Beneath the Earth by John Boyne Page A

you? The history of the Indian subcontinent that you praised so highly. But you never did. I should be very cross with you.’
    â€˜I do apologize,’ said Archie, and Agatha noticed how he was unable to meet her eye. ‘I could get a boy to bring it over tomorrow if you like.’
    â€˜A boy?’ she said, staring at him and waiting for so long before continuing that Agatha hoped the ground would open and swallow them all up. ‘How terribly thoughtful,’ she said finally. ‘Agatha, you have a terribly thoughtful husband, do you know that?’
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ said Agatha miserably.
    â€˜A man of real integrity and honour. He’d never let a lady down. Would you, Archie?’
    â€˜Now look here, Sarah,’ began Archie, and Agatha started, for she had never heard him use her Christian name before.
    â€˜Oh but look, here come Mr Zéla and his nephew,’ said Mrs Crossley, her voice raising in delight as she looked towards the doorway. ‘I must go over and say hello.’ She nodded at them both politely and moved off, leaving husband and wife alone together, a phrase that until now Agatha had always considered to be oxymoronic.
    The rest of the evening passed in some sort of nightmare. They couldn’t look at each other, couldn’t speak. They made conversation with other couples and pretended that they were not suffering. And then, quite late in the evening, Agatha emerged from the ladies’ room, took a wrong turn on to an unexpected corridor and in the gloom ahead saw Archie and Mrs Crossley standing there, locked in some position of combat, he holding on to her arm as she pulled away from him, pointing her finger at his face before turning and disappearing out of sight, a direction in which he followed her, away from Agatha’s viewpoint. She didn’t know what to do. Should she stay where she was? Return to the party? Follow them wherever they had gone and cause a scene?
    In the end, she did nothing at all, simply lost herself in the back and forth of the guests once again, and when Archie finally reappeared she told him that she had a sick headache and wanted to go home.
    â€˜All right,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind walking?’
    â€˜Of course not. It’s only two minutes away.’
    â€˜I might stay a little longer,’ he said, looking directly at her now as if he was challenging her to accuse him of something. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
    â€˜Why should I mind?’ she replied. ‘Of course you must stay. I’ll see you later.’
    And with that she had said goodnight to her hosts and returned to their apartment, stripped naked and thrown herself on to the bed, where she wept like a child and finally fell asleep in a tangle of sheets.
    But now it was the next day. And she didn’t know whether he had come back at all. But he must have, mustn’t he? He couldn’t have stayed away all night. It was entirely possible that he had climbed into bed and she had simply failed to hear him. This had happened before, after all. Many times. But would he really have risen early too? That seemed unlikely.
    The door opened and there he was, wearing his day clothes. She glanced towards the wardrobe; last night’s suit must be in there.
    â€˜All right, old girl?’ he asked, barely glancing at her, despite the fact that not only had she omitted to put her nightdress on before going to bed but she hadn’t bothered to wear it this morning either and was standing bare by the window as the sun poured in behind her.
Mrs Blenchley’s face with Mrs Christie’s body
, the Major had said. But then Sydney, this magnificent city of Sydney, was always so damned hot that Agatha wondered why anyone bothered with clothes at all. It was a miracle that more of the natives didn’t simply pass out as they made their way to and from their places of business. It was astonishing that the dogs in