kind of shame combined with pleasure; she slowly lowered her beautiful eyes, moved away from the trembling arms that wished to clasp her to him and smiled.
‘No,’ she said, ‘what’s the point?
I
don’t love you …’
He walked away and left the room without looking at her.
3
Some time later, while travelling, Gladys happened to meet Count Tarnovsky again, the young Polish man who had pleased her at a London ball. She married him and lived with him for two years. He was handsome and as vain about his good looks as a young girl; he was unfaithful, a liar, affectionate and weak. Their married life was unbearable to both of them, because they used the same feminine weapons against each other: lies, ruses and whims. Afterwards, she could not forgive him for having made her suffer; she hated suffering; like children, she expected and demanded to be happy.
After they separated she met Richard Eysenach, a famous financier of dubious origins and President of the Mexican Petroleum Company. He was feared for his sharp, ruthless intelligence. He was ugly, with a heavy, powerful body, muscular arms and a wide forehead that was partially hidden by his thick black hair. Beneath his full eyebrows his piercing green eyes would stare at a rival, scrutinising him with scornful, amused tolerance. He only found women attractive if they were beautiful, docile and knew how to keep quiet. He trained Gladys to obey him, toappear happy and cheerful when he looked at her a certain way, to think of nothing in life apart from being beautiful and finding pleasure. He never grew tired of watching her getting dressed, choosing slowly between two pieces of jewellery, studying her features in the mirror. He found sharp, sensual pleasure in treating her like a child. When she pressed herself against him, when she whispered ‘I’m so small compared to you, so weak …’, when she looked at him in a certain way, raising her sweet, mocking face towards him, a flash of desire and almost madness shot across his cold, impassive face. Then he would throw himself on top of her, passionately biting her lips, calling her ‘My little girl, my sweet child, my little one …’
This unspoken vice that was appeased through her was the source of pleasure for both of them and, for Gladys, the secret of the power that she wielded over him and over others. She loved it when he caressed her roughly, savagely. Later in life, all the men she would find attractive resembled Richard in some way. For a long time she had a lover, Sir Mark Forbes, the English statesman who was very famous just before the war. He was hard and ambitious, educated to follow a routine and with a love of power; but with her he was lonely, weak and defenceless. That was what she liked; that was what annoyed him; she constantly had to prove to herself that she could dominate men.
In the years preceding the war her beauty attained the point of perfection that only happiness and the fulfilment of every desire can bring about in a woman. Olivier Beauchamp, the son of Claude and Teresa, met her when she was passing through Paris. It was 1907 and he was barely out of adolescence. He saw a woman whose faceand body were as beautiful as they had been when she was twenty, but who exuded the air of self-confidence and peace that comes from happiness. She was surrounded by men who were in love with her. She had become as accustomed to promises, pleading and tears as a drunkard was to wine; she never had enough and such sweet poison was so essential to her that she would not have been able to live without it. She made no secret of it. She believed that a real woman is never blasé, but rather an indefatigable little creature: an ambitious man might grow weary of accolade and a miser of gold, but a real woman could never forsake her femininity; when she thought about growing old, it seemed so far away that she could consider it without fear, imagining that death would come to her before her life of
‘No,’ she said, ‘what’s the point?
I
don’t love you …’
He walked away and left the room without looking at her.
3
Some time later, while travelling, Gladys happened to meet Count Tarnovsky again, the young Polish man who had pleased her at a London ball. She married him and lived with him for two years. He was handsome and as vain about his good looks as a young girl; he was unfaithful, a liar, affectionate and weak. Their married life was unbearable to both of them, because they used the same feminine weapons against each other: lies, ruses and whims. Afterwards, she could not forgive him for having made her suffer; she hated suffering; like children, she expected and demanded to be happy.
After they separated she met Richard Eysenach, a famous financier of dubious origins and President of the Mexican Petroleum Company. He was feared for his sharp, ruthless intelligence. He was ugly, with a heavy, powerful body, muscular arms and a wide forehead that was partially hidden by his thick black hair. Beneath his full eyebrows his piercing green eyes would stare at a rival, scrutinising him with scornful, amused tolerance. He only found women attractive if they were beautiful, docile and knew how to keep quiet. He trained Gladys to obey him, toappear happy and cheerful when he looked at her a certain way, to think of nothing in life apart from being beautiful and finding pleasure. He never grew tired of watching her getting dressed, choosing slowly between two pieces of jewellery, studying her features in the mirror. He found sharp, sensual pleasure in treating her like a child. When she pressed herself against him, when she whispered ‘I’m so small compared to you, so weak …’, when she looked at him in a certain way, raising her sweet, mocking face towards him, a flash of desire and almost madness shot across his cold, impassive face. Then he would throw himself on top of her, passionately biting her lips, calling her ‘My little girl, my sweet child, my little one …’
This unspoken vice that was appeased through her was the source of pleasure for both of them and, for Gladys, the secret of the power that she wielded over him and over others. She loved it when he caressed her roughly, savagely. Later in life, all the men she would find attractive resembled Richard in some way. For a long time she had a lover, Sir Mark Forbes, the English statesman who was very famous just before the war. He was hard and ambitious, educated to follow a routine and with a love of power; but with her he was lonely, weak and defenceless. That was what she liked; that was what annoyed him; she constantly had to prove to herself that she could dominate men.
In the years preceding the war her beauty attained the point of perfection that only happiness and the fulfilment of every desire can bring about in a woman. Olivier Beauchamp, the son of Claude and Teresa, met her when she was passing through Paris. It was 1907 and he was barely out of adolescence. He saw a woman whose faceand body were as beautiful as they had been when she was twenty, but who exuded the air of self-confidence and peace that comes from happiness. She was surrounded by men who were in love with her. She had become as accustomed to promises, pleading and tears as a drunkard was to wine; she never had enough and such sweet poison was so essential to her that she would not have been able to live without it. She made no secret of it. She believed that a real woman is never blasé, but rather an indefatigable little creature: an ambitious man might grow weary of accolade and a miser of gold, but a real woman could never forsake her femininity; when she thought about growing old, it seemed so far away that she could consider it without fear, imagining that death would come to her before her life of
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