The Room Beyond by Stephanie Elmas Page B

asked.
    ‘For the tedious company of my wife and her friends last night.’
    ‘That’s quite unnecessary, I enjoyed myself heartily.’
    ‘For all the wrong reasons.’
    Her eyes lingered on his lips as he pressed the glass to them. He
was more dishevelled than when she saw him last and clearly a little
intoxicated by that pungent cigar he’d been smoking outside. His eyes were
heavy, black rather than blue in this light, and hungry.
    ‘I find it very strange that you should be married to that woman. Is
there a good explanation?’
    ‘Our fathers came to an agreement. It got me out of a... a situation
during my time in India.’
    ‘And what did she stand to gain?’
    ‘A husband.’
    ‘How romantic.’
    ‘And what about you? Why did your husband run off with a younger
woman?’
    She felt her face twitch. ‘Because his brain has rotted away.’
    She’d been right about him; there was cruelty there, like playing
with a dangerous toy.
    They both said nothing and the minutes rolled by until she thought
she might scream. And yet he seemed perfectly relaxed, languid even, sitting
back with his glass balanced against his chest.
    Finally he drew towards her.
    ‘I didn’t come here just to sit in silence,’ he said.
    ‘Is that so? May I ask the genuine intention of your visit then?’
    He clasped her hand between his, pressing his lips gently to her arm.
She held her breath and then raised her other hand to his face, following his
cheekbones with the tips of her fingers. He pulled her closer towards him, but
she drew back.
    ‘Not yet.’
    He let his face fall against her breast. ‘When?’
    ‘When the time is right.’
    ‘You smell of ripe peaches.’
    ‘Go home to your wife.’
    ‘Must I?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He raised himself up but pulled her against him, greedily kissing
her on the mouth.
    ‘Don’t leave it too long,’ he murmured.
    ‘I doubt whether you’ll allow me.’
    ‘Send for me, at work.’
    ‘And where might that be?’
    ‘The Whitestone Shipping Company, Bolter’s Way. How am I supposed to
forget about you tonight?’
    ‘Don’t. Think about me all the time.’
     
    When the front door had closed again with a soft thud she drew her
hands up to her hot cheeks. From somewhere in the room there came a gentle
tapping sound. It was a moth, fluttering around the lamp on the table. It beat
itself ungracefully against the glass, its dusty wings crinkled and distorted.
    ‘Stop that now.’
    She cupped it in her hands, moved swiftly towards the open window
but then stopped herself.
    ‘No. You’ll only do it again silly thing.’
    And instead she pushed her palms tightly together, crushing the moth
between them.
     
    After a deep luxurious sleep she awoke to bright sunshine streaming
through her bedroom curtains. She pulled down the top sash of one of the
windows to let yet more sunshine in, perching herself on the only chair in the
sparsely furnished room to brush her hair.
    This room had none of the comforts of the one she’d shared with
Alfonso downstairs, but the idea of sleeping there again still made her feel
sick. She’d even toyed with the idea of using the room at the very top of the
house, with the small balcony looking out over the park, although it was really
just a servant’s room.
    She put on a white dress, wrapped her hair in an amber scarf and
treated herself to a long satisfied gaze in the mirror. She felt so light
today, almost skipping down the stairs like a young girl, sliding her fingers
down the cool banister as thoughts of hot tea with toast and honey swam through
her mind.
    Sarah was standing in the hallway below. The girl looked distraught,
wringing her hands and padding from one foot to the other.
    ‘What on earth’s the matter girl?’
    ‘You’ve got visitors ma’am.’
    ‘Oh damn it. I thought you’d paid Mr Burke. He can’t possibly be
wanting yet more money.’
    ‘No, much worse than that. It’s your husband with his... lady
friend, in the drawing room. I