Crimson by Shirley Conran

articled clerk to a firm of London solicitors.
    Elinor suspected that Bill y who never wrote anything longer than a frivolous paragraph if he could avoid it actually could write serious articles if he wanted to do so. One of his colleagues also told her that Billy had the makings of a good theatre critic, but he did not care to subject himself to the concentration necessary to write the review in his head as he watched a play. Billy, who did not like hard work, preferred to amuse himself at the theatre, and ,.”!kfterwards in restaurants, at fashionable dinner parties, or at the. daring new nightclubs.
    Once, Billy had been a man with high expectations and high ambition, known by everyone; now, although he knew everyone, he seemed to be nobody’s friend. It was clear to him that he was going nowhere. As a result, his smiles and his charm were reserved almost exclusively for the people he saw when he was on the town. At home, he wore his depression like a cloak and only rarely allowed any warmth or humour to show through.
    In spite of all this, Elinor managed to be happy. She loved living in a big city with all of its conveniences. She cleaned and cooked, she cuddled her baby son, Edward, and she borrowed romantic novels from the local penny library: these books in which the heroines never wore second-hand clothes, and the heroes were as considerate as they were handsome had provided her with precious hours of escape from the anxieties. of life she had known when pregnant, with Billy out of work. Now Elinor read romantic fiction while waiting for Billy’to come home, because she could never get to sleep until he lay safe beside her.
    On one occasion, when he slammed the door of their bedroom at four o’clock in the morning, Elinor whispered, “Don’t make a noise! You’ll wake the baby! Where have you been?” “Stop nagging,” Billy yawned as he removed the studs from his evening shirt.
    “What do you mean, nagging?” Elinor whispered indignantly.
    “I mean your constant criticism, your silent hurt looks of reproach, your unreasonable demands,” Billy said, pulling off his socks.
    “This sock needs mending.” He peered at it somewhat drunkenly.
    For once, Elinor decided to give full vent to her true feelings. She
    hopped out of bed and stood angrily in front of Billy, her legs apart, her hands on her hips, her body hardly hidden by a flimsy peach-coloured nightgown and robe.
    “How can you be so unfair?” she asked in a low voice.
    “Wouldn’t you want to know where I had been if I went out and left you at home every night?” Billy turned slowly and looked intently at his wife. He stared at her shadowed breasts, glanced at his watch, grinned, and moved towards her.
    As his right hand slid beneath the peach chiffon, Elinor felt her nipples harden; immediately her body betrayed her and her anger melted away, As his lips caressed her ear, her neck, her senses swirled; their argument was forgotten.
    Billy murmured, “Have you got it in?” Shortly after Edward’s birth, he had sent Elinor to the shop in Holloway where Dr. Marie Stopes gave free advice and cheap contraception to women.
    “Yes.” Now he’d know that she had been hoping.
    With one hand, Billy pushed his discarded clothes from the bed and with the other, he pulled Elinor’s body to his. Her kimono fell from her shoulders to the floor, and she felt his warmth and strength against her.
    As he lowered her to the bed, she pushed down the thin straps of her nightgown.
    “No, don’t take it off,” he murmurdd, and touched her breasts with the tip of his tongue.
    His right hand stroked her thighs, then felt beneath the taut peach gauze … Where was the damn thing? He located her tiny clitoris, felt it harden beneath his thumb.
    “Lie on top of me,” he ordered.
    “Now spread your legs, wide.” That way she climaxed so much quicker.
    Elinor could not bear her husband’s displeasure. One Sunday evening, after Billy had complained that she