Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2016 21:48:40 +0000
From: Henry Hilliard <h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 2 Chapter 29  (Revised)

From Henry Hilliard and Pete Bruno h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com This work fully
protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a),
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Noblesse Oblige
by Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book Two
An Indian Summer
Chapter 29
For Those in Peril

"And how in the bleeding hell are we going to do that?" asked Carlo.

"Yes, you can't hegxactly 'ide an 'orse," added Higgins, "let alone a
groom."

They were sitting in the butler's room built into the half level below the
stairs at Branksome House.  It was a neat little room with white-painted
woodwork and a tiny high window that gave onto the `area' below street
level so it was possible to identify visitors who approached the kitchen
door down the steps or the front door from the east.  A few steps up took
the butler to the front door and a few down led to the kitchen and the
servants' hall.  The electric bell indicator and a speaking tube were new
conveniences from the minds of the architect, Lutyens, and Higgins's
master, Uncle Alfred.

"Look," said Glass, taking off his trousers, "the horse will be hidden in
the stable across the Mews.  Young O'Brien will be lodged in the room
above--our old room, Carlo.  Mr Stephen will be at the University during
the day and so O'Brien can come across for his meals then or we can take
them across to him.  He's hardly likely to come down into the kitchen."

"Yes he is," disagreed Carlo, "he often drops down for a chat if he knows
we're not busy, lovely boy that he is."  Carlo removed his boots and shirt.

"Well, we'll just have to be busy and send him away," countered Glass who
was now naked.

"What about the 'ay," said Higgins, "'ow is we goin' to 'ide the 'ay being
delivered and the hoats too, that the bleedin' 'orse will be eatin'.  And
then there's wot comes out t'other hend."  Higgins lowered his trousers.

"We'll disguise all those things," said Glass loftily, not really knowing
how.  "It is only until Christmas anyway."

Glass dropped to his knees and took Carlo's Italian cock into his mouth and
began to pleasure him while Higgins looked on and stroked his own member.

The horse and its groom were a Christmas surprise for Stephen.  Stephen had
been riding hired hacks in the park for his morning exercise and Martin
thought it would be nice if he had his own mount.  O'Brien had selected a
sweet tempered mare for the purpose while buying horse flesh in Ireland and
had returned with his young cousin, Sean, who was to be the groom at the
London house.  Martin would eventually send up one of his own horses so he
could join Stephen in this pleasant form of exercise, feeling sure they
would both cut very elegant figures in Rotten Row.  The stables at
Branksome House, idle since 1899, would now be back in use even though
London these days was full of motors and this thought pleased Martin
immensely.

Martin was excited when school broke-up for the Christmas holidays.
Despite William's death he had not fallen behind in his work and he had a
bag full of books and essays to read.  The Plunger said goodbye at
Winchester and changed trains.  He would come to Croome for the New Year's
hunt and travel to Antibes with them.

Martin thought he would start as he intended to go on and so took out one
of his English texts and tried to read it in the carriage.  A tall, bearded
man got in.  He was evidently cold because he was wrapped up in an overcoat
and a muffler and he put the window up.  He then took out a piece of
newspaper from his pocket and unwrapped a piece of stinking fried haddock
and commenced to eat it, filling the compartment with a nauseous odour.
Martin glared at him, but the man behind his thick glasses, seemed
oblivious.  The wretch then produced a pipe and filled it with shag and lit
it, polluting the air in the compartment with acrid fumes.  Martin lowered
the window but the man raised it again, indicating by flapping his arms
that it was too cold.  Martin tried to concentrate on his work.  Out of the
corner of his eye he saw the man remove a pinching boot and he wiggled his
smelly toes.  Then there was a worse smell.  The man was farting.  This was
all too much.

"I say, this is a non-smoking compartment.  Would you please put your pipe
out?"

The man shook his head and actually blew smoke into Martin's face.

"Why you rude swine!  Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, I do, you're Lord Branksome and you can suck my cock," said the
passenger.

Martin's face lit up.  "Derby, you swine.  It's you!"  He leapt across and
pulled at the beard, which came away in his hands and he threw off the hat
and scarf.  There, revealed, was his Stephen, grinning.  "Oh Derby, I love
you so much, I think I'll burst."  He threw himself on him and kissed him,
getting some wisps of beard and spirit gum on his own face.



 *****



Christmas that year was kept up in fine tradition, but it was inevitable
that this one was not as joyous as more recent ones when William had been
well enough to participate and so the toast to `absent friends' took on a
particular poignancy, however they made an effort for Thayer and Fortune
who were their guests and had spent many Christmases alone.

Following his mother's German custom, gifts were exchanged on Christmas
Eve. Stephen handed a small box to Martin; inside was a pair of goggles.
"The rest of your present is outside, Mala."  They went to the window.  In
the moonlight, with flakes of snow drifting down from the black sky stood
the most beautiful thing Martin had ever seen.  It was sleek and scarlet,
save for the long bonnet, which was silver.  The immaculate red paintwork
caught the lamplight from the windows: it was a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.

Martin, not heading the weather, rushed out to where Jackman was standing
by it.

"I didn't hear you drive up to the window, Jackman."

"She's very quiet.  No vibration at all.  She's splendid isn't she your
lordship?  This is the 1914 model: electric lamps, drum brakes, 50
horsepower.  The touring body is by Barker.  Six cylinders in two
blocks..."

"How fast will it go?" asked Martin, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Perhaps as fast as 80, your lordship, but only on a special racing track."

"Oh Derby, she's beautiful!"  He hugged Stephen.  "I hope it wasn't too
expensive?" said Martin disingenuously.

"Oh no Mala, it was a snip," lied Stephen, thinking that the chassis alone
cost nearly a thousand pounds.  You will be careful, won't you?"

"Oh yes, Derby.  Jackman will come with me at first, won't you Jackman?"

Jackman blanched and said, "I will drive if your lordship prefers."  His
lordship did not prefer.

The snow increased and Martin was at last persuaded to come inside as the
car had to be put away because the top was down.  "I've a present for you
too, Derbs," said Martin handing over a beautifully wrapped box; inside was
a leather riding crop.

"Why it's the most beautiful leather..." began Stephen.

"No, silly, there's something to go under it.  She's a horse and her name
is Aine--after the Irish goddess of love--and she's up in London.  You can
ride her in the Park.  I've engaged you a groom called Sean O'Brien--a
relative of our O'Brien---to look after her."

"Oh Mala, thank you; that will be wonderful.  I love the Park at dawn, but
some of the horses are pretty poor.  I'm sure I will fall in love with
her."

"More likely she'll fall in love with you, Derbs; I know you and fillies."



*****

On the second of January the party was to return to London.  The Plunger's
trunk that contained his immaculate riding clothes, which had been such a
success at the hunt, was to be dispatched with Gertie, his manservant, back
to Dorking.  It was with malicious pleasure that Gertie packed a relatively
simple suitcase of garments for his master to wear in France.  "She won't
have any evening clothes if the President of France comes to dine and
she'll have to wash out her own smalls," he said with glee. "Do you think
this colour suits me, Higgins?"  Higgins had never met Gertie before and
didn't quite know what to make of him.

"You mean your 'air dye, Gertie?  Is it 'enna hain't it?  Hit's very...very
strikin', I'm sure."

"Well done, Higgins.  It is henna.  Why didn't you dance with me at the
servants' ball."

"Coz you's hain't a lady, Gertie."

"Oh but I can be Higgins, I can be.  Here, help me close this case.  Sit on
it.  Don't worry about that; that's just her camera."



The luggage, including The Plunger's meager suitcase, hatbox and painting
things, were sent up with Higgins on the train.  In the new scarlet Rolls
Royce were placed Jackman, Stephen, The Plunger and Uncle Alfred.  Martin
was at the wheel.

Martin set the throttle on the steering wheel and threw over the crank.  It
started instantly and the vehicle on its leaf springs barely vibrated.
Martin leant over the side and released the brake and they departed in a
hail of small gravel.  In an instant they were down the drive where the
elms were avoided and the stone bridge in the village was traversed
unmolested.  The roads were not good and Jackman, with Stephen's backing,
was quite firm with his lordship telling him he wasn't to go over twenty
and that he should pass stationary objects at a slower speed and on the
right side for preference.

For his part, Martin did try to avoid people, horses, obstructions and pot
holes and by the time they had reached Ringwood, the initial rush of blood
had subsided somewhat and they could even begin to enjoy the smooth hum of
the wonderful car.  An hour later they were through Winchester on the road
to Aldershot.  At Farnham they stopped to ask directions to Guildford over
the Hogs Back and put the top up because it had come on to drizzle.

When the road became wet and muddy, Jackman forcefully told Martin to slow
down, which he did, and they reached Guildford safely where they decided to
break for luncheon, a picnic basket being produced from a locker on the
running board for the purpose.

The Plunger was now on home turf and was invaluable in giving directions,
wishing with all his heart that his parents would buy him such a
magnificent vehicle and painting pictures in his mind's eye of the colour
it would be, the fittings he would have custom-made and the driving costume
he would have tailored.

It was somewhere near Kingston when, to everyone's relief, Martin suggested
Jackman might like a turn at the wheel as he was unfamiliar with London
driving.  The chauffeur negotiated the thickening snarl of buses, vans,
trams and other motors. The suburbs rolled by, the Thames was crossed and
finally the Rolls Royce pulled to a smooth halt in front of Branksome House
in Piccadilly.  A flute on the horn brought forth Higgins--who had been
back for several hours--and Glass the butler.

To their joy Donald and Christopher were already there and they left the
fireside to goggle at Martin's splendid vehicle.  "I don't see why I
shouldn't drive us all the way to Antibes--I mean after we cross the
Channel by boat of course."

"No, Martin, the roads in France are terrible and you wouldn't want to
damage the car would you?" said Stephen persuasively.

The next port of call was the stable in the Mews.  Aine was a very pretty
chestnut mare, just four years old and about 15 hands high.  In many
respects she was as beautiful as Martin's new mechanical beast.

Stephen took to her at once and the horse nuzzled into Stephen's hand,
perhaps looking for sugar, just as Martin liked to nuzzle into Stephen in
bed--with or without a sweet inducement.

"Oive been taking her to Hoide Park every morning, Mr Knight-Poole, for her
exercise and to get her used to the London traffic.  It can get very busy
at Hoide Park Corner after 7 o'clock.  She's very sweet tempered.  I knew
her back home before you bought her."  Sean O'Brien was a young lad of
about 14.  He was slightly built--like a jockey--but taller; he wasn't the
big fellow that his cousin was.

"And how are you settling in, O'Brien?" asked Martin.

"Very well, your lordship.  London takes a bit of getting used to.  My room
is nice. I've never had steam heat before---I won't want to get out of
bed--but there's no danger of fire in the stable which always worried me."

"Do you think you could handle another horse?  I might send up one of
mine."

"Of course, sir, I had charge of a stable of thirty most of the time back
home and I'm used to moving them on the train."



Tea was served in the drawing room by a good fire.  M. Lefaux, the chef,
had made excellent pastries that the hungry boys devoured before going off
for their baths to try to remove the dust and grit from the road.  The new
bathrooms were a splendid success, especially when combined with the modern
heating, which Uncle Alfred liked turned up quite high.  Fires still burned
in the hearths in the principle rooms, but it was no longer necessary to
sit on top of them in order only to roast one side of one's body while the
other side, like the dark side of the moon, remained frozen.

Stephen was so excited that he went into the bathroom that Donald and The
Plunger shared between their respective rooms and tested the radiators with
his hands and made sure that they had warm, dry towels.  Not content with
that, he filled the bathtub and added a few drops of the lemon verbena
salts that Chilvers like to use.  He then went into the adjoining rooms and
insisted that the boys undress and he put them in the bath together, The
Plunger's long pink, white and red form contrasting with Donald's shorter,
brunette one.  Stephen knelt at the side of the bath and soaped them and
washed their hair. "Do you like that, Donald?  Am I washing it all right,
Plunger?" enquired Stephen seriously.  Both boys agreed that he was doing
an excellent job. "But why aren't you hard?  I'm always hard in my bath."
The boys tried a little harder and presently were a little harder, which
pleased Stephen who was merely trying to be a good host.

They dined with Uncle Alfred at the round table in the new dining
room. Martin delighted in pressing the electric button with his foot when
it was time for Glass to bring in their coffee.  Uncle Alfred talked about
what a magnificent stable of horses his friend the Maharaja of Rajpipla had
and then turned to the extravagant number of Rolls Royce motorcars that had
been shipped out to his state.  "Why don't you invite him down to Croome
Uncle Alfred?  I'd love to meet him.  He could come on the weekend when the
Prince of Wales is coming."  Uncle Alfred replied that he would consider it
and Martin extended the invitation to the others and then went on to talk
about the school and the new omnibus service that would operate.  He hoped
to drive the 'bus himself sometimes.

"I'd like to build and equip a proper gymnasium in the village, Mala," said
Stephen. "The Woman's Institute Hall is increasingly being used to show
moving pictures.  I know exactly how I want it to be.  Could it be built
near the school?"

Martin thought that was a wonderful idea.  His contribution was to say that
he wanted to extend the infirmary in Pendleton and to provide some small
cottages for distressed old people.  "Could you help me design them Uncle
Alfred?" he asked.

Lastly Donald spoke of how wonderful Cambridge was, Martin paying
particular attention.  "I have taken up rowing--I'm the cox and I'm very
good at motivating the crew," he explained.  Martin thought that rowing
would be just the sport for him and that it would go well with Philosophy.

Despite The Plunger's protests at not having evening clothes, they went out
to a music hall where the chief attraction was Miss Daisy Taylor who sang a
naughty song about bagpipes called You Can't Make Music with That and
another about her `Popsy Wopsy'.

The boys were a bit drunk when they returned to Branksome house in the
snow, although The Plunger was warm in his expensive new overcoat with its
astrakhan collar.  Stephen implored them all to sleep with him but this
delightful idea was found to be impractical and so he happily settled for
his Mala alone where he wasn't too drunk to fuck him near insensible until
the wee hours.



Carlo found Martin very sleepy but very happy in the morning.  It required
some effort to get him cleaned up in time for breakfast and the early
train.  Mr Stephen he found bright and cheerful as usual.  He had already
been out for a ride at first light, despite the weather.  He returned Aine
to O'Brien and was full of praise for how tractable she was for Stephen
admitted he did not feel a skilful enough horseman to break in a really
difficult mount.  He helped dry her and put on her stall blanket and fed
her some small pieces of apple.  Aine looked for more, but had to be
content with a stroke from Stephen, who could hardly wait to ride her again
when he returned from France.

The Rolls Royce took them to Victoria Station.  Several people stopped to
stare at the magnificent red chariot as it slid under the veranda.  Jackman
was to return to Croome and Martin cautioned him to drive carefully.

Soon they were on their way and Christopher entertained them with stories
about his lodgings in Leeds.  "When I'm in my bath I can hear giggling
outside the door.  I'm sure its Myrtle looking through the keyhole--she's
the youngest one--too young for me; I prefer an older more experienced
woman.  Don't you agree Stephen?"  Despite Stephen preferring the younger
and more male Martin, Stephen made noises appropriate to a fellow man of
the world.  "Besides she now wears spectacles."

"Well, what do you do Tennant?  Do you cover the lock?" asked Donald.

"Oh no, I give her a bit of a show.  Besides it would be a pity after her
mother spent all that money on the spectacles."

"And the other sisters?" enquired Martin.

"And the mother," added Christopher.  "They are really nice but they do
fuss a lot and are always making excuses to come into my room when I'm not
quite dressed and such.  But I'm not really interested in them."

"There's another?" asked Stephen.

"Yes, she works at the picture palace--she's assistant manageress
really--with special duties in relation to sweets and such.  Well, we often
talk and I have been out walking with her twice."

"Have you fucked her?" said The Plunger with some asperity, as he did not
like this sort of talk.

"No, not exactly, but I have held her hand and kissed her and she has let
her hand slip down here."

"And a very nice cock it is too Chris.  Make sure she gets to share it,"
said Stephen. "Now who's coming out in La Joue Rose this year?"

The excitement of the trip south into warmer climes and the anticipation of
a splendid holiday in the luxurious simplicity of Stephen's little house in
Antibes were as keen as ever.



"Last August you wondered if we'd ever go back, Mala and here we all are,
the same fine fellows," said Stephen as they squeezed together in the lower
berth.

"Yes its funny, isn't it Derbs?  I recall saying it but I don't know why I
said it.  You know, I'm so happy, yet I'm sad for poor William.  It would
have been cruel to wish that he was still alive as he was, wouldn't it,
Derbs?"

"I think so, Mala.  There are some things worse than death.  Cruelty is
one.  Perhaps it is the only genuine sin.  It's a truism I know, but it is
a blessing that William went.  I haven't liked to say it before because
of--you know--the money, but I mean it, and I say it only to you.  One of
the most wonderful things about your brother is that he was always happy
for us.  He lived through us.  If we waste our lives or allow ourselves to
be unhappy--especially when there's no good cause--it will be wasting what
William found was the greatest treasure of all.  It will dishonour him,
don't you think?"

"You put that very well, Derby.  He really did come to love you and he
seemed at ease with the idea of you looking after me--I don't want to start
that husband and wife thing all over again--but it's partly true isn't it?"

Stephen didn't reply, but simply kissed Martin on his soft lips and gave a
lick to his throat with its bobbing Adam's apple, which he found
particularly attractive at that instant.

In the next compartment Donald and The Plunger were saying little, for
Donald was at present between The Plunger's muscular thighs--well developed
from athletics and tennis--and sucking on his generous cock with skills, if
not developed, then at least honed from rowing on the River Cam between
Bait's Bite and Jesus Locks.

Further along, Christopher Tennant occupied a compartment
alone. Nevertheless he was pleasuring himself using some of the techniques
taught by Stephen but whose ultimate origins remained obscure.  He was
taking himself to the edge of consummation but holding back by an act of
will.  Although mindful of Stephen, his most vivid thoughts at this moment
were for an attractive young married woman who had conversed with him in
English at dinner and had laid a gloved hand on his sleeve while smiling in
a fashion most entre nous and his fantasies extended to her coming to his
door at this hour to aid him in his pleasures.

They left the train at Cannes and a hired carriage took them and their
luggage around the coast, now familiar, to the old stone town of Antibes,
which stood in sharp relief against that magnificent backdrop of the Alps.
The weather was mild but far from warm, however the skies were lighter than
the dark wintery ones of home.  "We will have to keep the kitchen stove
alight if we don't want to freeze," observed Stephen.

They managed to get into the little house before Mme de Blezon buttonholed
them. The boys set to work, under Stephen's supervision, sweeping the
floors and clearing cobwebs.  Martin's task, despite his elevation to the
peerage, was to scrub the lavatory, paying particular attention to the art
nouveau majolica decoration.  This labour was performed under the strict
eye of Stephen who brutally thwacked Martin's bare, tempting and vulnerable
buttocks with a rolled up copy of Le Figaro as he bent over the convenience
in order to reach some ceramic dragonflies.

When the work was finished to the not very exacting standards of a group of
boys, they crossed the road to pay their respects to the de Blezons, the
owners of the bistro opposite whose gay tables that usually filled the road
were now packed away for the winter.  The pair was delighted to see their
English friends and Mme de Blezon, who had heard the news from Mrs
Chadwick, hugged and kissed Martin and pinched his rosy cheeks by way of
consoling him on the loss of his brother.  Stephen explained that he was
now a Marquess and Mme de Blezon crowned his blond head with a copper aspic
mould and dropped a curtsey as best as her ample form would allow in her
worn pantoufles.  She promised them a special dinner that night.

Martin and Stephen then cycled over to Mrs Chadwick's villa. She had just
returned from the Little Sisters and gave them all of the news.  "Mrs
Chadwick," began Martin, "since my brother's death, Stephen and I have come
into some money.  We would like to do some more to help this community
where we feel so at home."

"Well," said Mrs. Chadwick, as she poured the tea, "there are so many needs
and so many projects.  There are the orphans at the Little Sisters.  Their
school needs a new roof and the plumbing is not too good.  They would like
to be able to take another dozen children, but they will need a new
dormitory.  Of course the Church will fund much of it, but they are also
expected to raise half the money themselves--and there are so few nuns
nowadays.  I think Mr Podberry and I mentioned the Mission to Seamen.  I am
also working on a plan for planting trees in the wider streets.  I know
this isn't Cannes or Nice, but I think shady trees would improve life for
all classes who live here and I have already spoken to M. le Maire at the
Town Hall.  There's also the stray dogs; the French are shockingly cruel to
animals."

"They are all worthy schemes, Mrs. Chadwick--none of them particularly
large but all good," said Stephen.  We wonder if it might be best if we set
up a trust where the interest could be used or accumulated for such
projects that the trustees thought worthy."

"You and Mr Podberry could be trustees.  What do you think of that
proposal?" added Martin.

Mrs Chadwick was astounded, but thought it was a marvelous idea and pressed
them to eat another slice of her Madeira cake.

"I don't know if you know Sir Danvers Smith, Mrs. Chadwick," said Martin,
"he is our family's solicitor.  He could devise the trust.  It might be
better if you could come to England to discuss the details with him.

"To England your lordship!  But I haven't been home for...well I think it
was for Queen Victoria's funeral.  My husband was alive then.  I don't know
if I could..." she said, quite flustered.

"We would love you to stay with us in London and, of course, come down to
Croome," said Martin.  "Do you know Dorset, Mrs Chadwick?"

"Well, when I was a little girl I once visited a great aunt in Wimborne
Minster--but that was in 18...well, quite a long time ago."

"Why, that's not far from Croome at all!" exclaimed Martin.  "Do say you'll
consider it--especially in the warmer weather."

They left Mrs Chadwick a very happy and excited woman.  The prospect of a
steady and certain stream of money--even if it were not large--would be
just the thing to improve her Antibes (as she thought of it) and she felt a
swelling of pride at the thought of herself as a trustee--her late husband
would have been so proud.  Added to this joy, was that of being given a
reason to visit England again.  She recalled that she had long felt that
she could never face it again--that closed part of her life poisoned by the
death her infant children to typhoid.  With the passing of the years in
comfortable exile she had lost, first her husband, then gradually all her
family; she had felt to return would only emphasize her loneliness and the
failure of her life, as she saw it in the dead of night.  Now, to her
surprise, that feeling was no longer there.

Of no small consideration was the cost.  While she lived like a rich woman
in Provence, her income was limited and the cost of a trip home would be
one that she would not normally have contemplated.  Life in stately homes
as the guest of the Marquess of Branksome was almost too delicious to
contemplate--she must think of clothes.

How she blessed the boys.



Martin and Stephen talked over this idea quietly while Christopher and
Donald played cards and The Plunger read Art by Clive Bell.

"How much money should we put into the trust, Mala?" asked Stephen.

"Well, it would be good if there could be a few hundred pounds a year."

"That would mean eight to ten thousand pounds in capital perhaps.  Could we
afford this?"

"I thinks so; half each and we'd only have to do it once.  If it were
handled properly it would go on producing income forever, if the French
government doesn't interfere. We'll speak to Sir Danvers when we get back.
I really want to do this, Derbs. I know Mrs Chadwick can be a bit of a cow,
but I rather like her."

"So do I, Mala.  She's a good sort."

"Derby, do you want to sleep with Chris tonight?" asked Martin in a
whisper.

"I thought that I did, Mala, but I'm not so sure now.  Do you think he
wants to?"

"Perhaps you should let him make the first move, Derbs.  He may have
changed since you've been apart.  I'll certainly enjoy snuggling up with
you; otherwise I'll have to wear some special woolly combinations I've
packed."

"Don't tease me, Mala, I need to be able to see you and feel you.  I don't
like things in the way.  Perhaps we need to buy one of those oil heaters
for the cellar room.  I don't want Chris to be cold.  I'll make a new list
of things to buy.  Did you bring the Spong's?"



Stephen did not sleep with Christopher, but when he went down to him in the
morning he noticed how cold the cellar was.  "I'm sorry Chris I never
thought it would be this cool.  I'll get an oil stove put in today."
Christopher was too polite to complain and merely allowed Stephen to lift
the blankets to check that his cock was satisfactorily hard and that it was
as he had remembered it.

The next day was sunny and quite mild.  Stephen went in search of
Hélias and found him still in bed at his mother's house.  His mother
was pleased to see Stephen and said so as she departed for her job at the
perfume factory.  Hélias sat up in bed smoking and invited Stephen
to get under the covers with him.  Stephen declined.  Hélias put on
a sad expression and said that he had been `désolé et
affligé' since Stephen had gone but recovered when Stephen offered
him work.

"Where is Joni?"  Hélias shrugged and looked under the bedclothes
and shook his head.

Hélias assessed the problem of the stove and suggested that a small
wood-burning iron stove might heat the cellar better and that he could run
the flue out through a neat hole made in the new stonework, which seemed a
pity to Stephen but would be better than the alternative.  Hélias in
fact had just such a stove, which he could let Stephen have cheaply.  A
deal was struck and he returned in the afternoon with the stove on a cart
along with a beaming Joni.

Joni hugged and kissed them all.  They all assisted in maneuvering the iron
stove into the cellar room via the street door and then Joni and
Hélias set to work knocking out some stones for the flue.  The
patching up of the hole was a job for Hélias alone, save for his
drooping cigarette, and so Joni was allowed to go with the boys down to the
quay were La Joue Rose was sat up out of the water.  The little craft was
lowered into the bay and, as a test of Stephen's skill, he launched the
boat, set the sails and took them all out to sea without any direction from
Joni.

The boat sailed along the coast in the direction of Nice `before the wind'
and then turned back and sailing `with the wind'.  Stephen couldn't help
but compare the handling of the craft with his beautiful new mare, Aine.
He was filled with happiness.

When they returned Hélias had finished.  The scar was minimal and
the stove was lit with prunings of grape vine, which gave off a delicious
smell.  Soon the cellar room, so cool in the hot Riviera summer, was cozy
and warm on this January day.  Chairs were brought down and they all
celebrated with wine, Hélias and Joni lying on Christopher's bed.

That night after they had eaten, played cards and read, the boys went off
to their respective bedrooms.  Stephen went to say goodnight to Donald and
The Plunger but they had already started their lovemaking without him so he
closed the door.  Martin was in bed reading Descartes' Discourse on Method.
"It's hard," said Martin looking up at Stephen, "and I'm slow, but I'm up
to part three.  Are you going to sleep with Christopher tonight?"

"Oh so you want rid of me?" said Stephen laughing.

"You know that's not the truth.  Friendship is fleeting we agreed and the
fuck you miss is the fuck you never had."

"Did Descartes say that?"

"No I did.  Go and make him happy, Derby."

Stephen disappeared out the back door and down to the cellar. "It's warm in
here, Chris, he began.  Are you naked?"

"Of course, Stephen, I wouldn't dare be otherwise."

"May I get in with you?"

Christopher lifted the covers as Stephen shed his garments. "This is nice,"
he said, feeling Christopher's legs next to his own, "like old times."  He
put his arm behind Christopher's head as he had used to.

"I've missed you so much, Stephen, especially at this time of night.  I'd
give anything if you were only in the next room to me in Leeds and we could
talk like we used to."

"That's nice, Chris.  I miss you too.  Tell me about the girl in the
picture theatre again; what's her name?"  Christopher launched into a
detailed account of the budding romance and how she regularly slipped him
tickets for a seat for the circle for the same price as for a seat in the
gods as well as distributing a largesse of sweets which she also enjoyed
herself, sitting next to Christopher in the dark when business was light.

Such was Christopher's enthusiasm for this guardian goddess of the
celluloid sphere, that Stephen felt he would be unlikely to be interested
in any activities in the here and now.  However, as Christopher talked on
he was running his fingers absently through Stephen's soft pubic hair and
then, at the exciting point where she allowed Christopher to take liberties
under her skirt, Christopher was taking similar liberties with Stephen's
hardening cock under the blankets. "...and she let me put two fingers
inside her as we were sitting in the very back row.  She moaned terribly
loudly, Stephen, and I was frightened that the people in front would hear,
but the piano was playing particularly noisily so I did it twice more
during a chase scene.  That was just before Christmas.  Do you think she'll
have forgotten me when I go back?"

"I shouldn't think so Chris.  You're a good-looking fellow--and a medical
student. Were you gentle?"

"I'm not sure--I was a bit excited and I'd had some beer with the other
fellows first. She didn't complain about my bedside manner, though."

"Chris, you're getting me close doing that."

"Oh yes.  It is awfully nice doing it to you.  I love your big cock.  What
would you like me to do?"

"What would you like to do?"

"Could I suck you for a bit?"

"Why don't we suck each other?" said Stephen and he threw back the blankets
and positioned himself conveniently.

"Steady on Chris! Haven't you already had a big dinner?"

"Oh I'm sorry Stephen, I was getting carried away.  I don't want you to
spill yet."

"Why?"

"Because I'd really like you to spill inside me--in here--if Martin
wouldn't mind."

"Martin wouldn't mind at all, Chris, if you understand how things are
between us."

"Oh I understand, Stephen.  Nothing will come between you, but it will mean
a lot to me.  I'd be yours in another sort of way--at least a little bit."

"No, a lot Chris.  I hope I don't hurt you."

"No you shouldn't.  We learnt that the sphincter muscles can stretch much
more than you'd imagine--of course that was only theory in a book.  Do you
use Spong's?  It's available everywhere and I've got the 1/6 tube just here
in my case."

Stephen liberally applied the unction to Christopher, adding one, then two,
digits without complaint or the need for loud music, as the lad manfully
pulled back his muscular young legs.  He then he added some salve to his
already moist member. Christopher had positioned himself on all fours, but
Stephen insisted that he should sit on top of him, despite a fleeting urge
to take his friend's attractive, slim buttocks, at that moment presented
with such abandon, in one brutal thrust.

Christopher pressed down on Stephen's strong chest and Stephen guided his
hard cock into the maiden chute of his best friend.  There were tears that
Stephen thought would break his heart, but Christopher was determined and
finally Stephen found he was all the way in.  They paused and Christopher,
without any hesitation, leaned down and kissed Stephen.  Stephen threw his
arm around Christopher's neck and held him there, letting him know that he
appreciated his painful sacrifice.

After some minutes Christopher felt that he would enjoy some movement and
so he began to ride Stephen's cock, aided by Stephen's upward thrusts.
Stephen felt bad that Christopher was no longer hard and used his hands,
when not engaged in stabilizing himself on the bed, to bring his friend to
hardness again.

"I want you to spill on me Chris. Don't hold back this time; just let go,"
he said.

Christopher was lost in a world of pleasure, but understood his riding
instructions and through an application of friction and will, presently
erupted in an uncontrolled fountain all over Stephen's torso. Stephen
praised him fulsomely and he found that he had no trouble himself spending
deep inside his friend who collapsed on top of him in exhaustion.

"Don't pull out Stephen," he said lying there. "Tell me a story."

Stephen was at first struck dumb with writer's block but presently began
the one about the two Roman gladiators, best friends, who were condemned
to...But then he realised that Christopher was fast asleep on his chest.
He pulled the blanket over them both and held Christopher tight.  It was
not for some time, and not before he'd shed a few tears of his own, that he
drifted off into an exhausted but satiated sleep himself



The next day Martin expressed a desire to go over to Cannes to see the new
Carlton Hotel.  The boys shed their usual rough garments and dressed
smartly. They took the local train along the magnificent coast and soon
found themselves on the Promenade de la Croisette.  Stephen looked up at
the Villa Eleonore-Louise where so much had happened just a few short years
before.  A few steps brought them to the new hotel whose rather bloated
magnificence now dominated the sea front.  They went inside and found the
salon where English afternoon tea was being served.  Martin wandered away
to find the manager to whom he introduced himself.  The manager greeted the
shareholder fulsomely and stated that the hotel was doing very well, with
the summer season, as his father had predicted, being almost as popular as
the present winter one.

"There is someone here that has been asking for you, Lord Branksome," said
the manager at last.

"For me?" replied Martin in some surprise.

"Yes, my lord.  He asked me to inform him if you should ever come in.  I
think you will find him in the Grand Salon at this hour.  His name is Count
Osmochescu.  He said you are old friends, your lordship."

Martin went pale and hurried back to Stephen and whispered the news to
him. Stephen sat upright in his chair.  They scanned the room and there,
behind a pillar and reading a German newspaper, was the sinister figure.

Martin and Stephen walked in his direction and even before they had reached
him the Count had put down his paper and looked up, almost as if he were
expecting them. Martin made his mouth into a hard smile, while Stephen was
able to fake a more radiant one, showing some teeth at least.

"Lord Branksome, Mr Knight-Poole, how charming to see you again," he began
smoothly and then quickly added, "and how sorry I am to learn of the loss
of your brother, Lord Branksome.  My sincere condolences."

"Thank you, very much, Count Osmochescu, it is delightful to see you again.
Are you living here on the Riviera?"

"Oh no, your lordship, just passing through, although I do like to leave
the colder climes at this time of year at my age.  Lumbago.  I did have the
pleasure of seeing your cousins at Ritterburg again.  Such a delightful
part of the world.  So quaint."

"You went there after your visit to the United States?"

"What makes you think I went to the United States?" he asked, almost
rudely.

"Oh its just when we parted at Hull you said you were making for Liverpool
and I assumed..."

"Oh, it was to Canada.  Montreal.  I was only there briefly."

"Friedrich never wrote that you had returned to Ritterburg."

"He was away on army service and my return visit was but a short one on the
way to my homeland, but your family is well and Prussia is particularly
lovely in autumn. Are you here with friends?"

"Yes, Count Osmochescu, with our school friends."

"Not with your friends, Mr Churchill and Mr Asquith?"

"No, not this time, but Mr Churchill is coming to dine at Branksome House
on the 14th.  It's a pity you're not going to be in London then.  I would
have loved you to join us--although it is just a family affair, really."

"Lord Branksome, that is remarkable.  I will be back in London by then.  I
leave tonight in fact.  I would be most honoured to accept your invitation
and I would very much like to see Branksome House."

"How marvelous, Count Osmochescu," said Martin, with consummate ease.
"Will you come and take tea with my friends--I hope you don't mind noisy
school fellows--we are just sitting over there."

They walked across the room and Stephen was able to surreptitiously
congratulate Martin on his flawless performance.  In the gentlemen's
lavatory he expanded on this and suggested that the Count must have
retrieved his diary on the flying return visit.

"I'll send a telegram to Churchill tomorrow.  This dinner will be an
important one," said Martin, almost enjoying himself.



The following day was grey when Stephen looked up at the sky.  All was calm
now, but he felt that it might turn stormy later, as there was a bank of
clouds building on the horizon.  For these reasons he sought out Joni to go
out in La Joue Rose as his experience would be welcome.

The five boys, suitably rugged up for the day in fishermen's knitted
jumpers and knotted scarves, trouped down to the quay where they met Joni
who was not required by Helias and would be paid for his time.

They were soon off in a very light breeze and Stephen, Donald and Joni
worked hard to fill the sheets.  The Plunger, wearing a nautical cap, sat
by the tiller, picking out landmarks and trying to keep on course as he
interpreted Joni's shouts.

An hour later they were out a good way and the coast was just a thin line
below the mountains with their snowy peaks. They were now skimming along;
the breeze was stiffer away from the shore and the little craft handled
beautifully.  The threatening clouds had dissipated but the sea remained
grey-green and the low ceiling of flat clouds was the colour of a pewter
plate.

The Plunger gave a shout.  He pointed to something in the water off the
starboard side.  With Joni's agreement he turned the tiller and the boom
swung across and they headed in the direction of the black speck.

With horror they saw it was someone in the water and as they drew closer
they saw it was a boy who was struggling to stay afloat and could only
feebly raise his arm.  The sail was rapidly lowered and Joni pulled out the
oars, which he fitted into the rowlocks.  Donald and Christopher proceeded
to pull them in the direction of the drowning boy.

Stephen stood and pulled off his jumper and shirt.  He tightened his belt
and rapidly tied a line to it.  Before Martin could say anything he had
executed a perfect dive into the sea and was swimming powerfully away from
La Joue Rose.  Martin felt panic rising in his chest, but concentrated on
the practical: he played out the line, urging the rowers to pull harder so
the boat could keep up with Stephen before the rope ran out.

The boy was further away from them than he first appeared and Martin could
almost feel Stephen's arms tiring, but still he ploughed on, arm over arm,
agonizingly slowly gaining on his destination.  The Plunger was trying hard
to correct their course for the drift and he realised with alarm that the
boy in the water was also drifting away from Stephen's course.  Stephen
must have realised this too, for he changed direction and was now closing
in on him.

At last he reached the boy who latched on to him almost pulling him under.
Stephen managed to put one arm around him while the boy put both around his
neck.  Stephen attempted to swim back using his free arm, but Joni called
out to him to stay where he was as the boat was maneuvered to him.  Martin
now pulled on the line gently and Stephen was hauled towards La Joue Rose.
When he was about twenty yards away, Christopher and Joni jumped in and
swam out to offer their support.  The pair was brought to the side and
Martin hauled them on-board with effort.

Stephen was exhausted and heaving.  He couldn't speak. The Plunger removed
his scarf and jumper and used them to dry Stephen whose teeth were
chattering.  He put on his own jumper and Martin and The Plunger hugged
him, trying to warm him up.

The boy, who looked about 14, was stripped and dried with sundry pieces of
clothing and sailcloth.  Christopher, although cold himself, put his own
jumper on him while Donald gave him his coat and scarf.  They rubbed him to
try to get his circulation going.

He spoke for the first time, very softly: "Mon père est là ," he
said indicating the vast emptiness of the sea. "Il a noyé."  He
started to cry and Donald hugged him.

"We must look for his father, even if he is drowned," said Stephen, who was
too weak to stand.  The captain's orders were obeyed and the sail was
raised.  The oars were stowed and The Plunger resumed his place at the
tiller.  The others scanned the horizon, but saw nothing.

Joni was now comforting the boy. His name was Peyre Palomer and he had gone
out with his father to check some nets.  There was only the two of them.
Their boat was old--he had warned his father that it was taking water--then
the timbers started to go and their boat simply fell apart around them.
His father had tried to keep them afloat but he had swallowed a lot of
water.  He had lost consciousness some hours ago and then a wave had taken
him away.  The boy sobbed again.

They had turned for home after a fruitless search when Christopher spotted
the body of a man, face down, slowly being washed in the direction of the
shore.  They maneuvered the boat in that direction.  This time it was
Martin who jumped over the side into the cold waters of the Mediterranean.
He swam to the body, which was again further away than it appeared, and he
tied a line to it, trying not to think of the boy's father as a corpse.  He
swam back exhausted and Joni pulled him on-board. Stephen dried him and
tried to warm him.  The boys hauled the dead man to the boat with the line.
Donald shielded Peyre's eyes while his father was rather awkwardly brought
over the side.  With some care M. Palomer was laid in the bottom and
covered with a piece of sailcloth.

They set their course for the quay and even before they had tied up, Joni's
shouts had attracted a crowd.  Peyre was handed off and some of the crowd
went to fetch his mother and brothers.  The body of his father, in its
shroud, was laid with some reverence on the stone flags.

Joni explained the circumstances in rapid Provençale while the crowd
murmured and hugged Peyre who was now kneeling by the body of his father.
Members of Peyre's family, including one distraught woman who was
presumably his mother, now swelled the crowd.  How terrible, thought
Martin: while her son is saved, her husband was dead.  How conflicted her
emotions must be.  How dangerous was the life of the mariner and how
terrible for their families who must always wait at home in dread.

The boys slipped away and walked home in silence.  Martin was anxious to
look after Stephen who was being supported by The Plunger.  The bathtub on
the terrace under the pergola with its bare grape vine was filled with very
hot water from the kitchen stove and Stephen and Martin were placed into it
and their tired muscles were soaped and massaged by Donald while
Christopher washed the salt out of their hair.  "I'm tired now," said
Stephen. "I think I will go up to bed."  No sooner had he uttered these
words, than there was a knock at the door.  The Plunger answered it and to
his consternation it was Mrs Chadwick accompanied my Mme de Blezon.  "Good
afternoon ladies," he said in English and French.  "I'm sorry Stephen and
Martin are in a hot bath and can't receive ladies they have been in the sea
and..."

"We know what has happened, Mr Craigth; the whole town knows," said Mrs
Chadwick.  "They are heroes.  I don't care if they are in the bath." She
pushed in aided by the muscle power of Mme de Blezon and they bustled out
the back door to where they knew the bathtub stood.

"Oh your lordship, Mr Knight-Poole what brave boys you are!  Well done!"
cried Mrs Chadwick, as Martin tried to cover up.  Mme de Blezon added her
voluble praises, going into the history of the Palomer family and the
particulars of various tragedies that had befallen them in her lifetime.
Stephen didn't bother to cover up and merely said it was nothing.

"Nonsense!" cried Mrs Chadwick.  "That sea would have been freezing.  She
put her hand in the water and Martin thought for a moment that she was
going to pleasure Stephen's cock but she merely turned to The Plunger and
said, "More hot water, please.  Mme de Blazon do you have any Epsom salts?"

Mme de Blazon had never heard of des sels d'Epsom, or even of The Derby and
Epsom salts remained elusive until The Plunger said, "Sels volatiles,
Madame" and the Patronne bustled away and returned a few minutes later with
a box, some of whose contents Mrs Chadwick poured into the tub with the hot
water.

"This will relax your muscles," she said in a motherly fashion as she
swirled the water about.  Martin was hoping that all of Stephen's muscles
would remain relaxed to avoid social awkwardness, but Mrs Chadwick seemed
oblivious.

Mme de Blezon announced that there was to be a feast in honour of the
heroes--all of them--in the Bistro de Blezon at which M. le Maire himself
would appear in his sash of office.  Stephen didn't want any fuss but saw
it was now beyond his control--besides, the Provençale, he knew,
loved un jour de fête.

Stephen was very tired and the ladies showed no signs of leaving so he put
his hands on the side of the tub and made as if he was going to emerge.
Mrs Chadwick gave a little cry and moved back into the house to talk to
Christopher, pulling after her Mme de Blezon who laughed and probably would
have liked to stay to watch.  Stephen, now in his lemon silk pyjama
bottoms, came inside and climbed the stairs, calling down his goodbyes and
promising to come to the bistro that evening.

Stephen slept for some hours and Martin did not disturb him, sleeping
himself in Christopher's bed, his own muscles aching and tired.  By evening
all seemed recovered--such was youth--and they dressed in their best
clothes for the celebration, which they could hear in its early stages from
across the narrow street.

The boys entered in triumph but red with embarrassment and the crowd parted
and M. de Blezon showed them to a high table at which sat Mrs Chadwick and
the Mayor, each in their own way, the rulers of the town.

A splendid garlic soup was produced and then there was a fish with a sauce
made of sea urchins.  The main course was daube--a beef stew cooked for
many hours and flavoured with nutmeg, prunes and duck fat--however before
this could be served M. le Maire rose to his full height of five-foot-one
and adjusted his tricolour sash.  He began by saying that young Peyre was
at home recovering and supporting his bereaved mother and that all of
Antibes was moved by their tragic plight.  He then went on to describe the
treacherous mistress that was la mer who offered up her fruits to the
people of the coast, but also exacted a terrible price.

He then moved on to the tale of the English heroes--all men of noble
birth--who braved the elements to rescue a Son of France.  He warmed to his
task and went on to describe Stephen's swim as if he were there himself.
Martin picked up the words `orageux et tempétueux'--although he
recalled the sea was rather flat.  The mayor would have none of that and
had Stephen ploughing through gigantic waves whilst the other boys pulled
on the oars like so many Grace Darlings.  "Were not the waves terribly
steep, M. Etienne?" he asked through Mrs Chadwick.

"Terribly steep, monsieur; très raide." replied Stephen.

Then there was a colourful description of Stephen clasping Peyre to his
breast.  Peyre was supposed to have cried "Vive la France!" and Stephen was
supposed to have praised the entente cordiale.  Then the mayor changed key
and soberly described the recovery of the body of M. Palomer and how all in
the boat stood reverently and removed their caps.

It was so dramatic that Stephen almost wished he were there.  He was made
to stand and the mayor kissed him on both cheeks and the crowd cheered.
They had their hero.


To be continued. Thank you for reading.  If you have any comments or
questions, Pete and I would really love to hear from you.  Just send them
to h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.