He snorted. “Where in the hell would I get it?”
“Why, you poor man!” She leaned toward him and touched him in such a manner that he couldn’t have been more surprised if she had suddenly sprouted a halo. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
Then he had her in his arms. His mouth sought hers, and her lips were as soft as he had always known they would be.
He said, finally, “It never occurred to me. You said you’d had a teenage crush on me, but then when I told you I loved you, you said a permanent relationship between us was impractical.”
“What has that got to do with enjoying ourselves in bed when we wish? You’re very attractive to me, and you’ve already let me know you find me attractive—enough to have wanted to marry me. Now, come along. My bedroom is in here.”
“At this time of day?” Though why he should protest he couldn’t say.
She looked at him mockingly. “What’s wrong with this time of day?”
Chapter Ten
The Year 1950
They made love several times, and then, still nude, went into the kitchen and ate steaks washed down with dark, strong beer, which reminded him of the bock beers of Munich. Hand in hand, they returned to the bed, refreshed. The act of love was perfect with her. He had never bedded a more open woman. She was willing to try anything, and had quite a few tricks of her own that were new to him.
By the time they were completely satiated, it was dark, and she suggested that they spend the night and return to the university city in the morning.
“Don’t you think you had better phone your people?”
“Sure, I’ll do that right now.”
By the time she returned to slip into bed next to him, he was dead asleep.
His dream about his first sexual experience was undoubtedly sparked by his lovemaking with Edith and by the discussion they’d had beforehand comparing the new sexual mores with the old.
Following a world cruise, which had turned out to be only a halfway-around-the-world cruise, after his revulsion to what he had seen in India, Julian had joined his uncle at his Catskill Mountains estate. For the first time in his life, he was enrolled at a public schooclass="underline" Kingston High School.
It was his own whim. His Uncle Albert had remonstrated mildly, pointing out that competent tutors were available at this stage of Julian’s education if he wasn’t interested in one of the better prep schools, but Julian had stuck to his guns. He was probably motivated by the desire to meet more people in his own age group, as there were few in his social class in the vicinity of Woodstock, the Catskill artist colony near which his uncle lived. So far as a prep school was concerned, he had been boarded out too many years of his life by his parents to desire that.
From the first, it was quite gratifying. He was a bit disconcerting for many of his teachers. He spoke better French than the French teacher, who had, admittedly never been to France, and German as well as the German instructor, which wasn’t saying much. In geography, Julian had been to most of the countries studied, and in English literature the teacher was somewhat taken back to find that, among others, Julian knew Hemingway and Somerset Maugham quite well. In drama, he was well acquainted, personally, with Noel Coward, Orson Welles, John Gielgud, Lawrence Olivier, and a number of the more prominent cinema stars—all had often hosted, and been hosted by, the Wild Wests in their heyday.
But it was not his academic career that was his real forte so far as his contemporaries were concerned. He owned the largest Mercedes-Benz this side of Germany, and it was a sports model. It had formerly belonged to his father, who had raced it, and although it would be years before Julian came into his inheritance, his uncle had turned the vehicle over to him. In a school where those of his classmates who were fortunate enough to have a car at all drove jalopies, Julian was king.
Nor did his unlimited pocket money exactly turn him into a leper. Julian usually picked up the tab. Above that, his uncles liquor cabinet was always available to him, and if his friends threw a party and wanted whiskey, gin, or whatever, Julian could always bring a couple of bottles.
Yes, Julian had become the rage of Kingston High School.
And particularly with the girls, who knew a good thing when they saw one. If there was a single girl in the school who would not have given her all to make Julian West her steady, she wasn’t evident.
Of these, Peggy Ten Eyck, daughter of a Kingston small shop proprietor, was among the most lush. Blonde and blue-eyed in the Dutch tradition, mature figure, beautiful legs, an instinctively good dresser, Peggy had cut her own swath through the male students before Julian’s arrival. But one look at that Mercedes-Benz and all the other boys were left in the dust.
His dream began with his picking her up at dusk at the drugstore, which was the school hangout, and speeding out of town with the top down, the wind streaming her hair out behind her. As soon as they crossed the bridge and were on the road to West Hurley and Woodstock beyond, Julian released the horses. Though he had learned to drive years before, sitting on his father’s lap, it had only been a year that he had been able to do as much of it as he liked.
The car sprang forward and Peggy Ten Eyck gasped.
She said, “Golly, Jule, aren’t you afraid some motorcycle cop might come along?”
He laughed exuberantly at the speed. It was a beautiful June evening, as only the Catskills can provide. The sun had just set behind Overlook Mountain, and the coloring of the sky blended with the new dark green of the hills.
“My uncle’s in good with the county commissioner,” he told her. “They know better than to bother me. A couple of times they’ve tried. I just turn the ticket over to Uncle Albert.”
“Wow,” she said, impressed. She put one hand to her hair, an attempt to keep it in some semblance of order, and looked at him out the side of her eyes.
His sport jacket had been tailored of Donegal tweed, in Ireland; his shirt of Egyptian cotton had come from Paris; his cravat, tailored slacks and his shoes were bought in London. He wasn’t particularly aware of these facts. He had always been outfitted in the same shops as his father, and had accepted without much thought the reality of owning nothing but the best in haberdashery, suits and sport clothing.
To small-town Peggy Ten Eyck, he cut a breathtaking figure.
His face and body, in its new manhood, did not detract from the picture. He had reached his full height, just short of six feet, and weighed approximately one-hundred sixty-five pounds. He had the good carriage of one who has been well trained to horses at an early age. His hair was dark and slightly curly, and his face aristocratically handsome.
To Peggy Ten Eyck he was everything Hollywood had ever promised.
They sped up the highway, which was largely deserted at this time of day, reached West Hurley and cut off on the narrower road toward Woodstock.
“Where are we going, Jule?” Peggy gasped into the wind.
“I’ll never tell.”
She giggled.
They slowed as they passed the Woodstock summer theatre and the Big Deep swimming hole on the edge of town. Julian eased up still more as they passed Deanie’s restaurant and the town square. He was a fast driver, given the proper conditions, but his father had also schooled him well in safety in motoring.
“We can come back later for a bite at Deanie Elwyn’s,” Julian told her.
“Wonderful,” Peggy said. “I just love his hamburgers.”
Julian snorted. “He has better food than that,” he told her. They had reached the edge of the art colony and he sped up again on the way to Lake Hill.
Just short of the town, Julian said, “Ah, here we are,” and came nearly to a halt, then turned off on a dirt road, which led steeply upward.