children.â
âIâm sorry,â he said.
âIt doesnât matter. Iâve stopped minding now,â she said. âOne canât have everything. Iâve got the best husband in the world.â
âItâs very rare to hear a woman say that here,â he said. âI should think your husbandâs pretty lucky too. Can I take you back inside now? I have a friend with me â Iâm supposed to take her out to dinner.â
âOh, Iâm so sorry, of course. Iâm afraid Iâve kept you out here talking â¦â Inside the room, in the bright lights, she turned to him again. She definitely liked him; he was very charming and there was something warm about him. âDonât think me rude, Mr. Amstat, but I would like your address, so you can come to dinner with us. Itâs so seldom one meets another European. Will you come?â
âIâd be delighted; itâs very kind of you. Here is my card.â He shouldnât have given it to her and he knew it. But it was too late. Not that he would ever go, if she remembered to invite him. He didnât even look for Julia â he wanted to get out.
âGoodbye, Mr. Amstat. Iâm so glad we met.â
She held her hand out again and he took it.
âGoodbye, Mrs. Bradford. Until we meet again.â He didnât shake hands with her; he lifted her hand and kissed it, and he saw what he expected to see. Freischer had broken Terese Massonâs fingers. There were small scars on the back of it, where her broken bones had been re-set at some later date. He hadnât even needed to prove it, but now he couldnât try to fool himself. He left the party and went straight back to his apartment. He mixed himself a large whiskey and then rang down to the basement for his suitcases. After four years he would have to start running again.
Terese opened her eyes and listened to her husband breathing in the dark beside her. She hadnât slept; she was waiting for him to fall asleep before she moved away from him. She got free very gently, sliding out from under his arm. He always wanted to sleep lying close to her, their bodies still engaged after they had made love, and she had always had to crawl away from him before she could relax. He had been a little drunk that night, thatâs what had started it, and when they came home after dinner with Ruth he came up behind her when she was undressing and kissed her neck. When he began feeling her breasts she tried to break away from him, but he either didnât or wouldnât notice. He had undressed her and begun the patient, tender assault on her body which had brought her closer to him over the years without ever carrying her through the barrier into a proper sexual fusion. She hadnât wanted any of it, but she couldnât bear to see him turn away, rejected and hurt, pretending not to mind. She loved him too much and owed him too much not to bear with his need for her; she even pretended to share his enjoyment, imitating his passion.
Now that he was asleep she wanted to lie on her own, to put on a nightdress, because nakedness worried her. It made her feel uneasy, as if she had some reason to be afraid when she was stripped. It wasnât because she didnât love Robert; he didnât repulse her, he had never been a brute or slept with another woman or done anything which could lay the blame for her frigidity on him. She had never tried to blame him; she blamed herself instead. She could be tender with him, respond to affection, enjoy his caresses and return them freely, but the convulsion of intercourse, with its sense of helpless subjugation, was something it had taken her years to endure without horror.
She knew her way round the bedroom without turning on the light. She didnât want Bob to wake up, she needed to be alone before she could hope to relax and sleep. She went into the living room and sat down, lighting a cigarette.
âIâm sorry,â he said.
âIt doesnât matter. Iâve stopped minding now,â she said. âOne canât have everything. Iâve got the best husband in the world.â
âItâs very rare to hear a woman say that here,â he said. âI should think your husbandâs pretty lucky too. Can I take you back inside now? I have a friend with me â Iâm supposed to take her out to dinner.â
âOh, Iâm so sorry, of course. Iâm afraid Iâve kept you out here talking â¦â Inside the room, in the bright lights, she turned to him again. She definitely liked him; he was very charming and there was something warm about him. âDonât think me rude, Mr. Amstat, but I would like your address, so you can come to dinner with us. Itâs so seldom one meets another European. Will you come?â
âIâd be delighted; itâs very kind of you. Here is my card.â He shouldnât have given it to her and he knew it. But it was too late. Not that he would ever go, if she remembered to invite him. He didnât even look for Julia â he wanted to get out.
âGoodbye, Mr. Amstat. Iâm so glad we met.â
She held her hand out again and he took it.
âGoodbye, Mrs. Bradford. Until we meet again.â He didnât shake hands with her; he lifted her hand and kissed it, and he saw what he expected to see. Freischer had broken Terese Massonâs fingers. There were small scars on the back of it, where her broken bones had been re-set at some later date. He hadnât even needed to prove it, but now he couldnât try to fool himself. He left the party and went straight back to his apartment. He mixed himself a large whiskey and then rang down to the basement for his suitcases. After four years he would have to start running again.
Terese opened her eyes and listened to her husband breathing in the dark beside her. She hadnât slept; she was waiting for him to fall asleep before she moved away from him. She got free very gently, sliding out from under his arm. He always wanted to sleep lying close to her, their bodies still engaged after they had made love, and she had always had to crawl away from him before she could relax. He had been a little drunk that night, thatâs what had started it, and when they came home after dinner with Ruth he came up behind her when she was undressing and kissed her neck. When he began feeling her breasts she tried to break away from him, but he either didnât or wouldnât notice. He had undressed her and begun the patient, tender assault on her body which had brought her closer to him over the years without ever carrying her through the barrier into a proper sexual fusion. She hadnât wanted any of it, but she couldnât bear to see him turn away, rejected and hurt, pretending not to mind. She loved him too much and owed him too much not to bear with his need for her; she even pretended to share his enjoyment, imitating his passion.
Now that he was asleep she wanted to lie on her own, to put on a nightdress, because nakedness worried her. It made her feel uneasy, as if she had some reason to be afraid when she was stripped. It wasnât because she didnât love Robert; he didnât repulse her, he had never been a brute or slept with another woman or done anything which could lay the blame for her frigidity on him. She had never tried to blame him; she blamed herself instead. She could be tender with him, respond to affection, enjoy his caresses and return them freely, but the convulsion of intercourse, with its sense of helpless subjugation, was something it had taken her years to endure without horror.
She knew her way round the bedroom without turning on the light. She didnât want Bob to wake up, she needed to be alone before she could hope to relax and sleep. She went into the living room and sat down, lighting a cigarette.
Similar Books
