Lila's Protégé

By Jeannine D. Van Eperen

In 1954 Jeffrey Laurance leaves all he has known behind him to embark on a singing career in the United States, fostered by Lila Lubow, a beautiful actress who discovers him in a small fishing village in France and sees his potential. Lila had made a similar trip herself when she left a small town in Austria to find fame and fortune. Will being Lila's protégé bring the young man success and happiness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590884645

Book preview

One

1957-France

He stood in the shadowy doorway, heard the gulls' angry cries, and smiled to himself as he moved from the rusty half-screened door and leaned against the drab, grey stucco building. Once the building had been gleaming white, but time, dust, salt air, and general neglect now left it, like most buildings in St.Yves, shoddy and dull.

At the inland outskirts of the village, a small forest of stunted trees where gypsies camped from time to time gave a little relief to the flat surroundings of the Landes region. The oyster beds that provided the main livelihood harvested little in recent years, so the economy was one of daily subsistence, nothing more. A few vineyards several miles hence struggled for existence producing crops good only for making cheap wine for the natives.

It had rained earlier in the day. A few puddles still lingered on the dirt road that bisected the village which bore little to distinguish it from the other villages in the vicinity except for the children’s home at the north edge of the settlement. There was a post office, butcher shop, bank, a minuscule general store, a small seedy hotel, pâtisserie with a small cardboard sign in its window proclaiming it a bus station, a Catholic Church whose spire rose higher than the scant trees around it, some derelict vacant lots, a cluster of small residences, a few run-down boarding houses with loose clapboards and peeling paint, and a bistro that bore the town’s only neon sign. The sign was pink and proudly spelled out Yves in the bistro’s small window. The s, however, was only partially illuminated.

The young man heard the click as the sign was turned on and the soft buzzing sound the sign sporadically emitted. His profile was etched in the sign’s pink glow. He was shabbily dressed in cheap and well-worn clothing, a brown cotton pullover shirt and darker brown corduroy trousers, but his long dark lashes, emerald green eyes, dark wavy hair, finely chiseled chin and nose, sensuous lips, and slim physique led one not to notice his attire for long. He gave a shrill whistle. A few moments later a large Alsatian dog ran up to him. He patted her head.

Good girl, Greta, you stayed out of the puddles. He breathed deeply enjoying the sea air, then walked inside to be confronted with the familiar smell of stale cigarettes, cheap wine and ale, and fried fish.

There is a foreign ship in the harbor, Jef, Yves, the owner of the bar said. American. Not a fishing boat, a yacht like the ones in the Arcachon Harbor.

THE WAVES GENTLY WASHED the beach as the gulls called to each other complaining about the intruders who walked along the shore. The sun slowly setting sent pink and orange streaks across the sky reflecting in the ocean like glittering spangles on a Spanish dancer.

Amelia removed her shoes, and walked over to her mother who was standing on the wet beach watching as fishing boats started to moor near the wooden pier. Gulls swooped down at the boats playfully while the fishermen cursed at them and protected their meager catch.

What a lovely little village this is, Mom. I’m glad we decided to stop here.

Lila smiled and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Did you enjoy your walk, darling? Lila’s accent still bore traces of her Austrian ancestry, even though she had lived in the United States for more than twenty years. Lila had recently shed her fifth spouse and was getting over her depression from the break up by traveling with her daughter, the product of her second marriage to a hotel tycoon, Elwood Marshall. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, and though many people insisted Lila was flighty, she had always been a devoted mother. Lila’s hair was a pale ash blonde, her eyes Austrian blue, and she still possessed, at age forty-three, a trim figure.

Amelia’s hair was a darker golden blonde, and she had inherited the olive complexion and brown eyes of her father.

Why don’t we get a room in town, Mom? We’re so isolated on the boat.

"I’m sure, Amy, you wouldn’t like any accommodations here. Even your father has neglected this town, and you know there aren’t many places so blessed." Lila glanced back and looked with distaste at the dismal village.

Perhaps that’s why I like it here, Amelia said with the enthusiasm of youth. It’s really quaint. You ought to walk into town with me, Mom. There’s even a small bistro, and I heard piano music coming out of it. The church is lovely, St. Yves. Of course, everything is St. Yves here.

Is that the name of the bar, too?

Amelia laughed. No, Mom, that is just plain Yves. There’s no saint there, but I did peek inside, and the pianist is quite handsome. I’d really like you to come with me to see him.

Umm, maybe later. Lila was bored with the place and eager to leave. She shivered. We’d better head back to the boat. I’m starting to get cold. They walked to the pier as the fading sun now colored the horizon deep purple then took a launch back to the yacht, the Lovely Lila. Maybe we’ll push on to Bordeaux tomorrow.

No, Amelia said quickly with disappointment evident in her tone of voice. Mom, we’ve got to stay here for a while.

Oh, really? Lila raised her finely plucked eyebrows and gazed at her daughter.

I’ve been trying to tell you, Mom. I’d like you to go to this bistro with me. The pianist there is the just about the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. He’s quite young, but he’s really something.

He must be for you to be so interested. Lila studied her daughter as they rode in the small boat to the Lovely Lila. Amy had never been boy crazy. She rarely dated; in fact, Lila thought that because of her own lack of luck with the opposite sex, her daughter was reluctant to form relationships with men. Lila, herself, was always the optimist; always thought when she married, this one will last, but after five unsuccessful marriages even she was beginning to have her doubts. She had what she considered a healthy sex drive. Maybe it would be better to find a lover, forget about marriage...if Amy was married, perhaps. She smiled to herself. There were several younger men that she did find attractive, but their funds were not what she was used to, and she did like presents and expensive evenings. If she could find someone younger who could fit her expensive expectations, and not too young; he’d have to be at least over thirty. She sighed. What kind of a mother was she? Here, her only daughter was mooning about some destitute young Frenchman, and all she thought about was what she’d like. It might be worth a trip into this dismal town to see just what kind of a man caught Amelia’s fancy.

Did you want me to see this young man tonight?

Could we, Mom? It’s not a very far walk; only about a block or so away from the pier.

How old did you say he was?

Frowning in thought, Amelia said, I don’t know. I’m sure he’s not any older than I. What difference does it make?

Lila shrugged her shapely shoulders. None. None at all, dear.

THE ODOR OF GREASE and fried fish assailed their senses as Lila and Amelia approached the bistro. Youths, too poor to pay for a glass of ale, lingered outside its door enjoying the conviviality and taunting their neighbors who entered.

Lila glanced at her daughter with annoyance. The young man had better be extraordinary, she thought, if she had to stomach an evening of putrid aromas, reeking bodies, and cheap wine.

Amelia, this is impossible. I think we’d better turn tail and admit defeat. My nose just isn’t used to this.

Oh, Mom, consider it atmosphere. We’re here now, and a few minutes won’t hurt. Please?

In the dusky light of the bistro, the air was thick with strong cigarette smoke. The room was square with booths lining one wall, a bar filled another, a doorway and a few small tables were along the third. In front of the fourth wall was a shabby spinet piano as well as more tables. Behind the piano was another door. There were no decorations except for a fish net that was hung on the wall behind the bar. The room was filled with tiny tables, some of which appeared to be pushed aside to make room for a small space for dancers.

Yves beamed as he saw Lila and Amelia enter his establishment. Quickly, the owner walked over before they could leave. Bowing profusely, Yves led them to an empty booth, then left them without taking an order, and scurried to bring drinks to other tables. Darting back and forth between the bar and tables, sometimes stopping to open a door and call in a fish order, Yves glanced and smiled toward the strangers’ booth to be sure they were still there. A woman from time to time emerged, carrying platters of fish and set them on various tables.

Fascinated, Lila and Amy watched wondering how the woman knew where to take the orders since she was not the waitress. Yves alone, served as waiter, greeter, and bartender. Lila, now that she was inside and seated, found herself enjoying the evening and looked with calculating interest at the pianist.

There are two beautiful women sitting in a booth at the far side of the room. Tourists, I think, Jef. They’ve really been studying you. Maurice, swarthy with a cocky appearance, blew a smoke ring then placed the cigarette between Jef’s lips, waited while the pianist inhaled, took it back, and continued puffing himself.

There is an American yacht in the harbor. Yves told me.

Rich, American women. Maurice sighed and boldly stared across the room at the foreigners. He leaned indolently against the piano watching as his friend continued to play. "Why don’t you give the tourist women a thrill and sing, Jef? If they are Americans, they love to hear French singers."

When did you become a man of the world, Maurice? You’ve spent your life in St. Yves, too, remember? Jef smiled at his friend, turned on the microphone, and began to sing softly.

A short while later, Yves brought a glass filled with water and wine and placed it on the piano. Two tourist women sent you a drink. They wanted to buy you a drink; so I thought, why not? You can use the money, so pretend it is a cognac, and sip it, and I’ll add the price to your salary. Okay?

Jef nodded.

They are American, yes? Maurice asked.

One is...the younger one. The other, I don’t know. The bartender raised his shoulders in a typical Gallic shrug. Very beautiful women, Jef, and much enthralled with you.

Jef smiled shyly and motioned with his head that he was ready for another puff on the cigarette. Then he looked in the general direction of the two tourists and smiled as he now sang in English.

What a beautiful accent, Amelia said.

You’ve heard French accents before, Amy. But yes, there is something special about that young man. Maybe it’s his heavenly green eyes.

He is special, Amelia said. You do agree?

Umm. Maybe. Remember, Amy, your mom has seen a lot of men in her day. Ever since I won that Miss Vienna contest way back in...

Just what year was it, Mom?

You wouldn’t remember. It was before you or that young Adonis was born. Lila smiled. He does have possibilities. In another ten years or so, he’ll really be something. Very attractive. His friend isn’t bad either. I can see why you’re so interested in him, darling.

I’m not interested in him for me!

For whom then?

For you, Mom.

Me! Really, Amelia. What would I want with a young French pianist?

Amelia laughed. You seem at loose ends. With no films scheduled, no romances, you seem bored. I thought you might like to take on a project. She took a deep breath and raced on while her mother was still too dumbfounded to stop her.

"I thought you might like to sponsor him. With your connections, you might even be able to turn him into a star. Look at him, Mom, he’s gorgeous! And now we know he not only plays the piano and looks great, but he can sing. Wouldn’t you like a young, handsome, French protégé?"

Don’t you think I have enough problems with ex-husbands? No, thank you, darling.

Just think about it, Mom.

I think you’re out of your mind, Amelia, Lila said disdainfully.

Amelia smiled as she saw her mother look over toward the pianist. A seed was planted, and she wondered if it would sprout roots and grow. She craned to see. I can’t see him anymore, can you?

I’m afraid not. The natives have him surrounded. Lila lit a cigarette and leaned back languidly. I am glad I came here, Amy. I can almost imagine I’m back in Klagenfurt. Ah, I was so young and carefree, and there was a tavern almost like this. Lila continued reminiscing of her youth in Austria, while Amelia kept straining for another glimpse of the pianist.

He’s quit playing, Amelia said with disappointment.

"Garçon, Lila said. Will the musician be back?"

"No, mademoiselle. We close soon."

He’s quite good.

Oui.

Let him know that we enjoyed his playing, Lila said, handing the waiter a ten-dollar bill.

"I’ll see he gets it, mademoiselle."

Lubow. Lila Lubow. My daughter, Amelia Marshall.

Enchanté. Yves Duval.

The pianist. Is he from here?

Oh, yes. He was raised at St. Yves Home. He is an orphan.

He was raised in the home all of his life?

Most. He was there for ten years or so. Before that, I don’t know. No one does. Yves smiled and continued cordially, "My brother, Père Duval, his church is St. Yves; he talked the nuns into letting Jef work here." He pronounced the name Zeph as in zephyr. It is a good job for him, no?

"Yes, Monsieur Duval, Amelia answered. I’m sure he likes working here very much."

I invested in the microphone. It was brought here from Paris, Yves said expansively and proudly.

You say his name is Zeph? That’s not a French name, is it? Lila asked.

What does Yves Duval know of names? he asked lifting his expressive shoulders.

THE NEXT DAY, JEFFREY and Maurice walked together down the narrow main street of St. Yves. It had rained earlier that morning, and the street was still damp. Grey clouds parted periodically letting the sun send shafts of light and warmth downward. The two young men, engrossed in conversation, appeared unaware of the weather, which still bore the promise of rain, as they found chairs and a table that were dry outside the town’s small café.

A pretty, buxom waitress quickly brought croissants and cocoa.

The Alsatian had trailed them as they walked, and now lay down beside Jeffrey’s chair. He let his hand drop down and petted the animal, then broke off a piece of the croissant he was about to eat, and fed it to the dog.

AMELIA MARSHALL HAD gotten up at the crack of dawn and was whiling away the morning indulging in croissants, dripping with butter, and café au lait. Her interest perked up as she noticed the two young men sitting in the terrace of the cafe. Maurice was, Amelia thought, the typical Frenchman of the region with straight black hair and brown eyes, more animated than his companion, constantly talking, gesturing, and waving at passersby. Jef is an introvert like me, she decided watching him. She ordered another café au lait. Her mother was still sleeping. When Lila awoke, she’d spend at least an hour at her hair and make up. Amy thought there was too much to see and do to spend that much time languishing, but then, she admitted, her mother had, by now, seen and done everything.

The young men left the cafe and Amelia left, also, following a short distance behind. When she saw Jef bump into a vendor’s table set on the narrow walkway, she giggled to herself. She waited outside while they went into St. Yves Bank. Then they emerged again with the dog following closely behind or walking at Jef’s side.

Amelia had not been able to tell the exact color of Jef’s hair in the bistro, but now she saw that it was a rich brown with reddish highlights when the sun shone upon him. His eyes were emerald green. Never had she seen such beguiling eyes in her life. He was tall, lean, and his features, she thought, perfect.

Maurice, Jef, and Greta, the dog, now sauntered down to the waterfront. They walked on the pier and studied the yacht for a while, before heading down the beach where they began wrestling playfully while the dog barked loudly, scolding them. Amelia was shocked when she saw Jef suddenly holding a switchblade knife at his friend’s throat. It had happened so quickly she didn’t see how or when he pulled the knife. She gasped in apprehension, then smiled to herself as she saw them laughing as the knife was put away. They must be tougher than they look, she decided. They looked in her direction as the dog ran over to her wagging its tail and sniffing. Jef whistled, and the dog quickly returned to his side.

The American girl, Maurice said, and Jef waved.

Amelia kept up her surveillance for several days. She’d leave at eight each morning and go to the cafe. Usually Maurice, Jef, and the dog arrived at about eight-thirty. At times, they walked down to the pier and frolicked on the beach for an hour or so. At other times, they would walk back to the bistro and part. Jef would go inside and disappear for the rest of the day, and Maurice would go his own way. She did not follow Maurice. On Sunday, neither appeared at the cafe, but Amelia caught a glimpse of them as they came out of the St. Yves church surrounded by a group of boys and girls.

LILA AND AMELIA SAILED for Arcachon on Monday; spent three days there. Then they returned to St. Yves. Lila suggested that they walk into town, and Amelia quickly agreed. When her mother said they were going to Arcachon, Amelia had tried not to pout too much. While there, she pointedly told her mother how much nicer it was to be in a place as remote as St. Yves. Lila explained that one needed civilization in order to pick up supplies, and Amelia supposed that was right.

As they left the ship for town, little butterflies began to flutter in Amelia’s stomach. She felt nervous and told herself it was stupid to feel that way. Though she didn’t ask, she wondered if her mother had given her suggestion any thought. Maybe this was the time to speak. Shall we go to the bistro?

I thought we would. I’m just curious to see if he’ll strike me the same way. Will he be there this time of day, dear?

Amelia’s mouth felt dry as she whispered, I think so.

JEFFREY SAT AT THE piano playing, practicing actually, since it was early in the afternoon, and the bar was deserted. The strains of Debussy greeted Lila and Amelia as they entered the bistro. Greta, who lay beside the piano bench, got up and ran over to Amelia as if greeting an old friend.

Greta, behave yourself. Lie down, Jeffrey said, and the dog obeyed without hesitation. So you’ve returned, he said in English addressing Amelia.

Amelia blushed. Yes.

Maurice and I missed you. If you want a drink, there’s a bell on the bar, I believe. Yves is in back, but he’ll hear the bell.

Would you like something, Mom? Amelia asked.

In a moment. There’s no hurry. Lila studied the pianist. I noticed the other night that you have a very nice voice.

Thank you.

Do you enjoy working here?

Sure.

Have you ever thought of performing at other places?

Me? You can’t be serious.

I mean it. I think you could do quite well; not only in France, but in the United States. Surely, you aren’t satisfied just to play the piano and sing here, are you?

Jeffrey hesitated, shook his head slightly as he answered. You don’t understand. I have no choice. He stopped playing. He didn’t look at the women but stared straight ahead.

There is always a choice, Amelia said happily, knowing her mother was considering the man.

Why have you been following me? he asked.

Don’t other women follow you? Amelia asked flirtatiously.

I don’t think so. I also don’t think you realize—

Ah, I thought I heard voices, Yves Duval said as he entered the room. May I get you something?

Would you have anything resembling a dry martini? Lila asked.

Martini?

I’ll teach you. It will take a little ice, too. Do you have any? Lila walked over to the bar with Yves. Idly, she watched the mild and innocent flirtation of Amelia and the pianist as she instructed Yves on how to make a proper martini. How different her daughter was from her. By the time she was Amelia’s age, she had been married twice and borne her daughter, but as yet Amelia was untouched. Lila hoped her daughter would one day make what she considered a good and lasting marriage. It was something she had never managed to do. Amelia should marry a solid, wealthy businessman, someone like her father, Elwood Marshall. Lila had found marriage to him one long bore, but Amy was different; she would thrive on such a life. A fling with the handsome Frenchman certainly wouldn’t hurt Amy. Lila knew, had she been in Amelia’s place, she would have seduced him weeks ago. She wondered why Amelia was so slow. Her daughter was almost twenty-one, and still a virgin. Could one imagine that?

Have you ever been to the United States, Zeph? Amelia asked.

I may have been. I don’t know.

Don’t know?

I might have been when I was a child, Jeffrey said. He began playing again. You know my name, and I don’t know yours or your companion’s.

I’m Amelia Marshall. My companion is my mother, Lila Lubow. Amelia expected he would show some recognition of her mother’s name, but there was none. Lila was an international star known for her beauty of face and figure that was always displayed to its best advantage even here in this village. Was St. Yves so remote? Or had he been that sheltered living at the St. Yves Orphan Home? He was young. He had probably not been out of school for long.

Watching as he continued playing, Amelia smiled as he switched from Debussy to Gershwin and Cole Porter, suspecting it was for her benefit that he now played music of American composers.

Now that you know my full name, what is yours, Zeph?

He laughed softly to himself. I’m surprised you pronounce my name as Yves does in the accent of the region.

Your name isn’t Zeph?

I’m called Jeffrey Laurent.

Jeffrey Laurent, Amelia said testing the name on her lips. It has a nice sound.

He laughed. Actually, it is Jeffrey Laurance. He frowned slightly. The sisters decided it was easier for everyone concerned to say Laurent.

La Rance?

No. I spell it Laurance.

That isn’t French, is it?

I don’t know. I may be English or American. I don’t know.

That is strange, Amelia said softly. You speak English quite well.

He smiled at her compliment. Sister Hillaire would be pleased to hear you say that. She undertook to try to keep me fluent in English. Your French is good, too, but not as good as your mother’s.

Mother speaks five languages, Amelia said proudly. English, French, German, Spanish, and Czech.

What about you?

Just English and French. Amelia was pleased to be conversing so easily with the young man and thought she was discovering many aspects about him without giving him the third degree. He didn’t turn his incredible green eyes in her direction much, but mostly concentrated on the piano.

After a pause in their conversation and wishing to continue it, he said, I speak the languages of your mother except for Czech. In its place, I speak a little Portuguese. Some of the fishermen who make port here are Spanish and Portuguese, so it is fairly easy to pick up those languages. German is hard for me, and I speak it poorly, I’m afraid.

You’re a very talented man.

Jeffrey shrugged slightly. My friend, Maurice, thinks you are very beautiful.

And what do you think? Amelia asked coquettishly.

I think Maurice is right.

Amelia laughed softly. Has Maurice opinions on my mother?

"He says she is très jolìe."

And you?

I always agree with Maurice.

Hmm. Amelia cupped her chin in the palm of her hand, leaning on the piano studying Jeffrey. You’re different.

Laughing, he turned in her direction, and stopped playing the piano. I guess I am.

Yves said you were raised in an orphans’ home. Were you happy there?

He nodded. Yes, I was ‘appy... happy. After I got used to the place and made friends, I think I was very happy, he said accentuating the h in happy. Do you think I look unhappy?

Not exactly. She looked around. Where’s your friend? Isn’t he usually here by now?

You mean Maurice? He’ll be ‘appy... happy to know that you miss ‘im... him.

Well, you seem such a twosome.

‘e is my best friend.

Is that why you pulled a knife on him?

Jeffrey chuckled. Oh, you saw that. We were just, how you say, roughhousing?

Yes, I know. It scared me at first.

Jeffrey, a young woman called as she entered the bistro and ran over to him. She sat on the piano bench beside him, threw her arms about him, and kissed him. She had short black hair, sparkling brown eyes, a thin, petite figure, and looked the picture of a chic Parisian. She had eyes for no one else in the room. I missed you so.

After that, such a rapid exchange of French followed that Amelia, though fluent, could not keep up. It was obvious to Amelia that this typically stylish young Parisian was the special lady in Jeffrey Laurance’s life. She was fresh and vivacious, and Amelia’s heart dropped with a thud as she watched the two of them. It didn’t seem possible that this breath of Paris would be involved with a poor, young man from St. Yves, no matter how attractive he was.

After a few minutes of kisses and conversation, the couple arose and walked, arms entwined, to the doorway behind the piano. As they passed the end of the bar, Yves put a bottle of wine in Jeffrey’s free hand. They walked through the door, closed it then Jeffrey reopened the door as Greta whined outside, having been left out. The dog quickly ran through the partially opened door and into Jeffrey’s small room.

Lila walked over to her daughter. Well, that’s the way it goes, Amy. She’s very pretty, don’t you think?

If you like the tiny, dark, French type.

Evidently, he does.

C’est la vie, Amelia said glumly. Let’s go home.

Not yet. Yves has just learned to make a good martini, and I’m getting to like this place. She patted Amelia’s shoulder. Did you have a nice conversation?

We did until he forgot I existed.

Yves said they were raised together at St. Yves Home, Lila related. She’s a dancer.

"Follies Begère?"

No, dear, the Paris Opera Ballet. Lila sipped her martini in silence studying her daughter’s forlorn face then asked, Does this young man mean so much to you, Amy?

Amelia laughed. I don’t know, Mom. I’m not romantically interested in him. I don’t think I am, anyway...he is younger than me.

Then, why does his young lady bother you?

Darned if I know. She smiled at Lila. "Have you thought any more about making him your protégé?"

Maybe. Lila smiled slowly. You don’t want him for yourself?

Did you ever have a feeling about someone, Mom?

Do I ever!

No, I don’t mean that way. I just have this feeling that fate has led us here to this village. Somehow, Jeffrey fits into our lives. Does that make any sense to you?

No. Lila shook her head. Sometimes, Amy, I think I shouldn’t have listened to your father and sent you to those fancy schools. You should enjoy life, not analyze it.

Amelia laughed. I’ll try, Mom.

You know, Amy, these people have no idea who I am.

Yes, I told Jef our names, and he wasn’t impressed. His full name is Jeffrey Laurance, by the way, and he thinks he may be an American or English—or at least partially so.

Interesting.

Are you about finished? Amelia asked. Suddenly, I’m awfully tired and hungry, too.

Let’s go then, darling. I don’t think we’ll see our little pianist anymore this evening. I think Yves gave him the night off. Lila laughed. At least we know now that he’s no virgin. I wonder if he’s true to his lady-love?

Who cares?

Why, you do, Amy darling. You do.

Two

Lila and Amelia sailed again the next morning, wandering like gypsies as the spirit moved them, pulling into one harbor, then another, but avoiding for the most part the larger, more populated resorts. Though they were away from St. Yves, their thoughts and conversations centered on the pianist, Jeffrey Laurance. They were both half-serious, half-joking about making the young man their project.

Lists were made of his advantages and deficits; changes in him they felt necessary. Costs of clothing, of vocal lessons. People they knew who could be counted on to help. They tried to figure out how much of a monetary expenditure would be needed to launch a career. It was a game to them. Making plans became exhilarating. They even solicited opinions from Lila’s cook who traveled with them, and she encouraged them since Lila was easier to get along with when she had a project, be it a movie or a man.

On a sultry June day, they returned again to St. Yves. They watched the people on the pier as their large cruiser moored. Leaning against the rail, they scanned the harbor area, and were rewarded for their vigilance as they saw Jeffrey, Maurice, and the dog, Greta, walk to the end of the pier. Both men waved. Maurice dug out two cigarettes. He handed one to Jeffrey, lighted it and his own, and they stood on the pier talking, and smoking until they finished their cigarettes. They flicked the butts into the water, waved again, and retraced their steps.

I wonder if they were talking about us, Amelia said.

At least they recognized us. That might be of some comfort to you. Both men are very attractive. Does his friend do anything besides accompany Jeffrey?

I don’t know, Mom. I’m not drawn to him as I am to Jef.

"Well, I definitely think Jeffrey does have possibilities in what I laughingly refer to as ‘show biz.’ Let’s have a serious talk with Monsieur Laurence. Tonight we’ll drop by the bistro, and make an appointment to talk with him. Perhaps, he’d like to visit the yacht, and see how the other half lives. She looked at her daughter’s face and saw it was aglow in anticipation. He may not be at all interested in any of our plans for him, Amy. Either he was being extremely modest when we talked with him last, or else, he has no ambition and is content with his life. If that is the case, well then, the episode is closed. In order to succeed, one must have ambition above all else. Talent is secondary."

WHEN LILA AND AMELIA arrived, the bistro was crowded and smoky. The clientele on this night consisted of fishermen, vineyard workers, a mixture of young and middle-aged couples, as well as a gendarme, priest, and the village’s local prostitute. Maurice was nowhere in sight, and Jeffrey was obscured by the crowd of laughing, talking, singing people.

I’ve never seen it this crowded, Amelia said. I wonder who pulled out the plug?

It’s getting closer to summer, Lila said. Whew! she said, waving her hand. I don’t know which is worse, the smoke or the body odor.

I guess they haven’t heard of French perfume, Amelia said giggling.

Good evening, ladies, Yves said. I have a little table over here near the piano. He pushed his way through the crowded room making an aisle for his charges. Deftly, he wiped off the table as Amelia and Lila seated themselves. As Yves turned his attention to his two new customers, his eyes took in the exposed cleavage of Lila’s figure with approval.

You have a good crowd here tonight, Lila said.

It is always like this on Friday and Saturday nights during the summer. You’d like a martini?

Oh, yes, I would, Lila said, hoping he remembered what she had taught him, and Amelia nodded in agreement. When Yves left, Lila said, I’m glad you are having the same as I. I’d hate to have to teach him something else tonight.

Jeffrey was unaware of Lila’s and Amelia’s presence as he played and sang for the customers.

Yves led the priest over to their table as he promptly brought two lukewarm martinis and proudly set them down.

"This is my brother, Père Duval. You were so interested in Jef, I thought you might like to speak with my brother about him. Ah, I have forgotten your names. How stupid of me!"

Amelia giggled.

Father Duval, I’m Lila Lubow, and this is my daughter, Amelia Marshall.

The priest pulled up a chair and seated himself. I hear our Jeffrey fascinates you. He’s a nice boy. My brother watches over him.

Why would he need watching over? Lila asked.

"A number of reasons, Madame Lubow."

Call me Lila, please, Father.

What is your interest in the lad? the priest asked brusquely.

Lila hesitated, taken aback by the priest’s brusqueness. I think I can help him.

Oh? Father Duval shifted his position in his chair and sipped his glass of wine. Why would you want to help him? He did not wait for an answer. I’ve known Jef ever since he came here. I know no more of him than I learned on that first day... eleven years ago this month. A ragged little tyke, he stumbled into the village with his little dog.

Not that dog, Amelia said pointing at Greta.

No, this was a small dog, a mongrel. He’d had it for years. It died a few years ago, and everyone got together and got him Greta.

I’m an actress, Father, and a very rich one, Lila said.

"Yes, I’ve seen you, Madame Lubow—Lila."

Ah, you know who I am then.

Yes, but why are you and your daughter following Jeffrey and Maurice?

Amelia blushed. My mother had nothing to do with that, Father, she stammered self-consciously. Not knowing exactly how to explain her attraction to him, she stumbled on, I amused myself during the day that way. Somehow, I feel that Jeffrey Laurance has a special quality, is someone special.

Maybe he is, but no one knows exactly who he is, my dear. He can remember nothing prior to the day he and his dog walked into St. Yves. He smiled in reminiscence. He spoke English and some French. He was really incoherent, poor boy, but he knew his dog was named Spot, an English name. We think his name is Jeffrey Laurance. The name Laurance was embroidered on his jacket, I believe, and I think he finally remembered Jef, Père Duval said. He shook his head sadly. Poor little tyke. We all felt very sorry for him.

Why? Surely, you see orphans every day.

Yes, but Jeffrey—

Another martini, ladies? Yves asked, breaking into their conversation and beaming proudly at his brother.

Yes, and, Yves, ask Jeffrey to join us when he has a chance, Lila said.

We close soon. I’ll tell him to see you then.

Amelia looked around the room. I don’t see Maurice here tonight.

Maurice de Vice left St. Yves late this afternoon. He has gotten a job in Paris. Dear Jean-Marie Merchand helped him to get it. Maurice was so happy, Père Duval said. Now that Jean-Marie is settled in a career, she is helping others. Such a wonderful girl! Père Duval glowed in his esteem of the young woman.

Jean-Marie?

Another product of the St. Yves Home, the priest said expansively. About eight or ten years ago someone discovered her dancing ability, and she was awarded a scholarship to a school of dance in Paris. Now she is with the Paris Opera Ballet.

I thought she was Jeffrey’s girlfriend, Amelia said.

Ah, yes, she is. They are all very good friends. But Maurice wants to be an actor, or some such thing, and Jean-Marie recommended him to a producer she met.

Why wouldn’t she recommend Jeffrey? Lila asked.

Jeffrey walked over to the table at that moment. Why wouldn’t someone recommend me for what? he asked.

We were talking about Maurice’s good fortune and how Jean-Marie helped him, Père Duval explained.

He was nervous when he left today. I’ve never known Maurice to be nervous about anything. Jeffrey chuckled softly. I almost had to push him onto the bus. It is obvious why he would be recommended. He wants to be an actor, and Jean-Marie helped him to get an appointment at a movie studio. I could never be an actor.

Do you have no ambition, Jeffrey? Amelia asked, surprised to hear him denigrate himself.

He laughed.

What’s so funny?

"Mademoiselle Marshall, I have ambition, he said, but what more can I do?"

That’s what we’d like to talk with you about, Lila said. Perhaps, you’d like to come out to our yacht tomorrow.

How would I do that?

Easy. Walk to the end of the pier, climb down, and get into the launch, and come over to the yacht. We’ll pipe you aboard, Amelia said with a lilt in her voice.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

Have you ever been on a yacht? Have you ever seen one up close?

No, I’ve never seen one. I’m blind.

Blind! Lila and Amelia said in unison. The bar had now emptied, and their voices echoed in the silent room.

But you don’t look blind, Lila said softly.

But I am. I couldn’t find my way to your yacht by myself, and Greta would not be able to lead me there; I don’t think. Maurice is gone now, so I will be on my own on my walks. I’m going to miss him, I’m afraid. Jeffrey sighed and looked downhearted, not because of his lack of sight, but because of his lack of friend.

Sit down, Jeffrey, Lila said. I don’t believe it matters that you can’t see. There are many musicians and singers who are blind. Jeffrey, I want to help you.

Why?

Lila wasn’t sure herself the reason, but she said, My daughter thinks you are special. She has this kind of a sixth sense about things like that.

Jean-Marie said she thought you were an actress.

She’s right. I don’t act much anymore, but I think I could make a big-name entertainer out of you.

My friend, Maurice, wants to be an actor. He can imitate people and accents, and I’m told he is very good looking. Why not help him? I’m content with my life, and Jean-Marie and I have our own plans. When we have saved enough money.

With my plan, you may be able to save money faster, and go on with your plans so much sooner, Lila said. Even as she spoke, she wondered why she was so set on her own plans for this young man. What difference could it possibly make to her if she just took her daughter and set sail for another port? In time, Amy would get over her fascination with the boy.

Père Duval put his hand on Jeffrey’s shoulder. Jef, I think you should listen to these ladies. I, too, think you should not be satisfied to just play the piano in my brother’s bistro.

It would be hard work, Lila said. "You would have to practice very hard and memorize many songs, and do exactly as I say. You would go with us to the United States. You would be my protégé."

I don’t think I could leave France. I’d need a passport, and I have no birth certificate. He shook his head. It’s impossible.

We can work something out, Amelia said.

I’d have to take Greta.

That can be arranged.

Jeffrey still hesitated to commit himself. Everything was happening so fast, too fast. He would have liked to discuss the proposition with Jean-Marie, but she had left on a tour and was, at this moment, in a plane on her way to Australia. Maurice, too, was unavailable, but he knew what Maurice would advise. Maurice would say, seize the opportunity, you may never get another.

I don’t know. Jeffrey felt for a chair then sat. You are making my head swim. I feel that I should talk to you seriously about this, but I don’t know. Something is compelling me to accept, and something else inside me is saying no, do not hope for more.

"Père Duval, perhaps you’d like to come with Jeffrey tomorrow afternoon. You could see that Jef got to the yacht, and I feel you would be interested to hear what we have in mind; help us negotiate." Lila smiled at the priest, making him feel that his ideas on the situation were important. She felt he would be an ally and would convince the pianist to agree that her plans were in his best interests.

Negotiate? asked the unsophisticated priest.

Yes, we wouldn’t be doing this for nothing. We would get a percentage of Jef’s earnings for our help, of course, and the money we expend for instructions, arrangements, clothes, and so forth must be repaid.

That is reasonable, Père Duval said with Gallic practicality.

Then, we will see you at three o’clock tomorrow, if that is all right with you. Lila stood up ending the conversation. She felt she had won and would leave before there were more protests or questions.

Come, Amy, we must get back.

WELL, MOM, THAT WAS a shock! Amelia said when they were outside.

Does his being blind bother you, Amy?

I’ve seen him bump into things occasionally, but never equated it with lack of sight. He just doesn’t look blind, not his eyes nor his walk. Nothing about him indicates it. Usually, one can tell. His eyes don’t appear damaged at all, and they are so incredibly beautiful, such a vivid green.

It’s fascinating.

You haven’t changed your mind about sponsoring him?

No, darling. As you told me so many times, I need a new project. I don’t think his sight matters, especially as you say he doesn’t look blind. In fact, I think I’m more determined than ever to launch his career. I do love a challenge, don’t you? Lila smiled and put her arm around Ameilia’s shoulder. And, possibly, his blindness can be corrected. She shrugged. Who knows? Maybe you are right. Maybe we were sent to this godforsaken place for a reason.

It’s a shame that those beautiful green eyes can’t see, Amelia said. She laughed ruefully. Here I was trying to dress to please him, look a little sexy, and no wonder he never even noticed.

It might be an advantage to have a blind beau, Lila said, but I never thought of it before. What do you think, Amy?

I think it’s not a joking matter, Mom, she answered closing the subject.

JEFFREY FOUND THAT he could not sleep that night. His mind kept racing and going over the evening’s conversations. Did it really happen? Did the American women come into the bistro and offer him a way out of St. Yves? Did they promise to work with him and make him into an entertainer? Or had he woken from a dream, and it didn’t actually happen? But it did happen, and Père Duval had agreed with the Americans.

Jean-Marie often urged him to go to Paris with her, but he was afraid. If he couldn’t find employment there, Jean-Marie would gladly support him, but he didn’t want that. And he didn’t want to be the object of pity selling pencils on some street corner. He had heard of those like him who were forced to do that to survive. Jean-Marie understood, but each time she saw him, she would again beg him to go away with her to Paris and her life there. He couldn’t. No matter what she said, he wouldn’t fit in with her friends. Nothing changed that.

They had made their plans years ago when they were still children. They would save their money. In time, Jean-Marie would open a school of ballet, and he would play the piano for the class while she instructed. It was a simple plan, but it would take time. He was barely able to save any money, not much more than the ten American dollars Lila had given him as a tip the first night she had come into the bistro, and that money he later loaned to Maurice.

If, just if, what Lila suggested were true, his and Jean-Marie’s dream, their school, could happen sooner. They could settle in a small town in France and be together.

He sighed. He would talk to the sisters, especially Sister Hillaire whom he loved as a mother, and he would listen to Père Duval, but in the end, he knew he alone could make the choice.

Three

Waves lapped gently against the hull, and the boat rocked soothingly like a baby’s cradle as they sat on the deck of the yacht. It was not an unfamiliar sensation. Jeffrey had been on fishing boats, and had even managed to help the fishermen from time to time. He had always found the lapping sound of water against the hull soothing. However, today the sound did nothing to ease his feeling of apprehension. Everyone else appeared calm; Père Duval, Lila, and Amelia. Cold lemonade was served to Père Duval and him. Never had he drank anything so cold. The glass was filled with cubes of ice, and the glass felt frosty. He set his glass down firmly. He felt his hands tremble and did not wish for anyone else to notice.

How old are you, Jeffrey? Lila asked after the usual talk of the weather.

I don’t know. How old do you want me to be?

Probably twenty-one.

Okay, then I was twenty-one last Thursday. That is the day I have been using as my birthday. It is the date I arrived in St. Yves.

Don’t be flippant, Lila said. She frowned. Seriously, how old are you, really?

I’m not sure. Probably nineteen. It is the age I have been using, and the age of most of my friends.

"Père Duval, do you agree?" Lila asked.

Yes, give or take a year one way or the other. We were not sure of his age when he arrived, and we figured from his size he was about seven or eight. He kept up with those of that age in his schooling once he adjusted.

Then by next year, it would be safe to say Jeffrey was twenty-one.

Who is to say otherwise? Père Duval asked.

Lila smiled at the practical priest. Then she looked at Jeffrey critically. It was the first time she had seen him at close range in the daylight. His complexion was good, no acne; his coloring eye-catching, wavy dark brown hair, a trifle sun-streaked, and large emerald green eyes. The emerald green was circled by a darker green. Unusual eyes, she thought, framed with thick, long lashes. His hair curled around his neck and spilled over the collar of his turtleneck sweater. Too long for Lila’s taste, but many of the young men were letting their hair grow. Chiding herself for this criticism of his appearance when he had no way of knowing whether or not his haircut was undesirable, she decided not to let this imperfection hinder her appraisal of him. He looked fit.

"How do