Appearances, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.

-17-

To the Mountains

We walked down Arlington Street, and turned right on Boylston, proceeding along it until we reached Copley Square, where we crossed the square in front of Trinity Church, a neo-Victorian structure that is so quaintly ugly that it is actually attractive. From the Square, we walked up to Huntington Avenue, stopping in front of the Copley Square Hotel, which is supposedly the oldest Hotel in Boston, the building being continuously occupied as such for almost one hundred years.

During our walk William had once again assumed the role of tour guide, filling Philip in with facts and anecdotes as we walked past each point of interest. Evidently he assumed that I was conversant with the data he was offering, and for the most part, I was.

The Café Budapest, which is located in the basement of the hotel, is a Boston fixture, going back many years. It was perhaps a little too elegant, but was known for superb, if somewhat overpriced, food and impeccable service.

When we had been seated, handed menus, and had placed an order for drinks, Henry wanted to hear about our day.

Philip replied "Well, after our meeting with the Realtor, Charles took me on a little guided tour."

"What did you see?" Henry prompted.

"Let me think. The Fine Arts Museum, where I saw more pornographic Greek vases than I knew existed, the somebody Gardner Museum, and lastly, Filene's Basement. After that, we ran out of time."

"You covered a lot of ground in one afternoon," added William, smiling at, but otherwise ignoring Philip's reference to the Greek vases.

It was my turn "I tried to pack as much as possible into a limited time frame."

Henry asked me "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"After church, I thought I would take Philip out to Harvard, find a place for lunch, and then show him the Coop We will have just about time, as our flight is at six."

Henry asked "Where are you going to church."

"As far as I am concerned, in Boston, there is only one place to go, - Church of the Advent."

William broke in, "That is where we attend. It is also just down the street from our home."

"In that case, I expect we will see you there."

I was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter, who was ready, it seemed, to take our orders. When we had all ordered, I selected a bottle of wine that I thought would suit our various entrees.

The conversation turned to the real estate venture that we were about to begin. During a lull, I asked Philip a question that had been on my mind all afternoon.

"How were you able to make up your mind so quickly about that building?"

"Truly, I don't know. All I know is that I can look at a project and somehow determine almost immediately if it will succeed. Something, perhaps a sixth sense, tells me that it will either be 'go' or 'no go' and I act accordingly. Fortunately, that instinct has never failed me."

Henry added "We have seen him do it before on a couple of projects."

Since our arrival, they had carefully avoided the topic of Philip's arrest and pending trial, but finally, William broke the ice and asked about it. We discussed the case fully, and they seemed to agree that we were on the right track. That discussion led them up to the subject of how Philip and I had met.

I looked a question mark at Philip, who nodded his assent, and then I told them the story, omitting nothing.

William's response was explosive "goodness, that's like something right out of a fairy tale!" It dawned on him suddenly that his words had a double meaning, "No pun intended."

I laughed at that "The evening did have a sort of dreamlike quality to it. Looking back, it all seems like a fantasy come true."

Henry raised his glass "Here's to fairy tales and happy endings."

We all drank to that, and then William spoke up "Have the two of you made any long-range plans?"

I again looked at Philip, whose face this time was impassive, before I answered. "Right now, we are focused on getting Philip acquitted. After that, I expect we will ride off together into the sunset, or something like that."

It was Philip's turn "Seriously, we haven't talked about a 'future,' there are simply too many uncertainties in the present. Clearly, we have something special going for us, and if we can survive the present problem, I expect we can survive anything."

I looked at him "I would say that we are in it for the long haul. I spent the last three years wondering if I would ever be able to share my life again. Now, I find myself wondering how I ever managed without this guy."

Philip did not respond to this, but he slipped a hand under the table and found mine, which was response enough for me. After that exchange, the four of us spent the rest of our time in the restaurant discussing anything and everything. I think we were all sorry to see the evening end, but end it finally did, with the arrival of coffee and port, followed by the check. Philip paid for the dinner, using plastic so that he would have an adequate receipt.

"This will be the first entertainment expense for B & D Properties," he said.

During the walk back to the hotel, we once again began discussing the real estate project. We tossed around several possibilities for developing the building, ranging from creating a small number of large lofts, to a larger number of flats. Lofts, it seemed, would be something of a novelty in Boston, but flats will probably be more profitable in the long run. In the end, Philip said it would depend upon what the structural engineers and the architects recommended.

We had a nightcap in the hotel bar, and finally the cousins left for their townhouse, but not before extracting two promises from us, first that we stay with them the next time we came to Boston, and second that we make it soon. We went up to our room, and went contentedly to bed.

Sunday morning, we were up and running by eight, which got us back to the hotel in time to linger over the paper and breakfast. Around ten thirty, we walked up Arlington to Beacon, and then one block East to Brimmer Street. At the corner of Brimmer and Beacon was the bar which inspired the Cheers television series. I had once known it by its former name, but could no longer remember what it was.

It was two or three blocks up Brimmer to the venerable old Church of the Advent which, in the midst of all the modern self-inflicted horrors the Episcopal Church has undergone, had managed to remain unabashedly Anglo-Catholic. We arrived well before William and Henry, who eventually joined us in the pew. After they arrived, a man and woman came and sat down in the pew in front of us, she being led by a seeing-eye dog, a beautiful Golden Retriever.

She motioned him under her pew, and shortly I looked down and saw the golden face resting on the kneeler in front of me. I wanted to reach down and pet him (her?), but somewhere had read that one was not supposed to do that although I do not remember why. The poor dog became a little confused during the service, it was so attentive to its mistress, and every time she stood up as called for in the service, the dog thought that it was time to go and tried to get up. I was amazed that when she got up to go to the altar rail to take communion, she motioned the dog back, and it stayed meekly under her pew while her husband (boyfriend?) led her up the steps.

After the service was over, William and Henry walked with us as far as Beacon Street, and we said our goodbyes at the corner by the Cheers bar. Philip and I returned to the hotel where we changed into more casual attire. We packed everything except the clothes that we needed for the flight, and I called the front desk and arranged for us to have a late check out time.

We took the Green Line downtown and changed to the Red Line for the trip to Harvard Square, arriving there in a relatively short time. We had a pleasant lunch in one of the student hangouts in the area, then went into the Coop, winding up eventually in the record department.

"This is where Robert and I first met."

"Does it bother you, coming here?"

"Not any more."

We browsed for a while, made a few purchases, then went down to the bookstore, which occupies more than one level. We ambled through both levels of the bookstore, and made a few more purchases, then went back to the square, after which we wandered around Harvard Yard looking at the old buildings. Almost before we knew it, it was time to board the Red Line back to Boston.

On the subway, I said "We will definitely have to come back here for about a week, sometime. Then I can really show you Boston and Cambridge."

"Good, and maybe we can go to Cape Cod. I've always wanted to see P-town. Have you ever been there?"

P-town, which was slang for Provincetown, was a gay mecca at the tip of Cape Cod. During the summer, there was a regular ferry service from Boston out to P-town, and gays from all over came there for sun and sex.

"Well, I've never been there 'on the make' so to speak, but Robert and I went there two or three times."

"I've no idea whether or not I would find it interesting," he continued, "it is just one of those places that I have heard so much about and would like to see for myself."

"I think we can take care of that, one of these days," I promised.

We arrived back at the hotel around four, quickly changed clothes for the trip home, and checked out. This time in the cab, I did not have to keep the driver on course. We went through the express check-in at the Delta counter, and I stopped to telephone Richard to remind him of our arrival time. Then we waited.

We were in the waiting area. "I just thought of something."

"What?"

"We didn't have time for a 'nap' this afternoon."

"Not to worry, we will make up for it tonight," he promised.

Philip spent some time with his pocket diary, recording the details and expenses of the trip. He reminded me that we could deduct the cost of the trip as a travel expense related to the investment we were about to make. The return flight was smooth and uneventful, and Richard was waiting for us at the gate, looking as tired and drawn as he had the previous Sunday.

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You spent the night with Bruce, again, yes?"

"Does it show that badly?" he asked.

"Only to those of us who know you intimately," I assured him.

"It was another wild night."

"Are the two of you getting serious?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, a little too firmly.

A line from Shakespeare occurred to me at that point, the one about protesting too much, but I changed the subject.

"Any luck locating the missing Ruby?"

"Yes and no. My people have found a number of individuals who recognized the sketch, but nobody admits to having seen her since the weekend of the murder. Eventually, we ought to find someone who can help us. As you know, very often it is merely a matter of much legwork."

We walked to the luggage area, discussing the implications of his news while waiting for our bags. Richard led us to his car, and we were soon home.

As we went up the stairs to the kitchen, I asked Richard if there had been any more revelations from Bruce concerning the case.

"None, so far."

"Well," I said with what I hoped was a lewd grin, "keep pumping him."

"Very funny, very funny."

Philip and I left him in the kitchen, and went upstairs to unpack. Lance followed us and hopped up on the bed. I sat down on it and spent a few minutes rubbing all his favorite places. He especially liked to have the bridge of his nose rubbed and he leaned into it as I did so.

"What are your plans for tomorrow," I asked Philip.

"Well, as you know, I made some rash promises concerning the manuscript, so I will try to fulfill them. I also need to call Randolph, and get him started setting up books for the new venture. By the way, do you have a tax man?"

"My affairs have never been complicated enough to require someone at that level of expertise. I usually take care of my own stuff, why?"

"If you are going to get involved with this and future projects, you will doubtless need someone's help. I'd like to introduce you to Randolph with that in mind. You will also need to meet him at some point to discuss his testimony, won't you?"

"Okay. Why don't you have him call Rosemary and find a time when the three of us can get together?"

"Will do, as soon as I see him."

"Also, I need to know the timing and mechanics of my investment in the project."

"No need for that until the Articles of Incorporation are filed, and we can open a bank account, or better yet, an investment account for the Corporation. We can contribute equally at that point, and the Corporation can reimburse us for expenses already incurred, such as the trip to Boston, and the binder that I gave to the realtor."

"Do you have any ideas as to how much our total investment will be?"

"Hard to say at this point, but probably something in the neighborhood of a quarter of a million."

"Each?"

"No, that would be a combined figure."

"I'm surprised that it can be accomplished for so little."

"Basically, there are two ways to approach one of these projects. If it is a relatively small project, I prefer to use my own capital and bypass the banks - it saves a lot of time, a lot of closing costs, not to mention a lot of interest. On a project of this size, however, it is more practical to use borrowed money to the extent possible."

"Why?"

"One, because interest rates are at record lows, and two, because I would have to sell some stock to raise that amount of money, which I really do not want to do even with the preferential tax treatment for capital gains."

We were both tired, and having finished unpacking, were soon in bed. Monday morning, the weekly routine began. Shortly before lunch, Rosemary buzzed me to let me know that "Mr. d'Autremont was on the line."

I punched the appropriate button. "Hi, where are you?"

"At Randolph's office. He can confer with us tomorrow at two. Rosemary says that you have that slot free."

"Fine. Here, or at his office?"

"Since you will be discussing my case, we will come there, if it is all right."

"Sure. Lunch?"

"Rain check, okay?"

"No problem. See you tonight. Love you."

"Me too, bye."

I got back to work, somewhat surprised at myself. Even with Robert, I had seldom ended telephone conversations with endearments. This was really getting serious.

When I got home that evening, Philip was hard at work at his computer. I knew, however, from the odors I had detected on passing through the kitchen, that he had found time to cook. We went to the 'Y' and swam, then came home and ate. After supper, he went back to his computer, and I carried my briefcase up to the spare room and settled down for an evening of work. We were in bed by eleven-thirty.

Tuesday, Rosemary and I had to work straight through the lunch hour. About one o'clock, we sent out for sandwiches and tea, and had only just finished them when Philip and the Tax Attorney arrived.

Randolph Forney turned out to be a dapper little man approaching, as nearly as I could discern, his late fifties. He was impeccably dressed, and wore a pair of half glasses, over which he peered when he was not looking through them for the purpose of reading. We spent about an hour at the conference table discussing his probable testimony, with Rosemary taking notes. When we had finished with our discussion of the case, Rosemary left, and we changed topics.

I said to Randolph "Philip seems to think that you can be of assistance in my personal affairs, and as you know, we are undertaking a joint project."

"Well, without knowing anything about your situation, it is somewhat hard to say."

"The thought had occurred to me, and I have rounded up most of what I thought you might need." I handed him a list of my investments, together with my most recent statement from my broker, and copies of my last three federal and state Income Tax Returns. I also gave him the most recent reports from the two Trust Funds from which I was still receiving income.

He perused the documents at length for twenty minutes or so, finally looking at me over the top of his glasses.

"Your investment strategy seems to be both sound and thorough, if somewhat conservative. However, I think you have been too generous in your tax returns."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to run the numbers through my computer, but at a glance, I would say you have overpaid considerably in a couple of areas. May I take these documents with me?"

"Certainly, they are copies I made for your use. Anything else?"

"Yes. Is there any particular reason why you have never taken control of the principal in these two Trusts?"

"Not really. I've had the right to do so since I was twenty-five, but have never really needed the money, and have been content to merely use the income."

"Please do not misunderstand what I am about to say, but these are very conservative vehicles. If you were to withdraw some or all of the principal, you could easily double your current return."

"Wouldn't there be some tax consequences from such a withdrawal?"

"If you do it over a period of time, the consequences can be minimized, and the gains will more than offset the taxes."

"Lay out a program and present it to me, and I will think it over."

We discussed his fees, which seemed reasonable considering his reputation and knowledge. I had made some discreet inquiries as to his ability and reputation, despite Philip's enthusiastic endorsement, although I had not told Philip that I had done so.

Philip lingered in my office after Randolph had given me his business card and departed. "Well?"

"I'm impressed, especially if he can amend those returns and get me some money back, not to mention the potential increase from the Trusts."

"Great." He gave me a kiss. "I've got to get back to my computer."

"Okay, see you tonight."

That night, as we went to bed, he asked me about the 4th of July weekend, which was barely three weeks away.

"The 4th is on Saturday, will your office be closed on Monday for the holiday?"

" Yes, why?"

"How about a long weekend in the mountains?"

"Sure. How long a weekend?"

"Starting Friday afternoon if you can get away, otherwise Friday evening after work."

"Actually, I am scheduled to participate in the Peachtree run on the 4th, so if we can leave right afterwards, no problem."

"I had forgotten about the Peachtree run - it is something that I have never attempted. I'll cheer you on, though."

“You’re perfectly free to run with me as a bandit.”

“A what?”

“An unofficial entrant, we call them bandits.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The days rushed by, and before I knew it, the month of June had very nearly evaporated.

Richard, Mark, and I had been having weekly meetings to discuss the progress being made in the murder investigation, which unfortunately was very little. Ruby had yet to be located, the laundry tags had not been identified, and the fingerprint lab seemed to have lost or misplaced the raw material that had been sent to them. All in all, very discouraging, although I tried not to let Philip see my disappointment with the results.

Two weeks to the day after our first meeting, Randolph presented me with a plan for gradually dissolving my two Trusts and investing the principal somewhat more aggressively. In addition, he had amended my last two Tax Returns with some fancy footwork, resulting in sizable refunds for both years. If I followed his advice with the Trusts, it appeared that I would nearly double my investment income with no significant increase in risk.

That same day, the Incorporation documents arrived from Boston, as did an offer of acceptance from the owners of the building. I gave the Incorporation papers my blessing, and Philip and I executed them and returned them to the cousins for filing. We also set up a Corporate Cash Management Account to handle the funds of the new entity, and I managed to raise my share of the initial capital required without having to borrow from Philip.

He was a little annoyed at the owner's ready acceptance of his offer. "If they jumped at my offer, they probably would have accepted an even lower one," he said.

"It was still a good buy, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but obviously, it could have been a better one."

"What now?"

"I have to get busy and arrange for both an Architect, and an Engineering firm to look over the property. As you may recall, if either of them fails to give the project their blessing, I have the right to cancel the contract."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"In Atlanta, absolutely - I have existing relationships with which I am comfortable. In Boston, alas, no."

"How much time will you have to spend in Boston?"

"Very little, actually. In fact, probably none at all until the end of November, provided I can make one quick trip there between now and then. Would it be a problem if we took a long Labor Day weekend in Boston to handle things? We could go up on Thursday evening and come back on Monday."

"I don't think that it will be a problem."

"Good, then it’s settled."

We spent Friday evening packing for the trip to the mountains. Saturday, we were up at five, an hour earlier than usual, so that we could take the subway to the Lenox area - site of the race's Start Line, along with several thousand other runners and bystanders.

The Peachtree Road Race has been an Atlanta institution for over twenty years. It is a 10K event, starting at Lenox Square and continuing down Peachtree Road to 14th Street and then into Piedmont Park. It has grown so in popularity over the years that the sponsors only accept the first 45,000 applications.

The course runs a leisurely three miles mostly downhill and then turns uphill for two miles, this section having become known as "cardiac hill" due to the number of fatalities that have occurred on it over the years. From that point the course is up and down to the finish. Running roughly 6.3 miles on a July morning in Atlanta is not for the novice, nor is it for the unfit. Temperature and humidity can and do take a toll - this despite the spots along the route where hydrants have been opened and a spray of water is directed across the course and at the participants. The water feels wonderful as you pass through it - until you realize that a soaking wet T-shirt weighs significantly more than does one that is dry.

It is and remains, however, a great event, and the camaraderie is fantastic. The race sponsors have gotten the problem of managing that many participants down to a science over the years. Participants are directed to areas behind the start line by range of numbers. Last year I had been in the 40,000 series of numbers. In front of each such group there are two or three officials carrying placards on long poles which say "stop" on one side and "walk" on the other. When the race begins, these officials literally walk the group to the starting line in a stop and start manner until finally, at the starting line, the group is allowed to run free - the prior groups being sufficiently out of the way. Last year, by the time I crossed the starting line, the official clock had been running for 19 minutes and 17 seconds.

This year I was in a slightly faster group, and was able to cross the starting line a mere 12 minutes into the race. Although it is frowned upon, Philip (who lacked an official entry number) ran with me - bandits are expected to run at the extreme back of the pack. Participants (other than the seeded 200 or so runners up front) have to make note of the time they cross the start line and the time they cross the finish line in order to determine their actual time. In order to win a T-shirt (they are not, as is the custom in most races, given out in advance with the race kit upon registration) it is necessary to complete the race in 55 minutes. However, the official T-Shirt clock does not start running until all participants have crossed the starting line. I finished in just under 50 minutes, which is not a bad time for me considering the events of the past weeks.

It was just a short walk from Piedmont Park and the finish line back to the house for a quick shower, and we were soon on our way in Philip’s car, having decided to patronize the drive through window at the first McDonald's we came to after we left town for a quick (and late) lunch.

Philip's BMW, like my Jaguar, was built for speed, and he obviously enjoyed exploiting its capabilities. He turned on the radar detector, and we flew up Interstate 85 at a dizzying speed. In less than two hours, we had covered the one hundred twenty or so miles to Greenville, South Carolina, and turned onto a secondary road for a trip across the mountains to Brevard, North Carolina.

I had assumed (hoped?) that the two lane highway through the mountains would slow him down, and it did, but only slightly, as he was seemingly intent upon defying gravity, flying up steep grades and around hairpin turns. We spent nearly half an hour in silence as he concentrated on up shifting and downshifting out of and back into overdrive and generally keeping the car under some semblance of control. Finally, on a brief level stretch, he glanced over at where I was clearly hanging on for dear life.

"Isn't this great?"

"What this is, is payback, isn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked with an innocent air.

"I scared the shit out of you flying on autopilot, and you are extracting your pound of flesh in revenge."

He seemed hurt. "Would I do that to you? Besides, where is your sense of adventure?"

I ignored this reprise of my words from the Memorial Day weekend, and closed my eyes, as we ascended yet another series of turns, opening them only as we began to go downhill. None too soon for me, we were in a broad valley, and the road straightened out until we reached the town of Brevard. Beyond that small city, we climbed to the top of yet another mountain, then down through more switchbacks, finally turning off on a side road that began to climb up through a long, narrow valley which was for the most part heavily wooded, although I could see one or two houses perched up on the sides of the surrounding mountains.

Philip slowed the car as we neared the upper end of the valley, and I could see a tall stone structure in the shape of a tower on the side of the mountain at the head of the valley, jutting straight out of one edge of a newly mown field. On the other side of this tower were a series of small waterfalls, cascading down the hillside, disappearing eventually under a stone bridge over which the road continued. The tower looked like nothing so much as it did a medieval keep.

He slowed and came to a halt about a few hundred yards from this structure.

"This is it."

"What?"

"That tower just ahead."

"What about it?"

"It is my mountain hideaway."

He started slowly up the hill toward a driveway protected by a gate, which I had not noticed at first glance. As we drew closer, I inspected the building more carefully. I could not at first judge how tall it was, but later learned that it rose about sixty feet from ground level. It appeared to be rectangular, but I had no feel for the dimensions from my present point of view. Most notable, was the fact that there appeared to be no openings in the two walls that were currently visible. Somewhat below the roof line, I could see a metal construction of some sort, which appeared to be folded up against both visible walls. If these features of the building had been located at ground level, they might have been taken for drawbridges in the up position.

We were now at the driveway, and I noted that the gate had an electric opening device, which Philip activated by unlocking a small control box set in a post beside the driveway, and touching some numbers on a ten-key security pad inside the control box. The gravel drive led around through the grass on the left side of the building, which I now saw was a carbon copy of the two sides of the building which I had already seen, and around to the back where it approached an embankment and made two very sharp ninety degree turns ending at a heavy roll-down metal door of the type sometimes used to shield shop windows at night in large cities. This door constituted the only discernable break in the otherwise featureless rear stone wall of the building.

Philip stopped the car, got out and unlocked this door, and then rolled it up. A light came on inside what appeared to be a large garage, and he returned to the car to drive it inside. Inside the garage, we got out of the car, and he closed the exterior door before unlocking a steel door that was set deeply into one of the interior walls.

Philip turned to look at me "We can explore the rest of the place later, but first I want to show you the top floor."

He turned on lights in the stairway, and led me up several flights of steps, where we arrived in a darkened but evidently very large room. When he turned on some lights, I discovered that we were in what must be a great room at the top of the building. It had an extremely high exposed beamed ceiling of rough-hewn timbers, which must have been at least twenty feet above us, and was paneled with a type of wood that I could not immediately identify.

As with my beach house, three of the walls consisted of sliding glass doors. The resemblance ended there though, as these doors did not admit any light, and appeared to be covered with some sort of planking on the exterior. In addition, the longer wall, which we were facing, and I took to be the front of the building, was dominated by an immense stone fireplace, which was flanked by the glass doors.

Philip walked over to a small control panel set into the wall, and flipped a couple of switches. Somewhere above us, electric motors began to whir, and the planks covering the glass doors began to drop away. I now saw that my perception from the road below, of drawbridges, was not too far off the mark, because in less than five minutes daylight was pouring in through all of the glass doors, and I could see that the planks that had covered them were, in fact, wooden decks that were now lowered into position on three sides of the room. I now noticed that above the glass doors were large windows, which rose four or five feet above the doors, but stopped short of the ceiling beams.

We walked over to the side of the room that overlooked the waterfalls below, and out onto the deck. The view was spectacular.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I'm speechless."

"It does take your breath away at first, doesn't it?"

"It is magnificent." I was looking down at the waterfalls, which had a mesmerizing effect.

We walked back into the great room, and I continued my visual inspection of its interior. The rear third of the room featured an exposed loft, under one end of which were tucked a small kitchen and dining area. In one corner of the room I saw a stack of chairs and chaise lounges, obviously meant for the decks. Philip led me up an open stairway at one side of the room, and I discovered that the loft contained a king size bed in one large open space, beyond which were a bathroom and closet.

From the loft, we could look out through the large windows and see nothing but the surrounding mountains.

We were standing side by side, and he leaned over and kissed me. "I have never brought another person up here," he said.

"Never?"

"Nobody at all. This has been my 'retreat' for many years. There is a local couple who watch the place for me and keep it clean, and for that reason must have access. Other than the two of them, no other human being has ever seen this room."

"Thank you for sharing it with me."

"Let's go down and get our bags. There is a great deal to see around here."

We descended to the car and retrieved our gear. On the way back up the stairs, I noticed a doorway at each of the three levels below the great room, a detail that I had missed on the first trip up. Philip saw my curious glances, and told me that there were a few surprises in this place. When we had stowed our belongings in the sleeping loft, he looked at me.

"How about a swim?"

"Where?"

"There is a nice deep pool in the stream, above the waterfall, and although its getting late in the day, the air will still be warm enough."

"We didn't bring suits, did we?"

"Not necessary. The pool is on my property, and totally secluded. We can skinny dip."

We changed into khaki hiking shorts, tee shirts, and put on tennis shoes. Philip produced a backpack, stuffed two towels into it, and we were off. He led me up the mountain, behind the keep (which is how I thought of it), following a narrow path through the dense woods. When we emerged from the woods, I saw that we were on the edge of the stream just above the waterfalls - the sounds from which were still audible.

It was a beautiful spot. The stream ran down over a series of smoothly rounded boulders into a level area, where it formed a wide and quiet pool for perhaps fifty yards before it cascaded over still more boulders and rocks and continued down the mountainside. Looking more closely, I saw that many of the rocks at the lower end of the pool had been placed there (by Philip?) in order to obstruct the stream and make the pool deeper.

"How deep is it?"

"Probably not more than five feet in the middle."

"How cold is it?"

"You don't want to know," he said, as he pulled off his clothes and ran into the pool. He quickly submerged in the middle of the stream and came back up for air, gasping. "What are you waiting for?"

"My sense of adventure to return," I replied, and I began to undress. Piling my clothes beside Philip's, I walked gingerly into the ice cold water, and stood at calf depth for a minute.

"Come on," he said, "you can't do that gradually. It is all or nothing, you just have to take that first plunge." With that he used his hands to send great splashes of frigid water in my direction. This, of course, had the desired effect and I jumped in and went after him.

He was right. After the shock of jumping in and ducking under the water, I quickly became adjusted to the temperature. We splashed around for a while, indulging in horseplay like a couple of kids. I discovered that the middle of the pool was both deep enough and long enough to allow me to swim some laps, which I did, but without keeping count.

Finally, the water began to chill us through, and we retrieved the towels and dried ourselves off. Philip spread the towels side by side on a large flat boulder located in the middle of the stream above the pool that was both dry and warm from the sun, and we lay down to let the sun soak in, first on our stomachs, and then on our backs. We lay there in silence, listening to the sounds of the stream, for some time.

"You know," he said, "there is something that I have always wanted to do in this spot."

"What's that?"

"This," he answered, and rolled over on top of me. "I've always wanted to make love with someone special here beside this stream."

"Well, I've done it in the open air in broad daylight on the deck of my beach house, but that was on a nice soft pile of cushions, and this rock is hard."

"That's okay, I've got something equally hard to take your mind off any discomforts from the rock," he said. He was right, of course.

When we had dressed and returned to the keep, Philip went to the kitchen and made a brief shopping list. There were plenty of staples on hand, he explained, but we needed some fresh vegetables and other perishables. We drove down the valley, through a narrow pass at the lower end, and emerged into a larger and seemingly more inhabited valley where we stopped at a small general store. It was operated by a mountain couple of late middle age who seemed well acquainted with Philip. After he introduced me to them, we selected and purchased the necessary supplies, and were soon back at the keep.

When we were reclining in chaise lounges on one of the decks, with drinks in our hands, I said "You call this your hideaway, but I think of it is 'The Keep.'"

"I like that," he replied, "it is a very fitting description."

"Have we an itinerary for the weekend?"

"Not really. We can lounge around here all weekend, or we can do some of the tourist type things in the area."

"Such as?"

"Well, there is the Biltmore House in Asheville, the Blue Ridge Parkway, Gatlinburg for shopping, and the play in Cherokee, 'Unto These Hills.'"

"As it happens, I have done most of those things at one time or another, and they are certainly worth doing again, particularly with you. Why don't we play it by ear for this trip?"

"Sure."

"I do have one suggestion, however."

"What?"

"Church at St. Mary's in Asheville, which is a lovely little Anglo-Catholic parish, followed by Brunch at the Grove Park Inn."

"Sounds good. I've heard of the Grove Park Inn, but never been there."

"Then you are in for a treat, as they have the best Sunday Brunch that I have ever seen."

We made a joint project of making a salad and grilling some steaks for dinner, most of which was done on the deck, Philip having rolled a small cart outside to serve as a preparation area. Before we went up to the sleeping area, he closed the glass doors, explaining that there was a better method for fresh air at night. We went up to the sleeping area, and he walked over to the wall and opened a double set of awning-type windows which I had failed to note earlier. These admitted both fresh air, and the sounds of the waterfalls below, the latter of which lulled us to sleep almost as soon as we were in bed, but not before we had satisfied other needs.