The Marriage Bed Read Free Page B

turn back now,” he said quietly. “It’s getting late.”
    There was no sting in the words. I knew I hadn’t bored him, even though the blue satin blouse had not had anything like the impact I’d hoped for. In fact, it was high time, I thought, for the whole conversation to get off its present level. Then, perhaps, he would begin to look at me the way so many Older Men did, that rather absent yet purposeful look that meant their penis was thinking.
    Somewhat desperately, because the flat, white face of the Sea View Hotel would soon come into view, I began, “Do you believe in affinities at all? Because I felt very … attracted to you, the minute I saw you at dinner-time.”
    “Thank you. That’s very complimentary.”
    There was a silence. Then I blurted out, “Are you married?” Toolate I regretted the blunt directness of this question, even though the answer was vital to my plans.
    “I was married.”
    “Oh, you’re divorced, then.”
    “No. My wife died of cancer eight months ago.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, trying not to sound cheerful. “Is that why you’re here, then? To recover from your grief?”
    The twilight almost hid his grave smile. “No. I’m here on business – a conference. But there was some mix-up about reservations at the Grand; instead of a single room they booked me in with a guy from Hamilton, and I could tell with one look he was a snorer. So I came along to your hotel.”
    “Rotten luck,” I grinned, diverted. “And I should know. We live there.”
    “Jesus,” he said, “– if you’ll pardon the expression. Are all the meals as bad as tonight’s?”
    “They used to be much better. But there’s a new cook from Athens, and he isn’t concentrating.”
    Suddenly Max laughed out loud. “Anne, you make me wish I wasn’t flying back tomorrow.”
    “Oh, so do I!” There was so much fervour in my voice it embarrassed both of us, and I ground my nails into my palms in an agony of self-punishment.
    “Never mind,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe you’ll visit Canada some day, and when you do, be sure to look me up. Here’s my card.”
    It read “Maxwell Ehrlich, Import-Export Consultant, Toronto, Canada.” I put it into an inside pocket with care.
    “And now it’s time for me to return you to your mother and say goodnight. Thanks for a very enjoyable walk, Anne.”
    I offered my hand and his big, warm one swallowed it. There was nobody in the lounge. I moved a little closer to him, face liftedas if by accident to a convenient angle. He could kiss me if he liked. It might not be too awful, actually. But just then the bar door opened and out straggled the last customers, Billie among them. She had evidently been saying something absurd to one of the Americans, who was guffawing. In a shy mumble I introduced her to Max, and over their handshake she gave him her enchanting, crooked little smile. I saw his face change at once. A kind of delighted surprise lit up the experienced dark eyes as he looked at her. And there went, I realized with a pang of real regret as well as chagrin, all my hopes of a May-December marriage. For a few minutes I actively disliked my mother.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Your daughter has shown me a bit of the town and made me forget I was lonely.”
    Billie gave me a somewhat sharp parental glance, under which I blushed angrily. As soon as possible I muttered goodnight and marched upstairs with such rigid dignity my knees would hardly bend enough to climb the steps.
    A few minutes later in our room Billie said lightly, “That was rather a smashing man you picked up, sweetie.”
    “I did not pick him up,” I said, indignant at her accuracy.
    “He told me after you went up that he thought you were a very valuable person.”
    “Did he.” I flounced sulkily over to my own side of the bed. Well, that was that. Valuable, indeed. And nobody else in sight remotely available to marry except ghastly Captain