The Riviera Contract

by Arthur Kerns

  Lucinda, balancing herself against the boat’s tilt, gingerly slipped down into the cabin after saying, “Please do not make hard turns,” a euphemism from the days when they were lovers and they sailed alone, and when she went down to use the head. This time, she blushed after she said it to him, as if she did not want to bring up old confidences.

  Just within the mouth of the bay, Stone took the boat into the wind and the sails fluttered. Lowering the sails, they slowed to a stall and gently floated. Lucinda came up from below deck carrying a wicker basket holding a long brown baguette and a wine bottle protruding from beneath a blue-checkered cloth.

  “You must be hungry, Hayden. When did you last eat?” She placed the basket down and then frowned. “We should not eat here. It is not the right place. A swell is coming in from the sea.”

  “I remember the spot where we used to snorkel. ‘Our place,’ you used to say.” He thought he detected disapproval for referencing past times.

  Lucinda repacked the basket and went to the helm. “Haul up the mainsail,” she ordered.

  They leisurely sailed toward a cove on the east shore. Perched on a cliff, two terra cotta-roofed homes, walls painted ochre, had not been there the last time. A motorboat with a cubby cabin passed slowly off the cove and, after a second pass, left them alone with the sounds of sea birds and waves gently washing up on the rocks. They dropped anchor and Lucinda allowed the ketch to ease around with the wind so the flukes of the anchor took hold. “The water is cold,” she said, pulling out two wetsuits from a locker. “But I think only the tops are necessary.” Slipping the top over her head, she added, “We can eat after our dive.”

  The black wetsuit stopped above her white bikini bottom. Her body had filled out since he had seen it last and now had a mature firmness. The absence of tan lines suggested hours of sunbathing in the nude. Stone zipped up his top, sat down, and pulled on his fins.

  When he spit into his mask, she laughed. “You are old fashioned, Hayden. The glass has been treated with … what do you say? Defogger? You do not have to spit on the glass anymore.”

  Her smile, with that trace of the innocence he remembered, had at last reappeared. Perhaps he could relax. “I wonder if that old German World War Two plane engine is still down there,” he said.

  “Let us take a look.” She jumped feet first off the side.

  He followed and they paddled a few yards from the boat. They took deep breaths and then dove down into the clear, aquamarine water. Inside the sheltered cove, the lack of current from the bay made for easy diving. White and pink shellfish and gently waving marine plants set a background for a quiet world. Lucinda took hold of his arm and pointed to a gray, twisted metal hulk. He indicated he saw it and then gave a thumbs up. At the surface, breathing hard, he said, “The wreck’s still there.” He blew water out of his snorkel. “Odd, we never found any other plane wreckage.”

  “Come, I will show you something else I found,” she said. “But you must promise to keep it a secret.”

  She swam a few yards toward shore then pointed downward. Her strong legs took her straight down to an isolated clumping of seaweed at the bottom of a rock incline. Again, she took his arm, pulled him toward the plants, and then pushed the branches aside. Stone moved in and grasped a limb to hold himself steady. Lucinda touched a broken amphora, then swam to the side and brushed sand from the face of a marble goddess. The slanted sunlight from above played intermittent shadows across the statue’s profile, chipped and slightly stained, yet still classic. Stone gazed as long as he could withstand the need for air. They popped to the surface at the same time, both gasping. Three times, they returned to look at the statue and at last agreed to return to the boat. Again on deck, pulling off their wetsuits, Lucinda extracted a promise he would not reveal her secret. “Collectors look for artifacts along the coast,” she advised. “I do not want them to find her. She has rested down there for centuries in peace.”

  The two lay on the smooth wooden deck facing the sun. Stone let the rays heat the skin on his chest. He braced his feet on the chrome wire lifeline. Occasionally, a breeze brought on a slight chill. They had devoured the sandwiches packed in the wicker.

  “Do you have a wife?” she asked, keeping her eyes closed, her face lifted up to the sun.

  “I just got divorced.”

  “You left her for another woman?”

  “She left me.”

  “She left you for another man?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She rose up on her elbow and looked at him. “That is something you would know, I think. That is, if you had any interest in her.”

  Her swimsuit had dried. Her auburn hair, still damp, was pulled back, showing her ears. A little large. Once he had wondered whether they came from her Egyptian father or Italian mother. No matter—on another woman they would have been a distraction.

  “Have you been married?”

  “No,” she said, and lay back down and closed her eyes. “Almost. Two weeks before we were to be married, he was killed in a car accident outside of Monaco.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No need. He was speeding with another woman in the car who, at the time of the crash, was performing a sexual act on him.” She snorted. “Papa warned me about him.”

  Raising herself up, she looked down at her breasts and then adjusted her bikini top. For a moment, Stone thought she was about to remove it. She looked down at his body. Her eyes stopped on the recent wound on his side. With an assuredness, she reached over and ran her fingers over the pink scar. A pleasant chill spread over the skin of his chest and arms. He didn’t want it to stop.

  As if catching herself slipping into another world, she looked away. “I will go down below and heat some Brie. Would you like to open the Chablis?”

  An hour later, after checking the anchor, Stone walked back and sat next to Lucinda, who was gathering the glasses and plates. “You did not care for the wine?” she asked.

  “Oh no, I did,” he said, picking up the bottle and reading the label. “A Petite Chablis. It went perfectly with the Brie, which tasted of mushrooms. The wine was nice and clean.” A bit edgy … just barely made the grade.

  “Your director at the Foundation d’Élan gave me the wine,” she said, balancing the glasses on the plates. “Now, what is it you do there?”

  “I’m trying to write.”

  “Jonathan told me that,” she said. “He thought you wrote travel books.” She went over to the open hatch and Stone got up to help her. She continued, “How do you know Jonathan?” Without waiting for an answer, she started down the ladder, still talking. Stone followed. “Jonathan and his dear wife are coming to my party, so you will have someone to talk with.”

  “Is Harrington coming also?”

  She laid down the dishes and glasses in the sink, then turned and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, he is coming with his wife.” She stared hard, then she softened. “Boswell Harrington and I have had some business arrangements. You have no doubt heard that he wants to make it more than just business, no?”

  “I don’t consider that any of my business.”

  “My dear Hayden, you have become so sophisticated.” She touched his chin. “The sun is beginning to set.”

  “It’s a shame we have to go back.”

  She smiled and motioned him to follow her up on deck. “We have some options, as you Americans say. We can sail over to town and eat dinner there, or go back to the villa.”

  “Or we could stay here overnight. There’re provisions aboard,” Stone suggested. “And it’s a safe anchorage.”

  She laughed. “Is it now?”

  After a light meal prepared by Lucinda in the galley, they idled, watching the changing colors of sunset, talking about the deceased Villefranche poet, Jean Cocteau; the onslaught dreaded by the locals of les aoutiens, the August tourists; and how the world had changed in recent years. No mention was made of their time as lovers. Stone wondered what the sleeping arrangements would be
. He could only hope for the best, but he picked up only vague signals suggesting they would sleep together. At about nine, the waning crescent moon appeared and Lucinda announced she was going to her cabin. “Hope you will be comfortable in the forward cabin,” she said. “I put some English books there in case you wanted to read before going to sleep.”

  “Would you mind if I had a cigar on deck first?”

  She didn’t mind, which he knew, because her father had introduced Stone to cigars. She handed him a brandy, then said goodnight. Almost as good as a kiss. The temperature had dropped and Stone was glad Lucinda had provided him with a good, thick sweater. Soft twinkling lights dotted the shore of the bay of Villefranche and burst into vibrant whites and reds where the town was coming alive. The ketch rested on the water and stars spotted the sky above the mast. Only an occasional splash a distance off the bow broke the quiet. Perhaps squid shooting up from the depths and breaking the surface. Mediterranean fishermen hung bright lamps over the bows of their boats to attract them. However, all was darkness around him.

  He decided against having the cigar and instead took a good swallow of brandy. Then he went down to his cabin and undressed. The books stuck in a cubbyhole were old hardbacks. Stone appreciated that none were erotic novels, the last thing he needed tonight. One of them was a vintage copy of Travels through France and Italy by Tobias Smollett. Perhaps the author would provide some ideas on travel writing. Did Lucinda purposely provide the volume, thinking he was now a travel writer?

  An hour after he had fallen asleep, Stone woke to hear light footsteps overhead. Was Lucinda checking the anchor? Had the boat shifted toward shore?

  He pulled on his swimsuit and sweater and headed for the ladder leading up to the deck. The ketch’s anchor lights provided some reference. He called out Lucinda’s name, but received no answer. Holding on to the mainsail boom, he started toward the bow.

  Suddenly, a heavy body tackled his midsection and threw him against the lifeline. A blade sliced through Stone’s sweater and cut into his shoulder. He pushed against the hand, but the assailant twisted free and slashed back, this time low, and cut him again, this time on his buttock.

  Stone realized he couldn’t overpower his assailant, so he eased up and yanked the man to the side. Clinging to one another, they fell overboard.

  The blackness of night crashed into the blackness of water. Stone had taken a big gulp of air before going into the bay. Now underwater, with his left hand, he grabbed his attacker’s hand holding the knife. At the same time, he slipped his right arm under the attacker’s arm and brought it around to his other hand, the one holding back the knife. On solid ground and with good traction, Stone could have pushed his opponent’s arm back out of its socket, but in the water, the two just spun around. Meanwhile, in rapid gasps the man began swallowing water.

  With his knee, Stone dug into the man’s groin then snatched the knife. Now Stone slashed back and forth at the man’s midsection as they drifted upward. When they surfaced, the man coughed out water and at the same time slugged Stone. The blow snapped Stone’s head back. He kicked away and bumped into a hard moving object behind him. He assumed it was another attacker, but as the object passed along his left side, Stone felt the sandpaper scrape from the skin of a shark.

  Stone swam hard toward the ketch’s running lights. From behind him, the assailant screamed, a flashlight went on, and a beam from a motorboat searched across the water. Looking back, Stone saw in the light the man swimming hard for the boat.

  The light beam now played on Stone and he heard the muffled shot from a gun fitted with a silencer. Next to his head, bullets splashed the water. Stone heaved the knife in the direction of the light. The knife rotated in the air and fell short, hitting Stone’s assailant who was still a good twenty feet from the boat.

  The light beam now focused on the man, who was flailing and screaming. Stone wondered what part of the body the knife had hit to cause such a reaction when he saw the shark shoot out of the water, bite down on the man’s shoulder, and give him two violent shakes. Both disappeared under the surface.

  A voice carried faintly over the water from the boat. “Leave him.” Stone detected a slight British accent. The engine started up with a throaty roar and the boat spun away, heading for open water.

  Stone swam to the side of the ketch and searched for something to grab onto so he could lift himself aboard. The pain in his shoulder now matched an aching on his right buttock. Blood poured from both wounds, which he knew would attract other sharks. He had just thought of the anchor line as a means of getting out of the water, when Lucinda called from above.

  “Hayden, is that you?”

  “Yes. Quick, throw me a line. Sharks!” As he spoke, something hit his lower leg hard and pushed him away from the boat. “For Christ’s sake, hurry!”

  “I am. Here is the line.”

  A heavy nylon line hit him on the head. Stone pulled hand over hand until he was next to the boat. He tried to pull himself up, but Lucinda cried, “The line is slipping!”

  “Throw the rope ladder over the side and tie it to a cleat! Quick!” Stone knew the shark would hit again. She yelled that the ladder was secure and dropped it over the side. He climbed, feeling the pain in his shoulder. As he reached the top of the ladder, Lucinda grabbed his sweater and yanked him onto the boat. He had not realized how strong she was.

  “What happened? Who was in that boat?”

  Stone collapsed on the deck. Lucinda switched on the deck lights and flashed a spotlight in the direction of the splashing. “Don’t bother looking,” he said.

  “What is causing that splashing?”

  “The shark found something tastier than me.” He stood and pushed his wet hair from his face. “It seems we had an unwelcomed boarder.” Had the terrorists found him there? No need to alarm Lucinda. “Are there pirates around here?” he asked.

  “No, but there have been some robberies on the yachts and—God, Hayden, the shark bit you!” She touched his shoulder. “Take that off.” She began pulling up his sweater.

  “It’s a knife wound. The robber stabbed me.”

  “The cut is not deep. No need for sutures, I believe,” she said, using the sweater to press on the wound. “Where else?”

  “Well…” He turned and pointed to his right buttock.

  “Let us go down below to handle that,” she said. Stone thought he detected a grin. In her cabin, which had a double bed squeezed fore and aft between the bulkheads, she directed him to the sink and applied an antiseptic to his shoulder. She then placed a thick bandage over the wound. Finished, she raised her eyebrows and pointing, ordered, “Down.”

  “I think the bleeding has stopped.”

  “Down with the trunks and lie face down on my … bed.” She gave a bored sigh. “We are adults, no?”

  Stone complied and put his face in the pillow. He had made it to her bed, but saw no chance of scoring. He felt the sting of the antiseptic as she dabbed the cotton swab gently on his skin.

  “It is not a major wound.”

  He thought he detected a held-back laugh.

  She applied a bandage, smoothing down the tape with her fingers. “Well, your derrière will recover.” This time she laughed. “It is still as adorable as I remember.”

  She got up from the bed. He turned over and rose to his feet. She stood at the sink with her back to him. He moved close to her and caressed her arms, then buried his face into the nape of her neck. He kissed her for a long time. Then he withdrew and waited.

  Lucinda turned slowly, grabbed his waist, and kissed him hard. She pushed him away and struggled with her nightshirt. “Help me get this off. So you can get to me.”

  The shirt came off and he took a breast in each hand. Again, she kissed him hard, at times missing his lips. As they fell onto the bed, he slipped off her thong. Her fierceness surprised him. No submissive maiden lying back for him to take her. She grabbed and scratched at him. Each time he tried to place her in a position, s
he moved into one she wanted. Finally she took his face in her hands. With a slight shriek, she bit into his neck. Stone stopped thinking.

  At last, exhausted, they lay under the sheet, looking at each other. Both were tired, yet they couldn’t sleep. After a while, Stone whispered he was going up on deck to make sure everything was secure. Also, he wanted to see if any boats were lingering nearby. The people in the speedboat might decide to return. She threw a leg over him and held him tight.

  “I’ll be gone for only a few minutes.”

  She moved closer and snuggled her head on his chest. She jerked up. “Your wounds,” then rolled over and switched on the light.

  Stone looked down. “Shit. There’s blood on the sheets.”

  “No matter,” she said. “Just some blotches.”

  He let his eyes search her body as if studying a Greek statue in an Athens museum. She tilted her head and grinned as if to say, “enjoying the view?”

  Stone chuckled. God, he loved being in bed with a woman!

  “I shall come up on deck with you. There is a jacket in your cabin.” She rose, then exclaimed, “You did not use protection!”

  “Ah, no. Sorry, but I’m clean, trust me.”

  “Same with all you males, ‘I am clean.’” She huffed. “I could become pregnant!”

  “Ah, the chances are very slim—”

  “Slim! Hah! Like I always told my girlfriends, you come like a racehorse.”

  “Lucinda, who did you say that to?”

  “Oh, be still. What a prude. Go put on your trousers.”

  When they returned to the stateroom, Lucinda slipped on a top, placed a blanket on the bed and invited Stone to join her. Soon, she was breathing in the long and steady rhythm of deep sleep. Stone pressed his face against her arm and laid his hand on her waist. With half-shut eyes, he listened for any sounds not consistent with the boat’s movement caused by the sea and wind.