“Are you sensitive to bee stings, Perry?”
“No. I can handle bees. They don’t sting me, but they used to drive my aunt nearly frantic. The poor woman never did get any real pleasure out of her garden. They would sting her and she would swell up like a poisoned pup, and get sick to her stomach. Sad really, she did love her garden so and got so little fun out of it.”
“Then why did she keep bees?”
“She didn’t. One of her neighbors did.”
“But that’s not custom—Nevermind. I asked you about bee stings because bees don’t sting anymore.”
Perry clapped his hand to his brow and gave a look of mock agony. “Enough, woman enough! Tell me no more! No. Stop. One more thing. Answer me this question and I die happy. Do watermelons have seeds?”
“Did they used to have?”
Perry stepped to the edge of the pool, assumed a declamatory pose and orated: “Farewell, sad world. Papa goes to his reward! Sic semper seeds,” nipped his nose between thumb and forefinger, shut his eyes tight and jumped feet first into the pool. He came up blowing to find Diana wiping water out of her eyes and laughing hysterically.
“Perry! You’re a clown! Stop it!”
He didn’t answer but asked solemnly, “Tell me, bird of mournful numbers, do blackberries still have seeds?”
Diana controlled her giggles. “Blackberries have seeds, you idiot.”
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Perry’s head disappeared and he gave a creditable imitation of a drowning man, accompanied by glugging sounds. Diana dived in, joined him on the bottom, and tickled him vigorously. Both heads reappeared. Perry coughed and blew.
“Wench, you made me strangle.”
“Sorry.” But she giggled again.
Some minutes later Perry lay on his side drying off and watching Diana, who was still in the pool. She floated with just her face and the curve of her breast appearing above the water. Her hair formed a halo about her head. The warm sun soaked into their bones and rendered them sluggish and contented. Perry chucked a pebble into the pool. It hit the water with a little chunking sound and splashed a drop on Diana’s face. She turned on her side, took two effortless strokes to the side of the pool, and rested her hands on the edge.
Diana cut in. “Are you hungry, fella?”
“Now that you mention it, there does seem to be something missing.”
“Then let’s eat. No, don’t get up. We’ll eat out here. It’s all ready.”
She returned laden with a tray as big as she was. “Perry, you move over into the shade. You haven’t the tan I have and I don’t want you blistered.”
Three-quarters of an hour later, Diana stirred out of a digestive calm. “Before you get back to your studies, I want to have you measured for some clothes.”
Perry looked surprised. “Clothes—why, I had gathered the impression that they weren’t necessary.”
Diana looked puzzled. “You can’t stay in the house forever, Perry. It’s cold outside. I’ve planned a little picnic for tomorrow, but we’ll have to get you some warm clothes first. And while we’re about it, you might as well order some other things that you will need.”
“Lead on, McDuff.”
Diana selected a combination on the televue. A Semitic gentleman appeared on screen. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Ah, Madame, can I do you a service?”
“Thank you; my friend needs some costumes. A heavy and medium snow suit, first, and then some other things.”
“Ah, that is fine. We have some new models, very dashing and sooooo practical too. And now will you have him take position?”
Diana nudged Perry into a spot near the televue, then turned the screen so that it faced him. The Semitic gentleman seemed ecstatic. “Ah, yes. A beautiful figure. It is a pleasure to make clothes for a man who can wear them. Wait. Let me think. I have it! I shall create a new model for him. With that proportion of the shoulders and that length of leg—”
Diana cut in. “Not today, thank you. Another time perhaps.”
“But Madame, I am an artist, not a businessman.”
Diana’s lips barely moved. “Don’t let him fool you, Perry. He’s one part artist and three parts businessman.” Then to the televue. “No, we need these clothes today. Please use a stock pattern.”