for the Crittall Company and one for the company supplying
the kitchen ranges.  There was an especially charming picture of a thatched
roof that overhung the side street at the end of a row.  On the wall of the
house was painted the Poole coat of arms and beneath it stood a bench for
the comfort of the idle villagers, a rustic having been carefully
positioned to demonstrate this facility.  The article praised the Poole
family for its enlightened attitude, but unfortunately no mention was made
of Stephen.

Stephen had indeed been reluctant to come to France at all because it was
during the warmer months that Mr Moss had put their careful plan to quickly
construct a large number of bathrooms into full swing-an ambitious target
of a further 28 pairs.  There had to be a perfect coordination of tradesmen
and construction, especially with the pouring of the concrete floors over
the tarred paper.  More pairs were to have shingle tile roofs because,
although the reeds for the thatching were locally sourced, there was a
shortage of skilled thatchers.  There were several other adjustments made
to the designs to make them more practical and to bring down costs.

A large firm of architects even paid ?200 if they might use Stephen's
design elsewhere, although there was no copyright to them.  Martin insisted
that this money should be Stephen's.  Their erstwhile advisor, John Monash
(as he now spelt his name on becoming a Lt Colonel in the Australian army)
had referred to the Croome project in an article on military engineering
techniques.

The London Illustrated News carried many pages on His Majesty's Coronation
and on one of them, with the aid of a magnifying glass, the faces of Titus
Knight, Stephen and Miss Tadrew could be glimpsed watching the procession
from an open upper window in Piccadilly.  Knight had had a marvelous outing
and, like Stephen, had been keen to ride on the Underground.  He also went
to the zoo and the Tower.  Martin found the ceremony spectacular but could
actually see little and hear even less from his position in the Abbey.

The Studio Magazine contained a single photograph under the heading 'Studio
Talk' (spelled: 'Stvdio Talk') with the caption `Schoolboy's Advanced
Sanctum.'  The photograph showed a folding screen decorated with brightly
coloured and crudely-painted lumpy nudes with big hands and feet; some pink
ones were vaguely European and intent on pouring water from vessels; others
were decidedly brown Moors who were engaged in picking fruits.  Nearby
stood the chair for the desk and this and the curtains were all busy with
brightly abstracted leaves and squiggles.  The scholar apparently did his
prep by the light of a pair of tall candles with shades, the reader was
told, decorated by a Mr Wyndham Lewis.  Further reading disclosed that this
was none other than the bedroom of Mr Archibald Craigth and was an instance
typical of the modern movement that was sweeping British public schools.



As the mauve evening skies of France deepened into purple outside the
window of their compartment, Martin lay with his head on Stephen's
shoulder.  He was feeling better and was quite sleepy.  Stephen kept
looking down at his beautiful face with its full lips and feeling how
muscular and hardened his young body had become.

Martin was drowsily reflecting on how little time they actually spent
together and how these next few weeks alone would be a test of their
relationship.  Stephen was thinking along these lines too and how
unbearably he missed his Mala during the long weeks of term time.  He
voiced this and also told Martin how worried he was about his friend
Christopher Tennant and related the following...

Stephen had ached for Martin so greatly one night and, finding the pillow
no substitute for flesh and blood, he had arisen from his bed and quietly
knocked at Christopher's door.  Chris told him to come in and Stephen
admitted that he was feeling very depressed and asked if they might talk,
even though it wasn't a Wednesday.  Christopher pulled back the covers and
told the naked Stephen to get in, 'before your balls freeze'.

"Why are you wearing those?" asked Stephen, pointing with contempt to
Christopher's pair of striped flannelette pyjamas, tied with a cord.

"I was cold," replied Christopher.

"Well, you won't be cold with me in there."

"And there's another reason: if I wear them I won't feel like touching
myself and I feel like doing that too much."

"But I thought we'd been through all that.  You don't mind touching
yourself on Wednesday nights?"

"No, when I'm with you it's different: I don't feel that it is wrong; but
when I'm by myself I can't help but think I should try to stop.  I lay here
and think of what my father said when I was at home."

Stephen felt exasperated, almost angry, but simply said: "What did your
father say?"

"Well, he called me into his study and asked me if I'd been having impure
thoughts and had been touching myself.  I told him that I had."  Stephen
rolled his eyes.

"He told me that he loved me and wanted me to lead a clean life and be a
model to my younger brothers.  And he does love me, Stephen, he's really a
very good father and I do love him, honestly.  He had found one of my
postcards and he showed it to me-it was the one of the two blond ladies.'

"The ones walking their poodles?"

"No, the ones marooned with the sailors.  He said it was disgusting and
that he was disappointed that I didn't have the strength to resist
temptation and that I wouldn't grow up to be the sort of man who would make
a good husband to a girl like my mother.  I felt very shaken, I tell you,
because my mother is a wonderful mother and I kept thinking of what I had
done with Miss Evelyn, and particularly with Miss Constance."

Stephen was nearly going to ask for details, but saw that Chris was upset.
Instead he said: "You are a fine person, Chris, and you'll make any lucky
girl a good husband or lover.  It is your father who is wrong, I'm afraid.
Don't you think he did the same things you are doing when he was your age?"

"Oh no!" said Christopher, aghast, "He would never have done those things.
That was a hundred years ago, in Queen Victoria's day.  He spent all his
time studying to be a doctor and helping grandfather on his farm.  He
played rugger and sang in the choir.  I can't imagine he would have had the
dirty thoughts that I have all the time."

"Well, you're here and you have your brothers and a sister."

"Oh Stephen, don't even say such things!"

"Sorry Chris, but it's just too much to believe that our generation
invented it.  I wish I could prove to you that your father is normal just
like you.  You should ask him."

"Ask him that?" Chris almost screamed. "I could never do that.  I'd die!"
Suddenly an idea struck him: "I could ask my uncle though; he's father's
younger brother and is a farmer.  I always feel I can talk to Uncle Samuel
about anything, if I approach it right."

"Well that's your homework then.  Find out in the holidays and try to stop
worrying."

Chris lay back and thought about the problem.  Always Stephen made him feel
it was perfectly all right, even having Martin as his sweetheart.  He
respected Stephen, he realized, as much as he respected his own father and
that was troublesome.  The comforting warmth of Stephen's body made him
relaxed and drowsy.  In fact he was becoming too hot and, with Stephen's
help he removed the pyjamas and Stephen flung them across the room.

Stephen too felt the comfort of the other body.  He lay with his big arms
clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "I love Mala more than I
ever thought could be possible, Chris.  It's not just his body- though
hasn't he got a beautiful body?  It is him I love.  I love how sweet and
kind he is.  He's also very funny.  He knows a lot about things that I
don't know about-like how to act and behave in the outside world-but he's
also a good teacher.  He'd make a good teacher.  I'm so lucky.  I want to
spend the rest of my life with him."

Chris made no reply, other than a gentle snore.

Just before dawn Stephen awoke, surprised that he was not in his own room.
What had woken him?  He felt down on his stomach; it was covered in warm
seed, but it was not his own.  He looked at Chris, who was snuggled against
him, half awake. "Nice dream, Chris?"

It took the boy a few moments to realize what had happened. "Oh, Stephen,
I'm so sorry.  I could just kill myself."  He was red with shame and
embarrassment and was almost crying.

"No Chris, it feels nice.  I'm really proud of you; it was a big load," he
said, scooping up some to taste. "What were you dreaming about?"

Christopher couldn't exactly remember; there might have been French girls
with poodles doing things to him but there was also his father in a naval
uniform.  It was all rather mixed up.

"How did it feel then, Chris?  Can you recall the feel?"

"The feeling is still strong even after the images have melted quickly away
like snow.  It feels wonderful.  I feel so free and so...I don't
know...powerful?"

"Potent?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Did it feel wrong Chris?"

"No, it didn't feel wrong at all!"





"Mala," said Stephen, nearly the end of his tale, "I got a letter from
Tennant just before we left.  Reading between the lines, I think he talked
to his uncle.  He writes: 'Uncle Samuel said my father taught him a lot and
that a housemaid was asked to leave when my father was 18'.  Mala,"
continued Stephen after a pause, "would you still love me if I wasn't so
good-I mean- supposing I looked like your friend Custard and I had a little
cock, would you still love me?"

"What a question!" said Martin, "Of course I would love you and I would
think you beautiful no matter what you looked like.  But I'm glad your cock
isn't any bigger all the same.  It's not as big as your head.  Would you
love me if I wasn't a member of the aristocracy and had awful spots, dark
hair and sniffed?"

"Oh Mala, if you weren't a lord it would be even easier; of course I would
love you, but I can't imagine what you would be like if you didn't look
like you.  That day when I was chopping the log I thought you looked
beautiful -all golden and shining-but now it's different.  It's you I love
and miss in the middle of the night.  I can't put my finger on it.  Just
don't go bald just yet, although if you had ginger hair like The
Plunger..."

Martin put an end to this metaphysical speculation with a very
un-hypothetical real kiss and asked if they could try and fit into the same
sleeping berth.



It was early morning when the carriage bearing Stephen and Martin followed
at a distance by the cart bearing the trunk and suitcases arrived in the
narrow old street in Antibes.  Before they could do anything the patron,
M. de Blezon, and his wife who had been washing down the pavement rushed
across to them.  There was a voluble exhalation of delight in Proven?ale
and much kissing from both of them.  Clearly secrets were not kept in this
town.  Before they even employed the key they had to sit down there and
then and coffee and pastries were produced.

The boys were hungry but had to stifle their desire to see the old shop
while they listened to the history of the building as narrated from the
Patronne.  Apparently it was owned by her brother-in- law or his father
(the boys couldn't be quite sure) and had been empty for a long time and it
was now sold to the relief of the family, and thus Martin and Stephen's
acquisition of the valuable property was greeted with enthusiasm by all.

Martin tried to explain that it was Stephen's house but there was some
confusion concerning Stephen's surname and they both addressed him as `Sir
Stephen' or, more readily, as "Sir Etienne" which amused Martin no end.

The newly minted Etienne explained that the shop was to be converted to a
house and the de Blezons looked pleased and offered all sorts of help,
mainly from relatives who were marvelously skilled in every trade.  Martin
asked for directions to the Mairie as Stephen needed to have some papers
signed as the house was in his guardian's name.

At last they were free to go alone to their new abode.  Even from the
outside they could see that the shop window had been smashed and boarded up
roughly and the narrow pair of doors at the top of the steps from the
street had not seen a paintbrush for many years.  When they pushed the
doors open they found themselves in a large room with a beamed ceiling.  It
had obviously once been two rooms, but the front and back had been opened
out with only vestigial stone abutments remaining and another massive beam
had been inserted to hold up the ceiling, which sagged rather elegantly.

There were spiders' webs and thick dust everywhere.  It was not possible to
judge what the old timber floor was like.

In the back wall there was a large hole where the stones had crumbled and a
pleasantly cool breeze could be felt passing between this and the shattered
shop window.  A smaller window and a pair of Dutch doors gave onto a raised
terrace whose stone flags were in poor order.  However this looked out over
an immaculate walled garden. "This must be where M. de Blezon grows his
vegetables, Mala, isn't it beautiful?" said Stephen.  Indeed it was: there
were neat rows of greens and ancient olive trees and some lavender
bushes. There was also a good deal of rubbish lying about, including an
enormous old bathtub filled with manure and there was an old stone well in
the centre.  A rather grim privy stood at the end of the garden dangerously
close to some beehives.

"Oh Stephen, this is beautiful!" exclaimed Martin.  "Who would want flowers
when parsley and tomatoes look so decorative?  Look at that lemon tree and
the trunk on that olive!"

"I will let M. de Blezon keep this garden," said Stephen, making the first
of many decisions that day.

They tore themselves away from the garden, noting that a pergola made from
saplings and a grapevine would be an improvement to the terrace.  The main
room had a wooden sink and a pump, but there was no stove or fireplace.

Along one wall stood a timber staircase.  It had some loose risers and
treads, but it took the boys' weight.  It ran directly up to a landing. The
first room was the one with the balcony over the street and it had
obviously been a bedroom.  Behind it was a smaller room with no windows,
only a skylight.  The third room overlooked the rear garden.  When they
pushed the door open there was a fluttering of wings for it was open to the
sky in one corner and the ceiling had collapsed.  The floor was covered in
bird droppings.  It was a depressing sight and so they pulled the door to
again.

"How do we get to the cellar?" asked Martin as they gingerly descended.  A
door was found at the bottom of the steps from the terrace and it was
unlocked to reveal a large room nearly as big as the ground floor.  It was
dark and cool, but dry.  A boarded up window and door that was stuck fast
gave onto the side street as the land sloped.

"This must have been where they stored the wine," said Stephen.  However
Martin said that the racks built into the stone wall at one end did not
look like those for barrels and some pieces of timber and the presence of
sawdust seemed to indicate that it was the workshop of a carpenter or
joiner.  They both decided that this cool place would actually be an ideal
bedroom when the heat was at its fiercest.

By this time the waggoner had brought their cases and the big trunk, which
had been dumped into the main room.  Stephen looked at Martin with eyes
shining with excitement and said: "Right, first things first!  Get your
clothes off!"  Martin stripped and Stephen followed.  Stephen then lifted
Martin into a piggyback and set off running around the house whooping with
joy.  He did a lap of the garden and then went up the stairs, poking their
heads out onto the balcony for an instant and making a silly noise to the
people in the street, but they were gone before they could look up.  Two
more circuits of the main room were completed before Martin was set down by
the exhausted Stephen.  They were both bent with laughter and Stephen was
exclaiming how he couldn't believe this place was theirs. "Yours, Derby,"
said Martin.

"Oh very well.  Mine then."

When they dressed again they put on their fishermen's clothes and felt
better.  They unpacked some things from the trunk.  There were two folding
campaign beds, which they set up on the floor of the main room.  They tried
to lie together but it was impossible.  "A new bed is the first priority,"
said Stephen writing with a pencil on some paper.  There was also a small
spirit lamp, a saucepan, some tools, brushes and cleaning materials along
with some bedding.

Stephen ruled up the paper and was busy making complicated notes as they
talked.  This continued as they walked into the street and examined the
exterior and crossed the road to the boulangerie and purchased some rolls
to eat.  They returned and Martin sat on a cot while Stephen positioned
himself on the trunk.

"The bed is the first priority.  We'll go out this afternoon and buy one.
Next we will clean one room at a time.  I think I can board up the hole in
this room, but the stone will have to be repaired.  The plaster can wait.
Do we need to plaster?" Martin didn't know.

"What about the front window?" asked Martin, "It's pretty bad."

"It is," agreed Stephen.  "Why don't we have it removed and buy one or have
one made?  A smaller window would make it more like a house.  We could have
the sides filled-in with stone."

Martin thought that an excellent idea and it was noted as something to be
done in the `medium term'.  Stephen also thought that a bath and a lavatory
could be put under the stairs, which must be fixed soon.

The collapsed room was going to be the most expensive job, but could wait a
bit longer.  Then there was furniture and other matters that rapidly filled
the paper and were ordered as to their priority.

They crossed the street and asked the Patronne if she and her husband would
like the continued use of the garden.  She was overwhelmed and called to
her husband who came and shook their hands, promising them all the produce
they could use.  Stephen then asked Mme de Blezon where they might buy a
bed.  She was delighted with their enquiry and insisted that they come
upstairs to her bedroom.  The bed was hideous but it was the feather
mattress that she wanted them to inspect.  Her sister made these matelas de
plumes from goose down.  Indeed it was wonderfully soft and soon all three
of them were on the bed testing it with delight when the Patron came up the
stairs to see what the noise was all about.  Then and there they ordered
one and a price was agreed, with a fee silently deducted for the Patronne's
entrepreneurship.

The furniture shop they were directed to was full of hideous brass
bedsteads with ceramic cameos bearing painted cherubs.  There were also
elaborately carved ones suitable for the more expensive bordellos in Nice.
They left the shop depressed but were directed to a carpenter's shop not
far away.  It was the Proven?al version of something the Owens' father, the
chair bodger, would have felt at home in.  Here was plain furniture made of
local wood, unvarnished and save for some turning, undecorated.

They immediately found a bed, which could be delivered the following day
and they promised to order a second one in the fullness of time.  As they
were leaving, Stephen spotted some ladder-back chairs with rush seats.  The
price was modest and was even lower when Stephen rashly ordered ten. Two
could be delivered with the bed, but the rest would have to be made.

They returned to the house with a feeling of accomplishment and, following
the list Stephen had so carefully composed, set to work sweeping and
cleaning the main room, some brooms and buckets having been found in the
cellar and some soap borrowed from the Patronne.

By the evening, when it was still very hot, the boys were dirty and tired.
Stephen had one last job for them to do.  The old bathtub in the garden was
shoveled clean and scrubbed.  A plug was fashioned and it was filled from
the pump and augmented by some saucepans of boiling water from the spirit
stove.  Stephen stripped off and got in.

"What happens if the Patron comes to water his vegetables?" asked Martin in
alarm.  Stephen simply shrugged his shoulders and lowered his beefy form
into the water.  Martin knelt at the side of the bath and soaped his lover,
washing his hair and using the saucepan to poor water over it until it hung
down nearly to his lips.  It didn't take much attention to his hard cock
before he insisted that Martin get in too, which he did crying `Eureka' at
the displacement.  It was beautiful lying there in the hot evening's last
light and both were bathed in happiness.

That evening they went to the Bistro de Blezon for dinner.  The local fish
and stuffed mushrooms were excellent and they drank plenty of cheap wine.
They asked the Patron about the former owner of their shop.

"Etail-il un vendeur de vin?" asked Stephen.

"Non, Monsieur Etienne, il etail charpentier."

"Ah, he was a carpenter," said Stephen thinking of the timber racks in the
cellar.  The Patron looked uneasy.

"Il a fait cercueils, monsieur," he added in a grave voice and then crossed
himself.

"What was that all about?" said Martin when the Patron had gone.

"He said he made coffins," laughed Stephen.  "That's probably why they
couldn't sell the place.  Not superstitious?"

"No, not in the least," said Martin who smiled but crossed himself all the
same.

A little drunk and very happy they retired to their folding beds, adding
lamps to the list of purchases that must be made.  Martin desperately
wanted Stephen to make love to him, but the bed situation made it
impossible.

Stephen said he feared something would explode if he had to wait another
night and so the two had to be content to pleasure themselves in the dark,
with Stephen whispering inquiries about what hand Martin was now using, how
close he was getting and similar facts that he thought were important to
know.

The following day Stephen was up early, excited to begin the day's work.
He went out onto the terrace, his hard cock leading the way, but he quickly
retreated, unseen, when he noticed M. de Blezon drawing water from the
well.

The hot day held a lot more hard work.  Stephen began work on the patching
of the hole in the main room, using some of the timber from the cellar.  He
had brought a hammer but needed longer nails and so he and Martin set off
for the ironmonger's with Martin reflecting that he enjoyed more than
anything just being with Stephen doing even the most mundane of tasks.

They were still working when there was a noise in the street and they went
to the door to look.  A large cart was pulled up, blocking traffic and,
watched by an appreciative audience, the bed was unloaded followed by the
chairs.  It was with difficulty that it was hauled upstairs into the front
room, which they had forgotten to clean first, so the jobs downstairs were
halted while the floors and walls were swept.  When they had finished they
stepped out onto the balcony with its delicate wrought iron guard and waved
to Mme de Blezon who called out that the matelas de plumes would be here
before nightfall.  Stephen mentally worked out the position for some tubs
of geraniums on the balcony which would give him a measure of privacy from
the waist down, especially first thing of a morning, although at the same
time, he thought it a shame to deprive the population of the sight of a
decent, hard cock.

The boys then worked on the stairs, fixing them sufficiently for the time
being.  "We will need to get some help for the big jobs, Mala," confessed
Stephen as they sat in the bath.  A knocking and calling announced that Mme
de Blezon and her sister were at the front door with the mattress and
Martin leapt out of the bath and pulled some trousers on, Stephen being too
hard to receive the ladies, stayed in the soapy water.

They dined again at the bistro, eating the local sardines, at a table now
being recognizably 'theirs', and they reviewed the list.  They decided that
some of the following day would be devoted to bathing in the sea and
Stephen also made enquiries about where they might look for second-hand
building materials.  Mme de Blezon asked if they were also in need of a
builder.

"Nous avons besoin d'un constructeur et ma?on, Madame".

"Mon jeune neveu est un artisan, Monsieur ?tienne"

And so Martin and Stephen were given the particulars of the tradesman
nephew who was 21 years old and lived on the western side of the town.

Stephen was very anxious to try out the new bed and mattress-almost their
marital bed, he reflected.  "Would you fuck me, Mala?" he asked as he
undressed him.  Martin inhaled in his fragrant armpits and groin then
tenderly worked on is brown nipples before enjoying the clean, soapy tang
of the cleft between his buttocks, lined with the most beautiful, soft
black hair.  "Are you hard yet, Mala?  I need to see."  Martin allowed
himself to be inspected, which Stephen did carefully and thoroughly before
reaching up to kiss him.  With the aid of some oil, the congress was
affected to the enjoyment of both parties and the bed was pronounced a
success, although the new mattress was in danger of staining from Stephen's
sudden eruption of seed.

"Have you got the Chinese plug, Mala?  I want to keep your seed inside me,"
said Stephen.  But the instrument had been left behind in England.  "You
have me, Derby.  I will be beside you every night," said Martin

"I know.  I love you, Mala.  Would you put your cock back inside me until I
fall asleep?" he begged between passionate kisses.



The following morning they went out shopping for lamps and other things.
At a market stall they found bright pottery in barbaric stripes and
purchased a quantity thinking it would be hard to break and cheap to
replace.  At another stall were cheap mats made from rag.  These wee
admired and some were purchased for just a few francs.  The stallholder
said she would make larger ones to order and the boys said they would
return with measurements.

They made their way to the house of Mme de Blazon's nephew and asked for
him.  The woman, his mother, had obviously heard of the English lord and
his friend, the knight, and welcomed them inside with fulsome Proven?al
greetings, wiping her hands on her apron.  She called out, "H?lias," and it
was some passage of time before a young man descended into the room.  He
was not particularly tall but was very good looking with olive skin and
raven black hair swept straight back.  Strong white teeth were exposed when
he gave a lazy smile.  He was unshaven and was unhurriedly tucking is shirt
into his trousers as he strolled through the archway.  His mother said
something exasperatedly about him being in bed all day while she had to go
and work in the perfume factory that processed the wild lavender and
jasmine.  The fellow took small notice and merely scratched his balls and
smiled again at Martin and Stephen who were watching him.  The conversation
was difficult but he agreed to come with them to look at the house.  Martin
and Stephen exchanged looks.  The fellow seemed lazy and unreliable but was
so attractive that their judgment was sorely conflicted.

The heat of the day made H?lias's slow pace and indeed that of all
Proven?als seem appropriate and Martin and Stephen relaxed into it,
enjoying the sights of the old town.  H?lias took them to a builders' yard,
which was full of the most delightful objects.  Three or four windows, any
of which were suitable, were found and Stephen asked for a price.  When the
man replied, H?lias intervened and a lower price was substituted.  "That's
about two pounds" calculated Martin.  Stephen had wandered over to some
scrap iron.  There, at the back, was a balcony railing virtually identical
to the one off their bedroom.  "If we fix-up the back bedroom we could
build a balcony for that too.  All we'd need is some brackets," said
Stephen.  They determined to return to the yard very soon.

At the house H?lias was shown the main jobs that needed to be done and with
the aid of pencil sketches Stephen made it known what he wanted.  H?lias
thought that stone could be found locally and that the window could be
replaced, although the wide lintel would still speak of the alteration.
Martin said that that didn't seem to matter in the old town where the
buildings were all quaint and twisted, with curious additions and casual
construction techniques.  Several were only kept from collapse by massive
beams used as props.  H?lias agreed that the big hole in the main room was
capable of being repaired.

Could he build the walls for a salle de bain under the stairs?  H?lias said
he could and he had a friend who was a plombier.  Stephen used chalk to
sketch out where the walls and door were to go and he got the address of
M. Lucatz, the plombier, and promised to say that he was a friend of H?lias
lest he be charged double.

Upstairs, H?lias noted their solitary bed and adjusted his cock in his
trousers.  The small room he said should have shelves put into it and the
boys agreed.  The back room he said would be difficult to repair and he may
have to employ his two cousins if Stephen and Martin were not in residence.

Lastly H?lias was taken out onto the terrace.  Stephen was struggling with
his description of a pergola, and spoke of poteaux and chevrons and jeunes
arbres until he caught on.

"Pour une vigne?"

Stephen nodded.

H?lias agreed to start work tomorrow.  He would be here at 7:00, he
declared as he departed.

The boys quickly went down to the beach, putting their costumes on under
their clothes.

"I prefer the beach at Cap-Eden Roc," said Stephen, recalling the nude
swimming there.

"But you would deprive all of Antibes of seeing you in your costume,"
teased Martin.

"That is true," declared Stephen, thoughtfully, "and I do want to be a good
citizen.  You know, we should buy a couple of old bicycles; they'd be very
handy.  I'll add them to the list."

"What do you think of H?lias?" asked Martin.

"Do you mean as a builder or someone you'd like to have fun with?" asked
Stephen.

"Was I that obvious?" said Martin.  "He is very good looking, rather like
you Derbs- but not as good looking of course."

"Of course.  But he was watching you Mala.  He must like blond boys."

"Would you mind?"

"No, as long as I'm there too."

"We'll let him make the first move.  We may be wrong, after all the French
are different."







They had not long been home and were unpacking their purchases and placing
them on every available surface, for they still had no table, when there
was a knock at the door.  When it was opened it revealed a frightfully
English Englishwomen in a floral dress under a big hat.  She was armed with
a parasol.  With her was a clergyman.  The woman introduced herself as 'Mrs
Chadwick' and the man was the vicar of the English church in Nice.

"I like to think of myself as the British Resident here in Antibes, Lord
Martin," she said.  "My late husband was the consul in Nice and I loved it
here so much I couldn't bear to go back Home, could I Mr. Podberry?  I did
not get the chance to meet your late father, although I knew all about him
of course."  Of course thought Martin. "And now that you have come to live
here too it is my hope that you will become part of our little colony.  We
do need some younger people."

"Well, this is properly the house of my friend, Mr Knight," said Martin,
glad that the pair had called before Mr Knight took his bath in the garden,
"and we were only planning to stay here for short periods when we are not
at school."

"Oh Mr Knight, and you, Lord Martin: I imagined you were up at Oxford or
Cambridge!  Are you really still schoolboys?"  Martin confessed they still
were.

Mrs Chadwick then launched into a slanderous attack on the morals and
dismal potential as servants of the Proven?als until Mr Podberry saw that
the boys were wearying.  "Are you fond of cricket, Mr Knight?" he said.  "I
do miss it so and I've had no luck forming a team here on the Riviera,
although the climate would be ideal-like Australia in many respects."

Martin had to apologize for not being able to offer tea, for although they
now had cups (Mrs Chadwick gave a grimace at the colourful pottery) and a
spirit lamp, they had no tea.

"I have mine sent out from Fortnum's, Lord Martin.  I will send some over
tomorrow."

Martin then thought that the unexpected guests should be given a tour of
the house in lieu of other refreshment and he gave a nod to Stephen who was
talking about cricket to the Vicar and then asked if they would like to see
the house and hear about his plans.

There actually wasn't very much to see, of course.  Mrs Chadwick made her
way carefully up the stairs to emphasize that in her own world, stairs were
much grander and more stable affairs altogether.  Stephen showed her the
bedroom, which now had a rush-bottomed chair covered with clothes as well
as the almost new bed with its matelas des plumes.

"And where is your bed, Lord Martin?" asked Mrs Chadwick.

"Oh mine is this folding one in here, Mrs. Chadwick," he said opening the
door to the windowless room.  My proper one hasn't arrived from England
yet.  I'm having the state bed that Queen Anne slept in sent out from
Croome to Marseilles.  It will be a bit of a squeeze of course and the
pineapples might have to be sawn off, but I hope you will enjoy it as much
as I will."

This last remark caused Mrs Chadwick to blush and then Mr Podberry coughed
and said that they must be going.

"You will come to my house tomorrow evening for some bridge, I hope?  You
do both play bridge?" said Mrs Chadwick.

They confessed they did and now felt trapped, but being well bred they said
they would be delighted to pass an evening with her.

"Where is your house, Mrs. Chadwick?" asked Martin.

"Oh just tell the driver where you are going, they all know me here," she
said airily as they descended the stairs.  I bet they do and would run a
mile if they saw you coming.



The following day the boys made sure they were up early.  Stephen gingerly
peeked over the balcony to see the patron washing the footpath and shifting
the tables.

At 8 o'clock the boys were having their coffee at the bistro and there was
no sign of H?lias.  They commenced work on their own account, cleaning the
little room and going over the others again.  At 10:00 Stephen said he
would go back to the builders' yard to buy a window and the iron railing.

When he returned there was still no sign of H?lias and he was quite cross.
He began with Martin's help to relay the worst of the paving stones on the
terrace; using some sand from a pile the patron had shown him.  It looked
good when it was finished and they took turns in sitting in the rush bottom
chair imagining how delightful it would be when the pergola was built,
which looked now increasingly remote.

They fetched their good shirts from the laundry further up the street.
These looked as if they had gone three rounds with the Owens boys in the
ring.  After they had eaten dinner they dressed in the unwelcome
constriction of their travelling clothes and easily found their way, as
predicted, to Mrs. Chadwick's charming villa set in a very tidy English
garden with the exotic addition of some palm trees.  The maid was French
but the cucumber sandwiches and sherry all seemed redolent of Tunbridge
Wells rather than the C?te d'Azur.  The house was filled with good, solid
English furniture and the prevailing scent was that of furniture polish.
It was clear that Mrs Chadwick was a formidable housekeeper.  The company
was all paler versions of Mrs Chadwick, some male and some female.  The
terrible ways of the French was the main topic of conversation, but without
a doubt Lord Martin Poole, the brother of the Marquess of Branksome, was
the main attraction.

When Martin had lost sixpence and Stephen had won three shillings they
called it a night.  The boys decided to walk home in the warm night air,
admiring the stars and remarking with a shudder that they would have to be
careful or they would end up like Mrs. Chadwick and her waxworks.

When, the next morning, H?lias had again not appeared, Stephen was very
cross, not the least reason being that he had to unnecessarily cut short
the good morning fucking he was giving to his Mala when he saw that it was
7 o'clock.

The boys were just having their coffee when two carts arrived: one with a
load of creamy building stone and the other with planks of timber.  The
boys got up and took the men to the garden gate where they unloaded and
departed, not asking for payment.

There was still no H?lias so Stephen went off to the plombier who was found
to be working for the Mairie.  With the aid of an official who translated
the more difficult parts, Stephen's requirements were made known and
M. Lucatz said that he had experience in sewerage work and that he would
look at the job the following day.

Stephen decided to call around at H?lias's house, as it was not far.  When
he got there the door was open.  He called and there was no answer.  He
stepped a little further into the room and called again.  A door opened and
H?lias walked out, doing up his trousers.  He had a grin on his face.

"Pourquoi n'es-tu pas venu?" said Stephen crossly.

H?lias just grinned as he picked up his shirt from the floor and shrugged
his shoulders.  He turned his head and Stephen followed his eye.  In the
room was a young man sitting up in a rumpled bed smoking a cigarette.
H?lias followed Stephen back on his bicycle, balancing his bag of tools.
He inspected the stone and the timber and retired for a cigarette and a cup
of coffee with his aunt.  A short time later he commenced work, with
Stephen and Martin mixing the mortar and, by dusk, they stood there
admiring the new section of wall in the main room.  It was a beautiful job.

In the morning H?lias arrived at half-past seven and after several
cigarettes and two cups of coffee, commenced work on the rickety stairs.
By noon there was a great improvement, with Martin and Stephen left
discussing how to stain the new sections of timber to harmonize with the
old.

In the still heat of noon they sat under an ancient, twisted olive with
H?lias and shared his lunch of bread, cured horsemeat and a bottle of rough
wine.  They passed the bottle between them, Helias spurning the use of
their new tumblers.

The lunch break was a long one, with all three dozing off in the shade for
a time.  Then H?lias indicated that he was going to patch some plaster in
the main room; some walls were to be repaired whilst others were to have
the remaining plaster removed to show the irregular old stone.  It was hot
work mixing the mortar outside and bringing it in.  H?lias made great
sweeps with his trowel with his strong right arm and soon the wall became
miraculously smooth and level.

"Ah, il fait chaud," said Stephen, wiping his brow with his shirt.

"C'est une journ?e chaude," replied H?lias, a cigarette dangling from the
corner of his mouth as he dragged the trowel across his work for the
finishing flourishes.  He put the trowel aside and removed his shirt and
continued to work.  Martin and Stephen looked at him.  He had a magnificent
chest and pair of shoulders.  He was darkly tanned from his work in the
outdoors and a lighter band of skin could be seen where his loose trousers
had slipped down from his waist to his hips.  His chest was covered in
short wiry black hair and he smelt of garlic, Gauloises and sweat.

Stephen too took his shirt off, and although his flesh was pale and less
hirsute, his shoulders and muscles were bigger than H?lias' and he was a
good deal taller too.  H?lias looked at him with a quizzical eyebrow, then
looked at Martin who felt that he too must join them so he put down the
wheelbarrow and pulled his shirt over his head.  H?lias stopped working and
stared at him, Martin going pink at the attention.  H?lias looked back at
Stephen and then took a step towards Martin.  He ran his rough hand over
Martin's chest and turned him around and explored the white flesh of his
back.

"Il est tr?s beau...comme de la soie blanche" he breathed in an admiring
fashion.

Stephen went and stood behind Martin, putting his arms around him but
letting H?lias continue to feel.  Martin undid his own trousers and they
fell to the floor to reveal his nakedness.  H?lias' eyes were wide for he
had probably never seen a circumcised cock before, let alone on a member of
the English aristocracy.  Stephen lifted it up so H?lias could admire it
all the better.

"Tr?s beau!  Il suinte" he said quietly and indeed Martin was leaking.

Martin could feel Stephen's cock hardening so he stepped aside and let
H?lias admire his Derby.  Stephen stood with his legs apart and H?lias ran
his hands over his body, muttering Gallic expressions they couldn't
comprehend.  Suddenly H?lias drove his hand into Stephen's groin and
clutched at his privates.  Stephen stood there and didn't flinch. H?lias
did it again and still Stephen took it.

"C'est un homme fort et courgeux," he said admiringly to Martin.  Martin
now stood behind Stephen and undid his belt and let his trousers drop to
the floor.  Stephen's hard cock swung free.

"Il est formidable!" he said hefting it.  He turned to Martin and said:

"Non, vous ?tes courageux" and Martin did wonder how he accommodated
Stephen in his passion.

The boys now stood watching while H?lias took his trousers off.  There was
a large bulge in his long underwear and he motioned to Martin to take them
off.  When he went to grab them H?lias suddenly said: "Utilisez vos dents."
And so Martin pulled at the material with his teeth and managed to slide
the garments down, despite the impediment of a half-hard French cock.
H?lias was deliciously hairy with a big cock, lined with hawser-like blue
veins.  Martin was relieved that it wasn't as big as Stephen's, for
Stephen's sake.  The nut-brown ball sack hung low and H?lias demonstrated
how far he could pull it between his legs, an evident party trick.

Stephen and Martin both rubbed their hands over the hairy young Proven?ale
and he enjoyed it when Martin's soft lips caressed his nipples.  With an
eye on Stephen, H?lias pulled those lips in for a long kiss while he ran
his rough hands over the succulent cheeks of Martin's plump but firm
buttocks.  With another look at Stephen he made his desire known but
Stephen removed the hands and said "Non, il est ? moi" and H?lias looked
suitably crestfallen.

"Quel dommage!" he sighed.

Martin did make it clear that he wanted to suck H?lias' cock which he did
while he bent over, presenting his arse to Stephen to fuck.  With some
preparation Stephen was able to enter Martin slowly and pleasurably, but
H?lias pulled the gasping boy off his cock lest he clamp down when in pain.
The other reason was so he could better see Stephen's entry.

When all was settled, Stephen began to pound Martin at one end while
H?lias, at the other end, thought that the stimulation might be improving
Martin's sucking of his cock that, along with his balls, was now lathered
in spit.

When H?lias thought he was getting too excited he urgently begged Martin to
stop.  In return he relished the unfamiliar as he sucked the blond
uncircumcised cock.  In doing this he was placed in an intimate position
where he could see, between Martin's legs, the muscular thighs and swinging
balls of his lover giving him a good fucking.

H?lias desired Martin's full mouth around his veiny cock once more and
stood.  Stephen increased his pace, thrusting with his hips.  He hung on to
his Mala's head as H?lias was now thrusting into Martin's greedy mouth.

The two more active participants then locked eyes across the bent form of
Martin.  Stephen held out his arms and H?lias did the same, grasping hands.
Thus with the extra leverage the two joined forces and spilled into Martin
at the same time, Martin clasping H?lias's muscular buttocks lest he pull
out and spoil his treat.

Martin arose with a very sore back but a very happy expression while the
two older boys looked triumphant and congratulated each other.  Stephen now
sat on the trunk (the only piece of furniture in the room) with his legs
apart and his Mala sat between them.  Stephen, with one arm around his
chest, used the other to offer up Martin's privates up to H?lias to
pleasure.  Both boys watched the carpenter at work and Stephen further
encouraged Martin's delirium by biting his ear and pinching his
nipples. "Spill in his mouth Mala and make sure he swallows it all," said
Stephen when he sensed he was close.  At the critical moment Martin pulled
at Helias's long black hair and held him fast while Stephen reached forward
and held his shoulders like a vice.  Martin bucked and cried out and
flooded Helias' mouth until he was coughing and spluttering.  He arose and
knew what he had to do; he kissed Stephen and shared Martin's over abundant
load with his lover.

The boys had dressed and, as it was getting late, and no further work would
be done, besides, H?lias said he had a boy waiting at home.  H?lias was
packing up his tools when there was a knock at the door.  Making sure that
all garments were in order Stephen opened his front door.  It was Mrs
Chadwick and she was admitted.  "Good afternoon, Lord Martin.  Good
afternoon H?lias."

"Bonjour, Madame," he replied, casting his eyes down.

"You know our builder then, Mrs. Chadwick?"

"Oh yes.  He has done work for me.  Let me tell you, Mr Knight, Lord
Martin, that you have to be on to him all the time and watch him like a
hawk.  Isn't that right H?lias?"

Helias hadn't understood what she had said but sensed enough to smile
guiltily.

"His work, when he does it, I cannot fault.  You do have to watch for
missing bottles of wine and things like that, but that's the way with these
people.  Also he has about a thousand cousins that I cannot vouch for.  If
you have any problems, come to me or to his aunt across there," she said,
indicating the Patronne's bistro.  He's scared of her.  And now here is the
tea I promised and let me look at the progress you've made."  She walked
about the room and noted the work as Martin felt that he must boil some
water and make some tea for their guest.

H?lias hastily departed, vowing to be back at seven.  Mrs Chadwick said
that remained to be seen.  Martin said: "Oh I think he'll be back bright
and early, don't you Stephen?"  Stephen agreed that there were inducements.

Mrs Chadwick got down to business.  "Lord Martin, I am having a charity
bazaar on Saturday.  I do it every year.  I open my garden for a few francs
and there are stalls, amusements and the usual sorts of things.  The money
goes to the orphan asylum run by the Little Sisters.  They are very hard up
and do tremendous good work.  Are you experienced in opening fetes and
awarding prizes?  We would be very pleased if you could spend a few hours
with us and, besides, no tradesmen will be working-they will use the
occasion as an excuse to have two days off.  That's how it is here."

Martin confessed that he was experienced and told her something of Croome,
and this Mrs Chadwick took as a sign of assent.  "Good.  I am glad we can
rely on you.  Here is a pot of my orange-and-lime marmalade.  I'm entering
it in the show, of course."  She went to place the bribe somewhere but
found no rest.  "Are you in need of a table, Mr Knight?"  Stephen said he
was looking for a large wooden table, possibly of local design.

"I know what you mean.  It's not my taste of course, but I am of an older
generation.  I believe that in the convent of the Little Sisters they have
a large scrubbed table that they no longer need as there are only four
sisters now and I'm quite sure they would be pleased to sell it.  Might I
suggest about 200 francs, that's four pounds in our money.  Offer three;
they'll respect you for bargaining.  Are you interested?"

The boys were and she went on to describe what she could recall.
"Unfortunately it is so large that I don't think it will fit through the
door- either door. Perhaps it can be pulled apart.  It's very heavy too."

"Martin, do you think we could knock out the shop window and bring the
table in that way and then fit the new one?  We could start on that
tomorrow, as we have the window, even though I was putting it off."

Martin thought they could, seeing how quickly the work progressed today and
that canvas could make a temporary cover if there were still gaps at
nightfall.

"Then tomorrow would you both like come with me to the Convent?  Men are
allowed in.  I will be going at 10 o'clock."

The boys agreed and the water was now boiling for the tea.  Milk and sugar
were fetched from the bistro and Stephen's new house was christened in the
most English of fashions.



*****



The boys lay in the billowy feather bed replete and content from a meal of
local fish and fat poussins stuffed with walnuts, all of which, had been
washed down with a carafe of dry white wine.

"I love it here Derby," said Martin, as he was running his fingers through
Stephen's pubic hair, "I mean here in France, although I love you down here
even more.  The house is going to be smashing when it's finished, isn't
it?"

"Yes, I think it will be.  We got a lot done today.  You don't mind that it
is a bit rough and ready and that there is nothing in it that is new or
expensive?  There are no servants, Mala, and we have to do everything
ourselves, it's not what you're used to."

"Oh no Derbs, that's why it's so perfect.  I don't need those other sorts
of things as long as you are here with me.  I'll sweep and mix cement and
clean the lavatory- when we get one- if it will make you as happy as it
makes me."

"You're a good boy, Mala," said Stephen, kissing him on the nose and
positioning his hand on his cock. "Which reminds me the plumber is coming
tomorrow and we've got to see about that table.  You know, I thought that
Mrs Chadwick was an old bitch, but I really think she's a softy underneath.
What do you think?"

"I think you may be right.  She certainly rules things around here.  Did
you see how scared H?lias was of her?  I hope I don't muck up her garden
fete.  Damn! I will have to put on my suit and good shirt again; I never
expected I would need good clothes so often and I was looking forward to
just wearing old things with you all day and not even wearing them at all
when we went swimming and were in bed together.  Speaking of bed, what
about H?lias, you don't mind about him do you?"

"No, Mala, of course not.  He has got a fine body, hasn't he?  You like
it?"

"Mmm. Yes I do, Derbs."

"You know, I don't really mind if he fucks you, that is if you'd like him
to, as long as I was there to see that he didn't hurt you.  Would you like
that?"

"I think I would actually.  It's like an itch that needs scratching and it
would be so exciting if you were watching too, Derbs."

"Well, I think it will happen, don't you?" said Stephen smiling.  Martin
blushed.  "But he really doesn't have a cock as big as mine, does he?"

 "Oh far from it, Derbs!  It's not as big or as delicious.  His chest and
arms and legs are not as big as your chest and arms.  His shoulders are
quite narrow compared to your beautiful shoulders and his face is quite
ugly, now I come to think of it.  In fact I don't know why I'd even like
him to fuck me."

"Yes, you're absolutely correct," said Stephen grinning from under his
loose curls that had fallen over his left eye.  He suddenly rolled on top
of Martin, forcing the breath from his lungs, as he kissed him and drove
his hard cock between his smooth thighs.

To be continued?

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.