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

life will offer you. Take advantage of it. It doesn’t last forever, unfortunately.” She made a rueful grimace and hugged his arm to her generous bosom. “We must outfit him. That college shop in the village has quite good things. We’ll develop his clothes sense so that he won’t be able to bear the sight of a uniform.”
    Charlie laughed. “I don’t think you’re going to have a very tough campaign. He’s already told me he hates the idea of West Point.”
    “You see? You’re already exerting an influence. Now that he’s met you, he’ll want to go where you went. If only we’d taken charge of him sooner.”
    “You’re losing your touch, C. B.”
    “How could anybody guess that he would blossom in an afternoon? We may work something out yet.”
    In her preoccupation with Peter, her grip on his arm was growing uncomfortable. He freed himself discreetly and leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You’d better get on with your plot. Don’t you want me to get your grenadine, or was that just an excuse?”
    She looked up at him with a beguiling tilt of her head and laughed. “I couldn’t wait to find out if you really liked him.”
    He laughed with her. “Well, I do, so you don’t have to worry about that.” She made everything so easy.
    They returned to the veranda hand in hand. Peter rose at her entrance. Charlie’s eyes dropped to his crotch with pride of possession, and he thought of the night that awaited them.
    “Darling Peter, I haven’t asked you yet if you don’t think he looks like me,” C. B. said.
    Age and familiarity had obliterated C. B.’s face from Charlie’s mind so he was always slightly embarrassed by this inevitable question. How could anybody say? When he thought of what she looked like, an overall impression came to him: impish and vaguely simian, prominent nostrils, a long upper lip, the luxuriance of wiry gray hair that sprang vigorously from her brow. As a child he had always been fascinated by her complicated arrangement of her hair before she had had it cut short. “I might as well warn you there’s only one acceptable answer to that question,” he said. “Though why anybody should want to look like me is a mystery.”
    “Fishing,” C. B. chided him.
    “I’ll say,” Peter joined in unabashedly. “He knows perfectly well he’s the best-looking guy any of us know.”
    “Ah, there’s a young man with discernment. He is, isn’t he? Now I suppose I’ll have to withdraw my question.” She returned to her bar and resumed the preparation of drinks.
    “No, I can see a resemblance,” he continued with enthusiasm. His eyes sparkled at Charlie behind C. B.’s back. “All my family says you were the most attractive girl ever to come out of Alabama.”
    “You’re a perfect dear. Here, my dearest, give this to Peter.” Charlie took glasses from her. Peter’s fingers caressed his as he handed him one. He acknowledged it, looking into dancing eyes, even though he knew he shouldn’t encourage this sort of public play. C. B. went on, “Conventional good looks are meaningless without magnetism. That’s what makes you two so irresistible.”
    “Charlie certainly is. Everything you said about him is true.”
    Charlie flushed. He was stunned by Peter’s outspokeness, but apparently he and C. B. understood each other. She was beaming when she brought a drink and sat with them. “I knew you’d appreciate him. Did he introduce you to all his friends at the club?”
    “No,” Charlie interjected, glad for a change of subject. “We got to talking upstairs, and then I drove him all around and there really wasn’t much time for the club.”
    “They have a treat in store for them. You must have some tennis tomorrow. Didn’t somebody tell me you were good at it?”
    “Prety good,” Peter admitted. “But I’ll bet Charlie’s a champion. He looks as if he would be.”
    “He’s very good at everything he does.”
    “The champion.” A sudden gust of