The Carousel by Belva Plain Page A

mean,” she sniffed, raising her head. “Funny that it’s always the woman who’s asked to give in. Always.”
    “Not always. Too often, maybe, but not this time, in my opinion.”
    “Right now my opinion is the one that counts, though.”
    “Ah, how you love to argue. You should have been the lawyer,” he said, laughing a little, pulling her close.
    She knew he meant to calm and comfort her and she wanted his comfort, that masculine heat of which there is nothing more reassuring to a woman who loves. Over the past months she had come to rely on his presence in her life; often during the day she would feel, at thought of him, the tiny twitch of her own smile, or the sudden harsh jolt at his approach on the street, or at what she had mistaken for his approach; the mistake would only serve to remind her that in a few hours he would be with her again. And she knew as one
knows
, as every nerve and every speeding rationalthought proclaims, that he was different from any who had gone before him, that he was the real, the real and final one.
    And yet there were days and nights like this, when he was too positive and, no matter how gentle, too sure of himself, of his very power over her, robbing her of independence.
    He raised her head to find her lips, which were closed; his, soft and persistent, were pressing hers to open. She was braced between the door and his body, demanding, swelling. His breath came faster.
    “Come inside,” he murmured. “Come on, Amanda. Darling.”
    She didn’t want to. Not now. It was humiliating, when her mind was so agitated and every nerve jumping. She wasn’t a pleasure machine, an engine to be turned on. Her hands pushed against his chest. Her face twisted away toward her shoulder.
    “I can’t. No, Todd. Please. Not now. No!”
    He let her go at once and stepped back, frowning.
    “Not now? When, then? Christmas? Or is that too soon for you?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd.”
    “It’s not so ridiculous. You haven’t been exactly loving lately.”
    Of course. The male ego was hurt. God knows she hadn’t intended to hurt him, but she just wasn’t in the mood. Couldn’t he see that? Still, heconsidered himself rejected, so she must try to soothe him, to explain the turmoil that was in her.
    “Please, Todd. I’ve had all this stuff on my mind. You said yourself that when a man is worried, he doesn’t feel passionate. Well, the same goes for a woman, doesn’t it?”
    A cool silence crept into the room. For a few moments neither broke it. Then Todd walked away to stand at the window.
    Help me, she thought. Todd, help me. I get this way. It comes on all of a sudden. Please, Todd, I love you. Help me.
    There was a sadness in his posture, although he stood straight. Perhaps it was his stillness that was so sad. Impulsively she went to touch him, saying, “Todd, I’m sorry. It was only a mood. You do understand, don’t you? Another time. You know I always—”
    She stopped, and he turned about, looking down at her with a troubled, soft expression.
    “I know you always try, but you don’t feel anything. I know that, too.”
    “That’s not true, not true!”
    He shook his head, denying her denial. “You’re too angry inside, Amanda. You have to learn, or be taught …” he faltered. “I care about you so much, and that’s why I’m saying this.”
    Again, he was lecturing, being the wiser, the mature advisor, and, however smoothly, dominating. Always, always, things were spoiled that way. Unless, for once, he—somebody—would give in.
    “You really love me?”
    “You know I do.”
    “Then will you help me?”
    “If I can, I will.”
    “Take this case for me.”
    “What case?”
    “The inevitable lawsuit.”
    “Surely you aren’t going to sue your
brother
?”
    “The firm. All of them, if I don’t get some sort of satisfaction before this property goes on the market for somebody else to grab.”
    His astonishment chastised her. Then he said, “I’m seeing