Man, woman, and child(10)

''Terrible is slang in French," said Jean-Claude diplomatically. "It also means terrific."

Jessica was reassured. This would be a splendid continental summer.

"Madame?"

Jean-Claude had now approached Sheila. Reaching into his flight bag, he withdrew a chunk of . . . clay? It looked like a heavy wad of ossified chewing gum. He offered it to her;

"Oh—thank you," Sheila said.

"What is it?" Paula asked.

Jean-Claude searched his vocabulary, but could not find the word. He turned to Bob.

"How do you say cendrier?''

"Ashtray," Bob replied, and suddenly recalled that Nicole smoked. In fact, it seemed tiiat everyone in Sete had smoked.

"Thank you," Sheila repeated. "Is it—uh—handmade?"

"Yes," said the boy. "In our ceramics class."

"I take ceramics too," Paula said, to let him know how much they had in common.

"Oh," said Jean-Claude.

Golly, Paula thought, he's really handsome.

Sheila took the gift and looked at it. He'd meant well, after all. It was a touching gesture. A ceramic ashtray, signed by the craftsman who had made it: Guerin 16.6.78.

''Voulez-yous boire quelque chose?*' asked Jessica,



ready to sprint for the cognac or mineral water or whatever beverage the Frenchman would fancy.

"Non, merci, Jessica. Je rCai pas soij."

*'Je comprends/' she proudly said. This time she'd actually understood. Mademoiselle O'Shaughnessy, you'd flip your wig.

''How're things in France, Jean-Claude?" asked Paula, anxious to preserve her share of the guest's attention.

Bob thought it prudent to abridge this conversation.

''We'll have lots of time to discuss things, girls. But I think Jean-Claude's pretty tired. Aren't you, Jean-Claude?"

"A bit," the boy conceded.

'Tour room's right across from m.ine," said Paula.

Jessie fumed. If Paula continued this inept vamping, she'd absolutely die of mortification. What would he think, for heaven's sake?

"I'll take his baggage up," said Bob to Sheila.

"No, I will," she replied, picked up the green valise (did it belong to her?) and said, "This way, Jean-Claude." She started up the stairs.

"Good night," he said shyly, and turned to follow her.

As soon as they were out of sight, Bob went to the liquor cabinet.

"Wow, he's cute!" gushed Paula.

"You are an acute embarrassment, Mademoiselle Beckwith," snarled Jessie. "You haven't got the foggiest notion how to address Europeans."

"Drop dead," said Paula.

"Come on, girls," said Bob, who had now fortified himself with Johnnie Walker. "Let's act our age."



For Jessie, act your age was the unkindest cut of all.

"Father, if you hate me, have the guts to say it like a man."

''Jessie, I love you." He put his arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead.

"Your French is great, Jess. I had no idea you were so good."

"Do you really think so. Daddy?" Unbelievable. She sounded like a twelve-year-old, hungry for paternal approbation.

"Yes," said Bob, "I really do." And kept on hugging her.

"His English is fantastic," Paula said, "and he's only my age."

"He's had a private tutor," Bob explained.

"How come?" asked Jessie hopefully. "Is he noble?"

"No," said Bob. "His mother was a country doctor."

"What about his father?"

"Fm not sure," said Bob evasively, "but I know he wasn't noble."

"He's very independent," Sheila said.

"In what way?"

They were now in their bedroom. The rest of the household was already fast asleep.

"He wouldn't let me help him unpack. He insisted on doing it by himself," she said, and then added, "Was I cold to him?"

"No. How did you feel?"

"How do you think?"

"You were wonderful," said Bob, and reached out for her hand. She moved away.

"He took that little airline bag to bed with him.



Must have all his earthly treasures in it." There was distance in her voice.

''Guess so/' said Bob, and wondered what a little boy of nine might carry with him as his consolation.

His eyes followed her as she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She emerged a few minutes later in her nightgown and bathrobe. Bob had lately gotten the disconcerting feeling that she was uneasy about undressing in front of him.

She sat down on the bed and started to adjust the alarm clock. (What for—wasn't this vacation?) He wanted to reach over and embrace her, but the gap of sheets and pillows separating them seemed much too wide to bridge.

''Sheila, I love you."