After the Fire by Belva Plain

around the town,” shesuggested. “We can have a good lunch and still be in time for the tour.”
    “How long is this tour? Not too long, I hope.”
    “You can leave at any time you want.” She was puzzled. “I'm sure very few people do, though. I've read his book, and it's fascinating.”
    “To tell the truth, I'd like to get back to Paris. We only have a couple of days left, and we should get in some more night life, get together with those people at the hotel, do some shopping. We haven't even bought any gifts to take home.”
    Why he should want to leave this enchanting countryside and get together with a group of tourists at the hotel, she could not imagine. She had learned, of course, especially during these last few years, that he was far more gregarious than she was, but even so—
    Nevertheless she said agreeably, “Our Paris room's reserved again, and we can be back in no time. We'll make an early start in the morning.”
    “I was even thinking we might go back today. Maybe just have an early dinner at the inn and forfeit the overnight. I'd be willing to start back now, if it weren't for your wanting to see this cathedral.”
    “I do want to. We're almost in sight of it. You can see the two spires in the distance.”
    Gerald's words had taken some of the exuberance out of her mood. But no doubt it was self-centered to expect that he should share all her enthusiasms, any more than she had ever shared all of his.
    The lecturer was a superb teacher. The season having just begun, the crowd was still of a comfortable size, andalong with it, Hyacinth followed him. Down the great aisle they moved to the transept and apse; then, retracing the distance on the opposite side, they arrived at last at the resplendent rose window where, to her astonishment, Gerald stood tapping an impatient foot and looking bored.
    “So you left us,” she cried pleasantly.
    “I thought he would go on talking all night,” Gerald said.
    “I'm sorry. I thought you would love this.”
    “I guess I don't fall in love with everything as easily as you do.”
    “Fair enough. Let's drive to the inn, have another marvelous dinner, and then back we go to Paris.”
    During the last hour, the sun had abruptly disappeared. It began to drizzle, and they put up the top. On the winding, unfamiliar roads, Gerald had to drive slowly, while Hy watched the map and the signs.
    By the time they reached the inn, under furious rain, the dinner hour had already begun. In a dining room not much larger than what one might find in an aristocratic mansion of the eighteenth century, Hyacinth started the conversation.
    “Gerald, do look at the portrait over the door, the man with the peruke and the lace cuffs. This might even have been his house.”
    “It might.”
    The mushroom soup was smooth and rich, the bread was warm, and the wine, although she was hardly a connoisseur, must be, she thought, extraordinary. Gerald was enjoying it.
    “Wonderful food,” she said.
    “Oh, very.”
    “Gerald, are you angry about anything?”
    “Angry? Why should I be?”
    “You shouldn't as far as I know. But you do seem put out.”
    “Well, I'm not. I'm just tired, driving all day and now this miserable rain. We can't go back to Paris tonight on these unfamiliar roads.”
    Dim lights on the driveway revealed a wild, windswept night, bringing a picture to her mind.
    “It rained like this the day we met. Do you remember how fierce the wind was? I could hardly hold the car on the road.”
    “Damn! This had to happen while we're stuck here in the middle of nowhere. Nothing to do but go upstairs to bed.”
    Nothing to do but lie together in that charming room, all snug and safe without a care, while the storm beat outside.
    I don't understand, Hyacinth said to herself. And for no reason at all except perhaps to have something to do, she looked around the room.
    A little family, a couple with three children, sat directly in her view. The children were sweet, French and