The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) by Gordon Merrick Page A

mitigated guilt; and his deep angry antagonism to his father, the General. He knew his father would be appalled by the road he had chosen, and this confirmed him in it. He already looked forward to his finding out, but not until he was twenty-one, so there could be no legal complications. He could imagine himself being slapped into some sort of reformatory school.
    He gripped Charlie’s hands for safety and was aware that needs and demands of his own were emerging. All their talk about going to New York together had remained singularly amorphous because of Charlie’s edict against discussing it with C. B. He was suddenly determined to take practical steps.
    “I’m going to write Columbia this afternoon. Right now.” He pulled himself up in the chair and propped his elbow on Charlie’s thighs. “We’ve got to find out about night courses and fees and all that stuff. Even if I don’t actually do anything about it, we’ve got to know what we’re talking about when we talk to C. B.”
    “Well, I’ve been thinking more about that, too, of course. I don’t see why we necessarily have to tell her. You have to go home first, anyway. I don’t see why you can’t just come back to New York and move in, and we’ll see how things work out.”
    “But you say it has to be all right with her because of the allowance and everything.”
    “Well, sure.”
    “Then we have to tell her. I know damn well she wouldn’t like it if she found out we’d planned it all behind her back.”
    “Well, we can’t do anything till you get the stuff from Columbia, anyway.”
    “No, of course not. But then we’ll tell her.” Peter was aware that Charlie had made no effort to get him to write. At such moments he had only to look up at the level, slightly upswept, somehow devilish brows, the deep-blue eyes, the mouth, which seemed always to be slightly smiling, for all doubts to be suspended. Charlie was all the joy and beauty a human being could be. He leaned down and kissed the strong hand resting on his arm.
    THE next day, the apology arrived, routine was restored, and Sapphire returned in the evening. On the following morning, after breakfast, Peter was delegated to collect their swimming trunks from the line in the kitchen yard while Charlie went upstairs. Peter was gone a long time. He entered Charlie’s room twirling the trunks in his hands.
    “Where’ve you been all this time?”
    “Did you miss me, beautiful?”
    “I did. What were you doing?”
    “Talking to Sapphire about her audition. She really had one. She told me all about it. She’s nice. She’s so simple about it. It was at the Metropolitan, but not for the Metropolitan. It’s some show in the fall Otto Kahn’s putting money into. The joke will really be on C. B. if she turns out to be a star. You’ll be a star, too. You and Sapphire starring on Broadway. How about that? And me? Well, stars have to have secretaries. That’s two job possibilities right there. Except Sapphire has Henry, so I guess I’ll have to settle for you.”
    Charlie laughed at his nonsense and pulled him close. “You’ll have to settle for me, all right. Tell Sapphire to lay off.” He studied the face before him, aware of the change in Peter just since the fight the other night. He was growing less sensitive, less solicitous, tougher, brighter, the sweet docility was fading. On the whole, Charlie approved; he felt more air around them.
    An anxious little frown creased Peter’s brow. “She said something peculiar. You won’t like it, but I’d better tell you. She said to tell Mister Charlie if he did anything he didn’t want his Granny to know about, be careful of Rosie. She says she’s a spy.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie smiled and shrugged. “C. B.’s right. Negroes are crazy. Didn’t you ask her what she was talking about?”
    “No. I didn’t think I’d better.”
    Charlie’s smile vanished and his eyes stared with alarm. “You mean—good God.