Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2016 10:48:34 -0400
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Chapter 17

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Noblesse Oblige
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 17
Les Pecheurs

"Stabil halten! Standfest!" cried the nackte Junge.

He was The Leader, a blond boy of 16 with fierce blue eyes.  The bottom row
of the pyramid consisted of Stephen, The Plunger, The Leader and a
well-hung French boy, Marcel.  They were bent on their hands and knees in
the firm sand.  The next row stood uncertainly on their backs with their
legs spread wide to steady themselves and with their arms extended over
each other's shoulders.  Martin felt very vulnerable with his privates so
exposed here on the beach and his hands not free to protect them.  He was
holding on to The Leader's younger brother who grasped Donald Selby-Keam
who, in turn, had his arm over Christopher.  Now the smallest boy, a German
lad called Knut, also naked, was clambering over the others to reach the
top, putting his fingernails into shoulders and his feet painfully into
groins.  He was small but athletic and at last he managed to stand for a
wobbly second or two with his arms spread wide.  "Germany has its place in
the sun!" cried The Leader from down below, referring to the Kaiser's
unexpectedly belligerent speech of the previous August.  It was of short
duration and the pile slowly collapsed amid much laughter and then the boys
ran nosily into the waves to cool off.

It was the morning of their arrival at Antibes and they had gone almost
immediately down to the small cove near Cap-Eden Roc where costumes were
not worn.  The five had made a very lively party on the Calais-M?diterran?e
Express.  Naturally they had gone first class, with Martin discreetly
paying Christopher's fare.  He assured him that it cost very little to live
in the south of France and not to worry about money.  Martin's main worry
had been The Plunger.  He thought with alarm of the primitive conditions at
Stephen's house, under conversion from a ruined shop, when he saw The
Plunger at Victoria Station.  The monocled figure was dressed in a superb
white linen suit and a matching Italian hat made by Borsalino.  He was
waving his stick to the porter who was struggling to wheel a commodious
Pullman trunk down the platform behind the striding figure.

To his relief he discovered that The Plunger seemed only brought one other
suit.  Indeed he had been doing extensive research and, with the aid of his
valet, Gertie, had come up with several very striking outfits that smacked
of theatrical versions of French onion sellers, the cast of La Boh?me and
Proven?ale p?cheurs.

"They're marvellous, Plunger," said Martin as these clothes were hung on a
row of pegs mounted on the stone wall of the new bedroom.

"Thanks, Poole.  They're really down to Gertie, you know.  He used to work
as a dresser at Covent Garden before he came to us.  Have a look at these."
He held up several of those floppy silk ties that artists are characterised
in Punch as habitually wearing.

Stephen came in and, with Martin, admired the new bedroom.  The ceiling had
been completely replaced and the plaster on two walls had been renewed and
on the other two it had been removed entirely to reveal the stone.  It was
now possible to walk out onto a tiny balcony propped over the vegetable
garden, a replica of the one over the street.

Downstairs there was a bathroom built under the stairs.  Annoyingly Helias
had made the door swing outwards and the tap for the hot water that came
out of the geyser for the shower seemed to be on the wrong side-or perhaps
they were reversed in France.  Otherwise the tin and cement shower looked a
very neat job.  Best of all was the handsome lavatory.  Unlike plain
English ones, the plumber had found an example embellished with elaborate
decorative designs of plants that may have been seaweed.  "It's Art
Nouveau," explained Archie.

The cellar had been cleaned out and the timber racks removed, but it was
still a gloomy space, for the window remained boarded up and the door to
the street was stuck fast.  "This will be our job to complete this week,
said Stephen, that's if you fellows don't mind helping.  Chaps, do you want
your beds down here or up in the big room?"

"It's cool down here," said Donald, I'd like to sleep here.  What about you
Tennant?"

Chris said he would like it too but looked a little pained at the thought
of the folding beds.  Stephen saw him looking.  "Yes, we will go right now
and buy two beds and order feather mattresses from Mme de Blezon's sister."

"Do we need two beds?" asked Donald innocently.

"No, that's fine by me Selby-Keam," said Christopher, "but there are
certain rules which I will explain to you later."

So the boys, now in their relaxed Proven?ale clothing, invaded M. de
Blezon's bistro where Mme de Blezon made a terrible fuss over them, calling
the particularly grand fisherman with the monocle, 'Your lordship', and
insisting that it was far better to give her the order and the payment for
the matelas de plumes than see her sister who was so busy right now.

A third bed was ordered and it could be delivered the following day.  Some
whitewash and brushes were also purchased.  The boys set to work applying
the paint to the walls of the cellar and it started to look brighter
immediately.  Stephen got the door to the street unstuck, but its lock was
broken.  At least the new bed could be carried in this way.  He set off to
find H?lias to see about the door and the window.

H?lias's mother directed him to another house and there was the handsome
carpenter, naked from the waist up, cigarette drooping from his pouting
lip, working on putting up some shutters.

"M. Etienne!" he cried. "Comment allez-vous?"  He kissed him on both
cheeks.

Stephen replied that he was all the better for seeing H?lias.  H?lias then
insisted that they must immediately go and drink coffee and cognac.
"Prendre une boisson avec mon ami."  The friend was produced.  He was a
good-looking boy of about 16, also shirtless, and H?lias put his arm around
his shoulder, grinning, and asked what Stephen thought.

"He's very good looking H?lias," said Stephen and H?lias smiled while the
boy just blushed.

After the formalities were completed at the caf?, Stephen asked if H?lias
could help with the cellar as he had several guests staying.

"Ce sont des jeunes Anglais?"

Yes, they were English boys replied Stephen, giving The Plunger the benefit
of the doubt.  H?lias replied with alacrity that they would be there at
7:00 the following day.

When Stephen returned it was sunset.  The boys had already applied one coat
of whitewash.  A second was deemed desirable and it was decided to do this
the following day.  Stephen explained a little about H?lias, the carpenter,
and his expected arrival on the morrow and then said. "The smell of the
whitewash is rather strong down here.  I think you'd better bring your beds
up to the main room."

"Couldn't we sleep with you or Archie," said Christopher, "just for
tonight?"

Stephen just looked at Martin, who rolled his eyes.  "We can decide on the
complexities of that later.  It's now time for my bath.  Martin, would you
please buy a bottle-no two bottles-of champagne from the Patron and also
some of those little olives stuffed with anchovies.  I think I saw him
outside just now by the tomatoes."

They followed Stephen out into the garden and Martin went across to M. de
Blezon who was drawing up a bucket of water from the well.  Stephen
turned-on a brass tap and the old bathtub, now shaded under its new pergola
of saplings, slowly filled with water.  He lit the new iron stove in the
corner of the main room with some difficulty but soon there were some pots
of boiling water ready to add to the tub.  Martin had returned with the
wine and the olives and the boys settled around the bath sitting on the
steps and on the rush-bottomed chairs brought from inside.  With great
ceremony Stephen removed his shirt and trousers and passed them to Martin.
With his cock and balls swingingly freely he descended into the delicious
water.  Martin handed him a tumbler of champagne and Donald held out the
bowl of olives.  The tableau was complete.

The boys fell to talking about how wonderful France was and how delightful
it was on the plage.  Then there was a hotly contested rivalry to wash
Stephen in which much champagne was spilled.  Martin shooed them away and
declared that it was his privilege, but all watched with envy as Martin
soaped his lover, paying particular attention to the area under his
foreskin, which needed repeated cleansing.

In the evening they ate at Bistro de Blezon and walked along the old wall
of the town, looking at the lights and taking advantage of the sea breeze.
At another caf? they drank wine and watched the sailors.  A small piano was
noticed and Donald was persuaded to play some ragtime.  He obliged with the
permission of the patron and soon the sailors could not resist dancing to
Come Josephine in My Flying Machine.

They danced with each other in a wild and lively way, knocking over tables
and chairs.  Then Donald played Alexander's Ragtime Band and, laughing,
they pulled the English boys from their seats and danced with them, holding
them around their waists or around their necks and pumping vigorously with
their other hands.  Martin felt the cock and balls of his one grinding into
his own.  He managed to run his fingers through the matelot's pubic hair
that showed so abundantly above the gaping waist of his bell-bottoms,
before being swung off his feet and spun around and passed to another
sailor who smelled unbearably of garlic.

Then suddenly, as if on a signal, the sailors released their dancing
partners and left the caf? en masse amid noisy farewells and hearty
laughter.  Donald stopped playing and the patron came over, looking
annoyed.  Martin counted out 20 francs and his smile returned.

They retraced their steps to the house (for it was no longer thought of as
a shop) and lit the lamps and sat at the big table and had a few rounds of
the new American game called 'gin rummy', Archie teaching them the rules.

It was nearing midnight when Stephen quietly asked Martin if he'd come out
for a walk, as it was still hot.  They slipped out and walked arm in arm
down to the plage.

"Mala," began Stephen, "I haven't had an opportunity to tell you about the
weekend with Christopher and Julian.  I couldn't write it all in a letter
and I want to tell you before you hear anything from Chris."

Martin repressed a sigh.

"Well you see, Mala, I always fancied that I'd like to watch Julian Newell
with a woman.  He's a big, strong fellow as you know-lots of hair on his
legs and chest-and we'd seen each other plenty of times in the changing
sheds.  He used to pick up doxies at The Nelson and once I saw him going
off with two girls.  I almost followed him to see what he did."

"So you saw him with a woman?"

"Not exactly.  He came into my room and I let him fuck me."

"Did you?" said Martin, smiling to himself in the dark.

"Yes I did and it wasn't exactly an emergency either, Mala.  I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's alright, Derby.  I think I understand how it was.  And how was
it, seeing I wasn't there to see for myself?"

"Well he was pretty blunt and not as skilful as you," added Stephen
diplomatically, "but not as rough as that guardsman though."

"I might have to get a bit rough with you, Derby, would you like that?"

"Oh Mala!  I just like it the way we do it now."

"What, you mean in our bed with three other people?" said Martin thinking
of the card players at home.

"Yes, that might be a problem.  But are you sure you're not cross about
Julian?"

"No, Derbs.  You are incorrigible though- or should that be insatiable?"

"Oh, and Mala, there was this woman who felt sorry for me because I was an
orphan and..."

Martin hugged the stud and thought what might have happened had it been a
week and not a weekend.



When they returned home Stephen drew up a complicated schedule for the
privilege of sleeping with him.  Martin had a permanent booking.  The
Plunger was to give up his comfortable bed that night for Donald and
Christopher and sleep with Martin and himself and the next night it would
be Donald's turn and so on, depending partly on the arrival of the new bed
and the drying of the whitewash.  Stephen added several more codicils to
the agreement until all parties were satisfied-or potentially so.

The Plunger was especially pleased and went away to look for his cock ring,
which he hoped Gertie had packed while Stephen made sure that Christopher
and Donald were safely tucked in and not wearing drawers.

The purple Mediterranean night was not quiet, for over the sound of the
waves, and penetrating the shuttered windows of the establishment that had
formerly made cercueils-coffins-for that sleep that is both very still and
of a very long duration, could be heard the sounds of grunts, cries and
exclamations.



In the morning Martin opened the door to H?lias and his friend, Joni, at
9:00.  Kisses and hugs were exchanged and they were introduced to the
household who were sitting at the big table eating croissants and drinking
English tea.  H?lias was very disappointed to have not arrived earlier, but
circumstances had delayed him and all the boys were dressed, save for
Stephen who swaggered into the room naked and half hard.  H?lias nudged his
friend who was wide-eyed.  Stephen pulled on a pair of fisherman's trousers
and directed H?lias to the cellier and showed him the door and the window.
He then took him back upstairs where two cups of coffee were fetched from
M. de Blezon's and Stephen explained the need for a cupboard with shelves
to be constructed in an angle in the wall near the stove. This was to be a
garde-manger or larder, for there was still no place to store foodstuffs in
the house.  H?lias understood and a price was negotiated that shamed
neither party.

While the boys worked on a second coat of whitewash, Stephen went out with
Martin to the market.  Three large rag rugs were ordered and more pottery
and glasses were purchased.  At a second-hand stall a doorknocker in the
shape of a dolphin was found.  Martin bought it for Stephen.

"Derby, if you don't mind me asking, have you had to use up all your money
in fixing up the house?  I wouldn't want you to go short."

"Bless you Mala," said Stephen, "but I've paid for it out of my savings.  I
still have the money that William gave me."

"But how is that possible Derbs?"

"Well I bought shares, through Daniel Sachs, in Tatchell's and they have
done very well over the last year plus there was the money I received for
selling my bathroom designs."

Martin's admiration for Stephen's brains was justified once again and they
paused to buy some towels, which they hitherto had shamefully neglected to
obtain-although Stephen liked to dry himself in the sun-and additionally
thought the purchase of a quantity of smaller towels might also be
advisable for more intimate purposes.

When they returned, the cellar was almost completed and was bright with the
morning sun.  The second coat of paint was just being finished and H?lias
had the window onto the side street unblocked and was repairing the frame
while Joni was measuring for the glass that was needed.  Already the room
looked perfect for a hot weather bedroom.

Stephen borrowed some tools and affixed the handsome knocker while Martin
tidied himself up and went to call on Mrs Chadwick on his bicycle.

The maid admitted Martin to the hall, which smelled of beeswax, and showed
him into the drawing room.  Martin sat there feeling uncomfortable without
a tie and jacket.  He looked around the room.  There were vases of flowers
obviously from Mrs Chadwick's garden-larkspurs and delphiniums-and framed
hunting scenes and pictures of Cotswold cottages that The Plunger might
have envied in the recent past.  Martin was just sniffing the old-fashioned
scent of potpourri in a china pomander that stood on a doily-draped
Sheridan side table when Mrs Chadwick swept into the room.

She too looked like a delphinium in a blue morning dress with a great deal
of net and a long string of pearls.

"Lord Martin," she trilled, "how lovely to see you back in France.  Do sit
down.  Would you like a glass of sherry?  Too early?  No?  Two glasses of
sherry, Clotilde!"

"Mrs Chadwick, Mr Knight and I are so grateful for your help over the last
few months.  Without you here we would never have got the stove in and the
other work finished," said Martin.

"Well, I must say I have to agree with you, Lord Martin, for I went over to
the house every morning to make sure that devil H?lias was working.  I
sometimes called in the afternoon to see that he wasn't sleeping.  If I
didn't, then his aunt, Mme de Blezon, did.  Are you satisfied?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Chadwick.  It has meant that we can have a group of school
chums to stay.  We were hoping that you might be able to dine with us
tomorrow night, that is if you don't mind five boys and I'm not sure that
our cooking will be up to your standards.  Also we don't have any good
clothes."  Martin had almost talked himself out of the invitation.
"Perhaps it's too unconventional for good taste, Mrs Chadwick."

"Oh, not at all, Lord Martin," replied Mrs. Chadwick with her lips paused
on the sherry glass.  Mrs Chadwick was quite sure that no table would be as
fine as her own-that was a given- for she had fought hard and bribed
unscrupulously until she had secured the best chef on this part of the
coast.  She did look down her nose at Martin's scruffy attire.  Then again
she also was anxious to see the house.  The convincing point in her mind,
however, was that she would be dining with the brother of the Marquess of
Branksome, who although still at school and presently dressed as if he
should be hauling nets down at the wharf, would make a pleasant entry in
her diary which she hoped to publish one day as a memoir of men she had met
in years on the Riviera under the title of Hims and Palms.

Mrs Chadwick rang the bell and had Clotilde bring William's two paintings
that she had collected from the post office and gave them to Martin.  She
then began on the absolute necessity of Lord Martin and Mr Knight employing
staff for their house and how, at the very least, a good bonne would be
essential, for, she maintained, men were quite incapable of running a
household properly.  She went on to cite terrible instances of how hopeless
men were, some of which, including the inattention to napery and the
provision of knives and forks, hit home.  She was just starting on changing
beds and turning matrasses when they moved into the garden.

"But Mrs Chadwick we don't need so many cushions or a thing to lift the
fish.  We just make do," said Martin at one point.  Mrs Chadwick was not
put off by this and began to talk about the vital organization required for
proper household maintenance and the number of tasks that must be done,
daily, weekly, every spring and so on.  Martin thought of Stephen with his
obsessive lists and rules and wished he were here.

Mrs Chadwick paused in her lecture and spoke rapidly and crossly to the two
young Italians who were tying up her dahlias.

"I didn't know you could speak Italian, Mrs. Chadwick," said Martin.

"Only in the imperative, your lordship," she replied.



When Martin returned, the street was once again at a standstill for the new
bed was being delivered before the eyes of the townspeople.  Mme de Blezon
rushed across the street to say that her sister would have the matelas de
plumes ready the very next day and suggested that M. Etienne might find it
more convenient to pay her today to expedite matters.

Martin went in by the side door from the street that now boasted a lock.
The buckets of whitewash were moved and the big bed was positioned against
the wall and admired.  Stephen was taking measurements for shutters for the
new window while Christopher was skilfully making a set of pegs on the
model of Stephen's previous work.

As the morning had gone so well, Stephen and Donald went out to buy wine,
bread and charcuterie for lunch, which was set out on the big table.
H?lias spurned the use of glasses and the bottle was passed from mouth to
mouth.  Stephen then suggested that they should all go down to the beach at
Cap-Eden Roc in the afternoon, if H?lias could spare the time.  H?lias
agreed with shining eyes.

Joni went out to find his cousin who had a carriage to supplement the
bicycles and whose services could be obtained for ten francs.  Stephen was
persuaded to put on his new bathing costume for the trip.  Stephen was
admired and felt up by several hands and Joni and H?lias held a
conversation in rapid Proven?ale.

The small carriage loaded with five boys followed by Stephen and Martin on
their cycles, made its way down to the point.  Near the hotel they were
hailed by a figure with a stick and cigar.

"Mr Churchill!" cried Martin, pulling up. "How do you do?"

"Lord Martin, hello sir.  And Mr Craigth and Mr Knight, isn't it?  Good
afternoon."

"We are off to the beach, sir," said Stephen.

"My wife and I are staying at the hotel," he said, waving his cigar in the
direction of the cliff top. "Mr and Mrs. Asquith are with us.  I wonder if
you'd happen to be free for dinner tonight?  I know Mrs Asquith would enjoy
your company especially."

"We'd be delighted sir, especially if we could return the compliment
tomorrow night.  Mr Knight has a little house here and we are having a
dinner with a fisherman's theme."

"I will put that to my friends and you can press them tonight.  Shall we
say half past eight?"



Christopher and Donald were astounded that the boys should know the Prime
Minister and the Home Secretary and Stephen tried to explain to H?lias and
Joni but they seemed less impressed.

"I say, you don't mind that we will desert you tonight?" said Stephen to
Chris and Donald.  "With any luck you will get to meet them tomorrow."
Chris was actually relived and Douglas said that was perfectly alright.

"This dinner will need some careful planning.  It's not like home; we have
no servants and we don't know how to cook," said Martin, "and Mr Churchill
looks like a big eater."



At the beach the boys quickly shed their clothes.  There was much unabashed
inspection of each other and H?lias and Joni had another rapid conversation
when they leered at The Plunger's body from which Stephen picked up the
words, gar?on rouquin.

A swimming competition was held in which Stephen easily won all the races
except for the more elaborate strokes in which The Plunger excelled.  To
the relief of H?lias and Joni, a game of cricket on the sand was abandoned
when the piece of driftwood they were attempting to use as a bat broke, but
the ball became the centre of a wild and formless game in the water until
they hauled themselves onto the plage, heaving and out of breath.

Stephen personally inspected the boys' privates for sunburn and applied oil
and moved them into the shade of the cliff.  In a more secluded spot H?lias
fondled Joni's cock and balls and showed them off to Stephen who replied,
"Tr?s beau," while the boy gave a secret smile.  H?lias then lit a
cigarette and read a popular newspaper while Joni took his cock in his
mouth and pleasured him while Stephen kept watch.

"Come for a walk, Mala," said Stephen as he started to ache from lying on
the sand.  They walked across the hot sand and then through the shallows,
kicking the water.  Stephen put his big arm around Martin's neck.  They
waved to the German boys who were eating sandwiches with their parents.
Stephen went to speak but Martin cut him off and, looking into his eyes
said, "And I love you too, Derbs."



When they returned home, having dismissed H?lias and Joni, The Plunger
announced that he knew how to cook the fish stew called bouillabaisse.  The
others looked at him in astonishment.  "Remember, I lived in Mentone for
some years," he said, slightly wounded.  They all agreed that this would be
an excellent dish.

Archie and Donald rushed off, hoping the fish market was still open.  They
returned bearing a parcel of fish pieces and a large iron pot, The Plunger
having stopped off at the post office and the ironmonger.  The stove was
lit, using H?lias' journal and any other scraps of paper they could find
and presently, amid fishy smells, The Plunger announced that his stock for
the bouillabaisse would now have to cook for some hours and that the real
work would begin tomorrow at dawn when he'd go to the market again.

Space was found on the stovetop for some saucepans and water was heated for
Stephen's bath.  They repaired with champagne and olives to the terrace and
sat around Stephen in the tub.  Martin was enjoying washing his silky black
hair while Stephen planned for the following night's party.

"We will need brandy and champagne-especially for Mr Churchill," began
Stephen. Christopher noted that down with a pencil.  "We will need a
pudding."

"I'll do that," volunteered Martin, "if you'll help me, Plunger."

"I think we should have a cold hors d'oeuvre.  Could you ask Mme de Blezon
for some advice on that, Chris?"  Christopher replied that it was safe to
leave it with him.

"Could I get some fishing nets and other things to hang up to as scenery?"
asked Donald.

"Ripping idea, Selby-Keam!" cried Christopher and the boy smiled as it was
noted.

"I think we'll need some extra plates and knives.  I'll make a list and get
those said Stephen.

Stephen got out of the bathtub with his cock half-hard and several boys
rushed up to him with towels.  He waved them away and stood in a corner of
the garden where the afternoon sun still shone. M. de Blezon came through
the gate in the wall and waved cheerfully to the boys and had a long
conversation about vegetables with Stephen, not taking the smallest notice
that he was naked and dripping wet.

At 7:00 The Plunger and Martin shared the new shower, which easily
accommodated three it was proven when Stephen insisted on testing its
capacity.  The Plunger enjoyed being soaped by the other two.

Martin did much eye rolling when The Plunger produced his tail suit from
the bottom of his trunk.  This would mean that he and Stephen would be at a
disadvantage in only having their travelling clothes to wear at the H?tel
du Cap-Eden Roc.

Without Gertie, it took their combined efforts to dress The Plunger.
Christopher fitted his links while Stephen put in his studs.  Martin tried
to smooth the waistcoat while Donald stood on a chair with a brush.  With
his suspenders for his silk hose found after much searching, at last he was
finished and admired.  Stephen threatened to undo all their work when he
said he wanted to check that The Plunger wasn't wearing drawers, but the
others assured him that this was the case.  This crisis was interrupted by
a rap on the dolphin knocker.  Stephen returned with a telegram for The
Plunger and a worried look on his face.  The Plunger tore the envelope open
and unfolded a very long message.  He scanned it quickly while the boys
regarded him.  He looked up.  "Oh it's just from our cook at home; I
telegraphed for the recipe for bouillabaisse this afternoon and here it
is," he said waving the telegram that must have cost 15 shillings.



The H?tel was a very grand affair in the Second Empire style and situated
in a magnificent moonlit garden.  In the dining room they were greeted by
the Churchills and the Asquiths.  In the party were two other couples, very
quiet, that Martin took for secretaries and their wives.

The conversation quickly moved away from pleasantries about the weather and
the delights of the C?te d'Azur and The Plunger found himself talking to
Mrs Churchill about painting.  Mrs Churchill had lived for some years in
Dieppe and knew the modern artist, Walter Sickert, very well.  She also had
heard of Tsindis and promised to come to their exhibition.  Churchill also
said he was thinking of taking up painting himself and asked difficult
questions about square and round brushes.  Stephen kept quiet and smiled a
great deal until Margot Asquith asked him what he'd been reading.  Stephen
mentioned a comic novel by Arnold Bennett called The Card.

"Have you read Gertrude by Hermann Hesse, Mr Knight?"

"Is he a German writer, Mrs Asquith?"

Mrs Asquith explained how deep he was and Stephen said he'd try to read him
in the German, but he'd be slow.

"I've also discovered the most marvellous new English poetess who writes
about country life.  She calls herself Nancy Nott but that might be a nom
de plume."  She excused herself from the table and returned a few minutes
later and handed Stephen a slim volume.  He leafed through A Sty of t'one's
Own and noted the touching verses in the vernacular between wide margins.

"That one is particularly tender, Mr Knight, said the wife of the Prime
Minister, pointing to a love poem about a Berkshire bore.  See how she
finds a rhyme for `mangelwurzel'?  It's beautiful."

Stephen read on: My love be as sweet as t'brambleberry in t'summer's heat.
A few pages later there was a poem about boxing and plough horses.

"And in this one Nancy Nott rhymes `sow' and `thou' and `swine' with
`thine'.  Such a feeling for the traditions of the land, I think.  I can't
imagine what a `bodger' is.  Do you know, Mr Knight?"

Stephen did know and felt that he must have an urgent talk with Martin but
he was busy at this moment talking to Mr Asquith about schools.

The conversation became livelier when women's suffrage was raised.  Stephen
kept quiet when Mrs Asquith railed against it.  The Prime Minister said
that the women were not doing their cause any good by their terrible
violence and Martin recalled that he'd seen the smashed windows of Swan and
Edgar's in Regent Street.

"It's worse than that, Lord Martin," said Asquith. "They've plotted to kill
me..."

"Assassinate, Henry," corrected his wife.

"...and we've had to put shutters over the windows at Number Ten."

Mr Churchill then spoke and deplored the age of terrorism they were living
in and recounted his thrilling exploits in the Siege of Sidney Street where
he commanded a detachment of Scots Guards against the Russian anarchist
gang led by Peter the Painter.

"I'm not entirely opposed," declared Churchill returning to the topic of
votes for women, "but this damned harpy struck me with a whip at a meeting
last year and I couldn't return the compliment.  And we can't give them the
vote if they all vote for the Conservatives, can we, Mr Craigth?"

"It's unnatural," continued Margot Asquith.  "What will it mean to the
traditional family?  It's ungodly.  `Man and woman' that's how its meant to
be, `not woman and man.'  What sort of wives and mothers will they make?"

Martin began to think he might be a Suffragette.  What were he and Stephen
if not 'unnatural' and 'untraditional'?

The dinner came to an end and a carriage was called to take the boys home.
Martin was at pains to explain that their return dinner was very much in
the mode of fancy dress and that dressing as fisher folk would be most
appropriate.  He was worried that Mrs Asquith would be too grand for such
frivolities, but she had enjoyed having an audience and she found Stephen
particularly charming and said she was looking forward to it immensely.

It was late when they returned home.  The Plunger was undressed in the dark
and its was hoped that none of his bits were misplaced.  Stephen then went
into the other bedroom where he found Donald and Christopher sound asleep.
He picked up Donald like a baby and carried him into his own room while The
Plunger took his place.  Douglas stirred but didn't awaken fully and was
positioned in the big bed between Martin and Stephen.



When H?lias' knocking on the door awoke the house at 7:00, Stephen looked
down to see Donald laying between his spread legs with his head on his
right breast and Martin snuggled up next to him with his golden head asleep
on his left.  With difficulty he extricated himself and walked out onto the
balcony, his morning erection modestly screened by the geraniums. "Bonjour
H?lias, bonjour, Joni!" he called down and directed them to come through
the garden to start work.  He walked into the other room where the naked
forms of the Plunger and Christopher could be seen under the sheet and he
alerted them that their busy day had begun.

There was a parade of naked boys heading to the shower under the stairs and
H?lias, cigarette drooping on his lip, would pause in his work on the new
garde-manger and direct the attention of Joni.

The Plunger wouldn't even stop for coffee and headed out to the fish market
with his assistant, Donald, bearing the extravagant telegraphic recipe.

Martin helped Christopher sweep the floors and put away scattered clothes.
Then they went out to the ironmonger for another big saucepan and a hook
from which to hang it.  M. de Blezon then recommended six bottles of
champagne and the same of a dry white and a light red.  The bottle of
brandy for Mr Churchill was not forgotten.  Stephen came across the street
to help and he fell into discussion with the Patron about planting a grape
vine over the new pergola.  M. de Blezon promised to see to it over winter
and Stephen gave him 10 francs with which to purchase a good one.

Martin made various trips to the shops and used his French supplemented by
mime to come back with a basket of groceries while Stephen enjoyed chopping
wood.

The Plunger returned quite the ichthyologist as he showed them the strange
local fish such as rascasse, conger eel and spiny lobster, that were vital
ingredients.  He set to work preparing the fish and was directed by M. de
Blezon to the best tomatoes and herbs from the garden.  He frowned when The
Plunger dug up potatoes and declared that it was not a true Bouillabaisse
Marseillaise.

Donald returned just as they were having lunch.  He was loaded down with
items.  Around his neck hung a life preserver and two of the lamps that the
local fishermen used on their boats.  Behind him he dragged an enormous net
that was embellished with spherical cork buoys.

"I borrowed it from the fishermen down by the wharf.  It's an old net that
they were going to repair.  We can have these things until tomorrow night."

Everyone thought they were marvellous stage props.  "How much did it cost?"
asked Stephen.

"Not a sou," said Donald turning red.  They all stared at him and he
smiled.

"No!" they all chorused.

"Yes!" replied Donald, "and the fishermen thought it was a bargain."

Thus the rest of the afternoon was spent busily preparing.  Martin and The
Plunger were fighting for a position at the stove, which was making the
room hot.  Martin was covered in flour and The Plunger was stirring his
pot, taking quick glances at the telegram.  The net was hung from the
ceiling over the table and looked very quaint.  There were many trips to
Mme de Blezon for things they had forgotten and when business was quiet she
came across herself in her pantouffles and peered into The Plunger's pot,
making suggestions.

At 6:00 Stephen declared a halt and announced it was time for his bath and
champagne.  As Stephen lay in the cool water (space on the stove couldn't
be spared to heat any for his bath) having his shoulders washed by Donald,
he thought again how nice it would be to eat out under the pergola,
especially when the vine was planted.  He would start on building a table
tomorrow.  The session was not a protracted one for the bath had to be
pressed in service to keep the wine cool and the boys must make themselves
ready.



When Mrs Chadwick arrived at 8:00, a remarkable sight greeted her eyes.
Apparently their heir to Croome and Mr Knight had scoured the waterfront,
possibly even as far as the stews of Marseilles, and brought back a band of
roughnecks.  There were fisher boys in striped jerseys and calf-length
trousers and two old salts in sou'westers and coarse garments.  They hadn't
even bothered to shave.  Worse still were two slatterns with them, possibly
oyster-openers or those whores who waited for the boats to come in and who
provided the Little Sisters with such a distressing stream of clients.

However, she began to think something was wrong when she noticed that the
most elegant of the fisher boys wore a monocle and the tarts were
conversing in the King's English.

When she was introduced to the Prime Minister and Mrs Asquith and Mr
Winston Churchill and his wife, Clementine, she was so overcome that Martin
thought she might faint and a chair had to be produced.  She recovered, but
the rest of the evening passed in a sort of dream and she thought only
Lewis Carroll could do justice to her next diary entry.

Mrs Chadwick managed to talk about her late husband, the Consul in Nice,
and Mrs Churchill listened sympathetically while Margot Asquith was
inclined to be dismissive.  Martin hoped she wasn't offended.  Mrs Chadwick
had heard of Archie's parents from the time of their residence in Mentone
and was very impressed by him.  Their conversation soon turned to the
correct recipes for various Proven?ale dishes.

Mrs Asquith formed a surprising attachment to Christopher Tennant and
worked out that they were fourth or perhaps fifth cousins and, after a few
glasses of champagne, were referring to each other as 'cousin'.  Mr
Churchill was admiring William's paintings, which now hung on the wall and
The Plunger fetched his own folio of sketches.  Donald and Martin were
attempting to engage Mr Asquith whose eyes kept drifting in the direction
of Mrs Chadwick's bosom and so he was inclined to lose the thread of the
conversation and Martin and Donald exchanged the occasional helpless look.

Upon closer inspection, Mrs Chadwick could see that the application of
burnt cork accounted for the unshaven appearance of the two old fishermen
and she was slightly annoyed that Lord Martin had not told her to adopt
fancy dress, for she was busily thinking of an outfit she could have
concocted for herself.

The champagne did its work, Stephen walking around to make sure no one's
glass was empty, and the guests even managed to pour their own as they
became more relaxed.

When they sat down at the bare wooden table, M. de Blezon's white wine was
uncorked and an immense tray of cold meats and vegetables appeared.  The
guests reached across and helped themselves to lovely things such as tiny
pickled Brussels sprouts, cold snails in garlic, mushrooms with truffle
oil, carrots dusted with chervil and slices of local sausage.

It tended to be a competition between Mrs Asquith and Mr Churchill for the
role of chief speaker, but Churchill seemed to be able to hold his drink
more readily and he gradually dominated, giving an exciting history of the
coast in the time of the Napoleonic wars.

The wine was changed when the bouillabaisse was produced and served with
the correct kind of local bread.  Mrs Chadwick felt vindicated when the
boys realised that there was no soup ladle and Mrs Chadwick though smugly
of her heavy silver one at home.  However, a tin cup was attached to a
wooden spoon and he stew was poured into the thick pottery bowls and
distributed.  It was pronounced a great success and the Proven?ale peasant
was to be envied.  The Plunger secretly attributed its success to the half
a bottle of sherry he added, of his own volition, not long before the
guests were due.

Mr Churchill resumed his account of the British Navy and soon the sounds of
sea shanties could be heard floating out over the street.  Mr Asquith had a
particularly fine voice (possibly from singing in chapel as a boy) while
Mrs Asquith could only squawk enthusiastically like a crow.

Just when the festivities were at their height, Martin came to the table
with an enormous platter bearing a giant, steaming yellow confection.

"Pouding au Tachet? Richard avec Cr?me Anglaise," announced Martin as
glasses were refilled and spoons and bowls were passed around.

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.