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

Spying on us here?” He released Peter and looked distractedly around the room. “I’m always careful about the towels and all that. You haven’t been forgetting to muss your bed?”
    “No. Always.”
    “Well, there’s nothing here to make anybody suspect anything. If she wants to stand outside the door and listen, let her. C. B. wouldn’t believe her.”
    “I don’t guess anybody would. All that whooping and hollering and squealing.”
    Charlie turned and hurried to the bathroom. He came back with a little shake of his head. “Everything’s in order. It always is.” He stopped and looked at Peter. He approached him slowly and stood close to him and lifted his hand to his face, running a finger lightly over it. His eyes had grown intent and searching.
    “Uh-oh. Now what?” Peter asked. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
    Charlie continued his scrutiny. Then he stepped back and to one side, still looking. “I’m going to do your portrait. I get so excited looking at you that I wasn’t sure I could, but I’m beginning to see you now. Let Rosie spy on that.”
    “Golly, what a fabulous idea. I can’t wait to see how you work.”
    “I haven’t got oils here, but I’ve got all my drawing stuff. That should settle it if anybody’s wondering why we spend so much time up here. I’ll do a portrait, and we’ll give it to C. B. from both of us.”
    “From both of us. That sounds good. Darling, why is C. B. called C. B.? I’ve never known.”
    “Oh, it’s an old joke. Her maiden name was Barton. Armina Barton Collinge. A. B. C. Some friends of hers were kidding about it and she said, ‘I’d rather be C. B. than B. C.’ It stuck.”
    Peter laughed. “That sounds like her.”
    “Come on. Let’s have a swim. We’re going to be busy.”
    They were out of their clothes and into their trunks in a moment. As they were leaving the room, Charlie said, “Listen, don’t tell C. B. you spoke to Sapphire about the audition and everything.”
    “Why not?”
    “She wouldn’t want us being pally with the servants. She prefers to handle them herself.”
    “Well, I hope she’s nice to Sapphire about it. It’s so important to her, even if she is an animal.”
    “Of course she will be, silly. She’s wonderful with them.”
    “I know. I was just talking.” He hugged Charlie’s arm in his, but Charlie shook him off.
    “Look out. Somebody might see us.”
    Charlie started on the portrait that afternoon. As a preliminary, he confined himself to rough sketches, and Peter reveled in the bliss of being the focus of his probing eyes for hours at a time. He had never felt so totally possessed. Charlie continued with his sketches in the days that followed. When he felt that he was ready, he worked all one afternoon on the finished drawing. At last, he let Peter see it.
    “Holy mackerel,” Peter said with awe after studying it in silence for some minutes. “I’m beautiful. Why hasn’t anybody told me?”
    “I have,” Charlie said briefly, holding the portrait up.
    Peter looked at him and back at the drawing. He studied it line by line and saw love in it more explicit than anything he had ever dared hope Charlie would express in words. The muscles of his jaw tensed. “Yes, you have. I’m trying not to bawl like a baby.” He slammed his clenched fists onto his knees and stood up. “What do you expect after this? I’d crawl all the way to New York on my stomach to be with you.”
    They carried the portrait down to C. B. before dinner. Charlie made the presentation. “It’s from both of us. We thought you’d like to have it.”
    She studied it through her lorgnette. “How absolutely superb! So that’s what you’ve been up to. What a glorious surprise.” She rose and went from one to the other and embraced and kissed them. She held it out and looked from it to Peter. “It’s so absolutely you. You really are a beautiful creature, my darling.”
    “Don’t you think it’s good?” Peter