Consequences Read Free Page A

plate glass windows it was hot. “I don’t want to bother you,” she said.
    â€œNot at all. Not in the slightest. What are you having?”
    They ordered coffee. “You’re her teacher. She’d talk about you.”
    He tried to interpret the look in her eyes. What was she after? What did she know? He tried to read her mind, andcouldn’t; but in the process noticed what a graceful oval her chin formed. Amazing how women today managed to keep themselves in shape—Sharon Stone, for example.
    â€œTalk to me about her. About my daughter. Barbara.”
    â€œTalk to you about what?”
    â€œYes, talk to me about her, please.”
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    Later, as he was heading home, driving sensibly—smiling at radar traps and faintly nodding at two frisky motorcycle cops as he let them pass—he went over his conversation with Barbara’s mother. The poor woman was worried sick, wondering if there’d been some kind of accident.
    He’d tried to reassure her, but without insisting too much or giving her too much hope. Unfortunately, you always had to prepare yourself for the worst, he’d murmured, as his hand encircled her wrist—a very shapely, very white one. “I’m pleased with her,” he’d hastened to add. “Thrilled to get this chance to tell you so. Very pleased with her. I expect a lot more from her.”
    Was that all he could have said? Halfway home, he stopped and parked behind the still-frozen slope and inspected the area around the path he’d taken two days before with Barbara’s body over his shoulder. He frowned a little as he recalled the image. But when fate has you in its grip , he thought, what good does it do to resist?
    It wasn’t quite as cold as the last time. He could feel spring arriving at full gallop, spot a few snowdrop blossoms here and there.
    â€œTell you what?” he’d replied. “You must know her better than I do. Hah . . . hah, aren’t I right?” he’d giggled nervously. Alot of people would have assumed so—assumed that a mother knew her daughter better than the first professor who came along. Steam rose from the coffee in their cups and gleamed like something ephemeral.
    â€œWell, no,” she said. “Actually, that’s just the point. I don’t know her.”
    â€œWell, who really can boast about knowing them?”
    â€œListen . . . I’ve only known Barbara for a few months.”
    He hesitated for a moment. “Well, then, we have an exception here,” he said, in an attempt at humor.
    He’d wanted to use a joking tone when this Myriam Thingamajig’s declaration popped out so disconcertingly, but quickly he realized that the woman wasn’t saying anything other than what she was saying.
    â€œThings like this do happen, you know,” she said defensively. “Stop looking at me like that.”
    Although he was traveling light this time, he was out of breath by the time he reached the top of the hill. It was the price of peace of mind, the assurance that the place wouldn’t attract crowds. He’d sit down a moment, he decided, smoke a cigarette, which would be incredibly delicious mixed with the fresh air against the background of ice-covered firs. He felt calm, relaxed. What a full day. He could boast about having warded off potential suspicions that could have singled him out. Right now, he had no cares. Not a soul had seen them together. Not a soul knew the nature of their relationship, not even her mother. It looked like Barbara really had held her tongue. He could breathe. Indulge in the pleasure of this wonderful blond tobacco.
    His heart was beating. He kept several feet away from thedark, mossy crevice—a rift of frozen, silent darkness. But, whew , what a relief. He congratulated himself for sticking to a strict discipline, always taking certain basic precautions when it came to the students. Now he could