In The Presence Of The Enemy by Elizabeth George Page A

shadow had been eliminated.
    He came to join her, but he didn’t sit next to her. Rather, he chose a chair from which he could face her, from which—she knew—he could easily study her. This he did as she picked up her cup and took a sip of her tea.
    She knew he was going to insist upon the truth. He was going to say, What’s really going on, Helen, and please don’t lie to me any further because I can always tell when someone’s lying to me since I’ve years of exposure to liars of the highest calibre and I’d like to think that the woman I’m marrying isn’t one of them so if you don’t mind shall we clear the air right now because I’m having second thoughts about you and about us and until those second thoughts are banished I can’t see how we can move onwards together.
    But he said something quite different, hands clasped loosely between his k
    nees, tea
    untouched, face grave, and voice…Did he really sound hesitant? “I know that I press in too close sometimes, Helen. My only excuse is that I always feel in a hurry about us. It’s as if I believe we don’t have nearly enough time and we need to get on with things now. Today.
    Tonight. Immediately. I’ve always felt that way when it comes to you.”
    She set her teacup on the table. “Press in…I don’t understand.”
    “I should have phoned to tell you I’d be here when you got home. I didn’t think to do it.”
    He shifted his gaze off hers and onto his hands.
    He seemed to aim for a lighter tone, saying,
    “Listen, darling, it’s quite all right if tonight you’d rather…” He raised his head. He drew in, then blew out a chestful of air. He said,
    “Hell,” then plunged on with, “Helen. Would you prefer to be alone tonight?”
    From her place on the sofa, she observed him, feeling herself going soft in a hundred different ways. The sensation was not unlike sinking into quicksand, and while her nature insisted that she do something to extricate herself, her heart informed her that she could not do so. She had long resisted the qualities in Tommy that had encouraged others to label him such an outstanding catch in the marriage game. She was generally impervious to his good looks. His wealth did not interest her. His passionate nature was sometimes trying. His ardour was flattering, but she had seen it directed at enough women in the past to have doubts about its reliability. While it was true that his intelligence was appealing, she had access to other men who were equally as quick, as clever, and as able as Tommy. But this…Helen did not possess the armour to combat it. Surrounded by a world of stiff upper lips, she was putty in the hands of a man’s vulnerability.
    She rose from the sofa. She went to him and knelt by his chair. She looked up into his face.
    “Alone,” she said quietly, “is the very last place that I want to be.”
    Light awakened her this time. It dazzled her eyes so much that Charlotte thought it was the Holy Trinity bestowing Grace upon her. She remembered the way that Sister Agnetis explained the Trinity during religious studies at St. Bernadette’s, drawing a triangle, labelling each corner The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, and then using her special yellow-gold chalk to create giant sunbeams spurting out from the triangle’s sides. Only they weren’t supposed to be sunbeams, Sister Agnetis explained. They were supposed to be Grace. Grace was what you had to be in a perfect state of in order to get into heaven.
    Lottie blinked against the white incandescence. It had to be the Holy Trinity, she decided, because it floated and swung in the air just like God. And coming from it in the darkness, a voice spoke, just like God to Moses from the burning bush. “Here’s something. Eat.”
    The shining lowered. A hand extended. A tin bowl clattered next to Lottie’s head. Then the light itself sank down to her level and hissed like air spouting out of a tyre. The light made a clank against the floor. She