of those nights in her room came back to him and he shuddered uncontrollably.
‘Sometimes I think you don’t like any women.’
He was indignant. ‘I like them much better than men.’
‘I wonder.’
‘I like you. I think you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known.’ He kissed the straggly hair on the top of her head.
‘Thanks very much. Just don’t get mixed up with this Foster female, she sounds like poison. I don’t want him coming round with a shotgun.’
‘He’s wet, you said so yourself.’
‘It’s the wet ones who use guns.’ There was a thunderous noise in the hall. ‘Christ, it’s that man O’Grady. He gets tight every night. Give me a hand.’
O’Grady was on his knees in the hall, glassy eyed, trying to right a hat-stand he had knocked over. They got him up the stairs and into his room. Widgey managed it all without removing the cigarette that drooped from her mouth. An elderly couple watched their ascent with awe, and asked if Mr O’Grady was ill.
‘Drunk.’ They stared after her unbelievingly. She said to Tony, ‘Thanks. Don’t know how I’d have managed.’
‘You’d have managed. Are you going to get rid of him?’
‘What for? Man’s got a right to drink as long as he doesn’t bother anybody.’
‘The other guests won’t like it.’
The cigarette moved up and down in her mouth as she spoke emphatically. ‘Then they can bloody well lump it. There are too many people around who try to stop other people doing what they want.’ As he was going up to bed she told him again not to get mixed up with Mrs Foster, then started to laugh, her whole body shaking. ‘You see, I’m one of them.’
On Thursday he got mixed up.
It began like the other days. She opened the door to him wearing one of her pale dresses, her face colourless above it. She said simply that Eversley had left things to type. There were passages marked in books and he began work on them. Just after eleven she came in, bringing a cup of coffee. As she put it on the desk she leaned over and for a moment her slight body was close to his. There was no scent about it, no warmth. She turned away to the window and her back was towards him, slender and straight. Below the short dark hair her neck was white.
It was, or so he thought afterwards, the whiteness and vulnerability of this neck and something hopeless yet unyielding in the set of her shoulders that made him rise, move to her and put his arms round her from behind, feeling the bones of the rib cage and the small breasts. She stayed for a moment quite still like some animal unsure of its captor’s intentions, then turned so that she faced him and pressed her mouth to his. The mouth was cool and dry, the body pressed against him felt hard as a board. She said nothing as they separated, but took him by the hand as if they were children and led him upstairs. In the bedroom their bodies were pressed together on one bed while another stayed unused. A dark blue medallion set like an eye in the middle of the counterpane stared at what happened.
He was amazed by the vehemence with which she made love to him, so that he was a passive rather than a dominant partner in what they did. Yet although he was surprised and in a way shocked by the passion contained in that thin white body, the sensations he experienced were more pleasurable than any he had known. To be used in this way by a woman as the vehicle of her own intense sexual desire fulfilled some emotional need in himself that he had not known to exist. Afterwards, while they lay and smoked, he took in the luxury with which the bedroom was finished, the lacquered furniture, the smoke blue wallpaper, the silky Chinese carpet on which there was a medallion in another tint of blue.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you the answer. Eversley’s no good.’
‘I understand.’
‘I doubt it. I mean no good in any way, to me or to himself. He’s stinking rich, that’s why I
‘Sometimes I think you don’t like any women.’
He was indignant. ‘I like them much better than men.’
‘I wonder.’
‘I like you. I think you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known.’ He kissed the straggly hair on the top of her head.
‘Thanks very much. Just don’t get mixed up with this Foster female, she sounds like poison. I don’t want him coming round with a shotgun.’
‘He’s wet, you said so yourself.’
‘It’s the wet ones who use guns.’ There was a thunderous noise in the hall. ‘Christ, it’s that man O’Grady. He gets tight every night. Give me a hand.’
O’Grady was on his knees in the hall, glassy eyed, trying to right a hat-stand he had knocked over. They got him up the stairs and into his room. Widgey managed it all without removing the cigarette that drooped from her mouth. An elderly couple watched their ascent with awe, and asked if Mr O’Grady was ill.
‘Drunk.’ They stared after her unbelievingly. She said to Tony, ‘Thanks. Don’t know how I’d have managed.’
‘You’d have managed. Are you going to get rid of him?’
‘What for? Man’s got a right to drink as long as he doesn’t bother anybody.’
‘The other guests won’t like it.’
The cigarette moved up and down in her mouth as she spoke emphatically. ‘Then they can bloody well lump it. There are too many people around who try to stop other people doing what they want.’ As he was going up to bed she told him again not to get mixed up with Mrs Foster, then started to laugh, her whole body shaking. ‘You see, I’m one of them.’
On Thursday he got mixed up.
It began like the other days. She opened the door to him wearing one of her pale dresses, her face colourless above it. She said simply that Eversley had left things to type. There were passages marked in books and he began work on them. Just after eleven she came in, bringing a cup of coffee. As she put it on the desk she leaned over and for a moment her slight body was close to his. There was no scent about it, no warmth. She turned away to the window and her back was towards him, slender and straight. Below the short dark hair her neck was white.
It was, or so he thought afterwards, the whiteness and vulnerability of this neck and something hopeless yet unyielding in the set of her shoulders that made him rise, move to her and put his arms round her from behind, feeling the bones of the rib cage and the small breasts. She stayed for a moment quite still like some animal unsure of its captor’s intentions, then turned so that she faced him and pressed her mouth to his. The mouth was cool and dry, the body pressed against him felt hard as a board. She said nothing as they separated, but took him by the hand as if they were children and led him upstairs. In the bedroom their bodies were pressed together on one bed while another stayed unused. A dark blue medallion set like an eye in the middle of the counterpane stared at what happened.
He was amazed by the vehemence with which she made love to him, so that he was a passive rather than a dominant partner in what they did. Yet although he was surprised and in a way shocked by the passion contained in that thin white body, the sensations he experienced were more pleasurable than any he had known. To be used in this way by a woman as the vehicle of her own intense sexual desire fulfilled some emotional need in himself that he had not known to exist. Afterwards, while they lay and smoked, he took in the luxury with which the bedroom was finished, the lacquered furniture, the smoke blue wallpaper, the silky Chinese carpet on which there was a medallion in another tint of blue.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you the answer. Eversley’s no good.’
‘I understand.’
‘I doubt it. I mean no good in any way, to me or to himself. He’s stinking rich, that’s why I
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