work without her. The organising of his breakfast would undoubtedly be one of her first projects; she would appropriate it to herself with all speed, and, simple though Adrian’s routine might sound, and carefully as he might explain it to her, she would inevitably get it subtly wrong.
His fault this, of course, for being so pernickety; but nevertheless, she would.
The reading, of course, would be the first thing to go: the delicious habit of reading non-stop while he ate, while he bathed, while he shaved. During the four years he had been on his own, he had solved one by one all the minor practical problems attendant upon such a habit, even the problem of his reading glasses steaming up in the bath. Now, just when there was no little annoyances left at all, this had to happen!
*
Of course, no woman could be expected to put up with this sort of thing, morning after morning; or, if she could, then the unremitting consciousness of her sitting there putting up with it would have been every bit as disturbing as outright nagging.
So the reading would have to go. He would have to give it up, as people give up smoking, and with the same sense of outrage and disorientation. There was no way of conveying to any woman—least of all one who loved him—the intensity of his need for that lovely, self-absorbed interlude before he set out to face the day; an interlude of absolute peace in the company of non-judgemental, non-existent characters for whose problems he, Adrian, was in no way to blame.
Oh, those blissfully undemanding murders! Those cosy scenes of blackmail and kidnapping, whose double-crossing implications were all going to be sorted out by rival spy-rings without the smallest reference to him! How soothing they were, to a busy man! He even read science fiction at times, and whole galaxies could blow up without him having to stir a finger…!
*
“Darling! You’re in a trance !”
With a pink-varnished finger-nail—she must have done them specially before coming here, right in the middle of the final scene with Derek—Rita reached over and flicked him playfully under the chin. She laughed as she did it, a bit too merrily, showing all her little white teeth with practically no fillings, and asked him what his plans were for the evening?
Plans ? From now on, was he going to have to have plans ?
“We must celebrate, darling!” she explained gaily. “We must do something wonderful with our first—our very first —evening…!”
*
It wasn’t as wonderful as all that; but he hoped she hadn’t noticed; that for her, maybe, it had all been fine.
As, indeed, he pretended it had been for him.
Isn’t it marvellous not having to keep an eye on the time, they kept saying to each other, as they lay, afterwards, in the big bed.Not having to get dressed … go out … say good-bye to one another. Marvellous, they kept saying… Marvellous .
*
He could tell that Rita knew that something was wrong; and that she knew that he knew. He knew, too, that she would never bring herself to ask him what it was; she was too afraid of the answer. And so was he.
CHAPTER II
O F COURSE, IF he had thought to look back at the long-drawn-out trauma of his own divorce, at the actual day-to-day mechanics of breaking a marriage of fairly long standing, Adrian would have realised that his panic over Rita’s sudden arrival had been premature. He would have recollected that someone rushing out of the house with a suitcase rarely heralds the end of the partnership. Within forty-eight hours, the runaway partner is usually slinking uneasily back again, feeding the cat, collecting laundry, leaning over the fence to put the neighbours right about the awful lies that Partner B has been feeding them these last two days.
And then—since by this time it is gone seven, and Partner B has arrived home from work—a meal is guardedly improvised, and over the take-away curry and the tinned apricots, the battle-weary pair check through their new
His fault this, of course, for being so pernickety; but nevertheless, she would.
The reading, of course, would be the first thing to go: the delicious habit of reading non-stop while he ate, while he bathed, while he shaved. During the four years he had been on his own, he had solved one by one all the minor practical problems attendant upon such a habit, even the problem of his reading glasses steaming up in the bath. Now, just when there was no little annoyances left at all, this had to happen!
*
Of course, no woman could be expected to put up with this sort of thing, morning after morning; or, if she could, then the unremitting consciousness of her sitting there putting up with it would have been every bit as disturbing as outright nagging.
So the reading would have to go. He would have to give it up, as people give up smoking, and with the same sense of outrage and disorientation. There was no way of conveying to any woman—least of all one who loved him—the intensity of his need for that lovely, self-absorbed interlude before he set out to face the day; an interlude of absolute peace in the company of non-judgemental, non-existent characters for whose problems he, Adrian, was in no way to blame.
Oh, those blissfully undemanding murders! Those cosy scenes of blackmail and kidnapping, whose double-crossing implications were all going to be sorted out by rival spy-rings without the smallest reference to him! How soothing they were, to a busy man! He even read science fiction at times, and whole galaxies could blow up without him having to stir a finger…!
*
“Darling! You’re in a trance !”
With a pink-varnished finger-nail—she must have done them specially before coming here, right in the middle of the final scene with Derek—Rita reached over and flicked him playfully under the chin. She laughed as she did it, a bit too merrily, showing all her little white teeth with practically no fillings, and asked him what his plans were for the evening?
Plans ? From now on, was he going to have to have plans ?
“We must celebrate, darling!” she explained gaily. “We must do something wonderful with our first—our very first —evening…!”
*
It wasn’t as wonderful as all that; but he hoped she hadn’t noticed; that for her, maybe, it had all been fine.
As, indeed, he pretended it had been for him.
Isn’t it marvellous not having to keep an eye on the time, they kept saying to each other, as they lay, afterwards, in the big bed.Not having to get dressed … go out … say good-bye to one another. Marvellous, they kept saying… Marvellous .
*
He could tell that Rita knew that something was wrong; and that she knew that he knew. He knew, too, that she would never bring herself to ask him what it was; she was too afraid of the answer. And so was he.
CHAPTER II
O F COURSE, IF he had thought to look back at the long-drawn-out trauma of his own divorce, at the actual day-to-day mechanics of breaking a marriage of fairly long standing, Adrian would have realised that his panic over Rita’s sudden arrival had been premature. He would have recollected that someone rushing out of the house with a suitcase rarely heralds the end of the partnership. Within forty-eight hours, the runaway partner is usually slinking uneasily back again, feeding the cat, collecting laundry, leaning over the fence to put the neighbours right about the awful lies that Partner B has been feeding them these last two days.
And then—since by this time it is gone seven, and Partner B has arrived home from work—a meal is guardedly improvised, and over the take-away curry and the tinned apricots, the battle-weary pair check through their new
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