eyes for a moment, then looked away. He went into the bathroom, and she
heard the surge of the water as he climbed into the bath.
Now that he was out of sight she felt freer to think, as if before he
might have overheard her thoughts. Her dilemma had been posed in the
most brutal way: could she, or could she not, face the thought of sex
with Derek? A few months ago she might have–no, not “might,” but
“would,” and eagerly–but since then she had touched the firm, muscular
body of Felix, and rediscovered her own body in the sheer physicality of
their relationship.
She forced herself to visualize Derek’s naked body: the thick neck, the
fatty breasts with tufts of gray-white hair at the nipples, the huge
belly with its arrow of hair widening to the groin, and there–well, at
least he and Felix were much the same there.
She imagined herself in bed with Derek, and thought of how he would
touch her, and kiss her, and what she would do to him–and suddenly she
realized she could do it, and take pleasure in it, because of what it
meant: Felix’s fingers might be skillful and knowing, but Derek’s were
the hands she had held for years; she might scratch Felix’s shoulders in
passion, but she knew she could lean on Derek’s; Felix had dashing good
looks, but in Derek’s face there were years of kindness and comfort, of
compassion and understanding.
Perhaps she loved Derek. And perhaps she was just too old to change.
She heard him stand up in the bath, and she panicked. She had not had
enough time; she was not yet ready to make an irrevocable decision. She
could not, right here and now, accept the thought of never having Felix
inside her again. It was too soon.
She must talk to Derek. She must change the subject; break his mood and
hers. What could she say? He stepped out of the bath: now he would be
toweling himself, and in a moment he would be here.
She called out: “Who bought the company?”
His reply was inaudible; and at that moment, the phone rang.
As she crossed the room to pick it up, she repeated: “Who bought the
company?” She lifted the receiver.
Derek shouted: “A man called Felix Laski. You’ve met him. Remember?”
She stood frozen, with the phone to her ear, not speaking. It was too
much to take in: the implications, the irony, the treachery.
The Voice from the telephone said in her ear:
“Hello, hello?”
It was Felix.
She whispered: “Oh, God, no.” “Ellen?” he said. “Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve a lot I want to talk to you about. Can we meet?”
She stammered: “I-I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be like that.” His deep, Shakespearean voice was like the music
from a cello. “I want you to marry me.”
“Oh, God!”
“Ellen, speak to me. Will you marry me?”
Suddenly she knew what she wanted, and with the realization came the
beginning of calm. She took a deep breath. “No, I most certainly will
not,” she said.
She hung up the phone, and stood staring at it for several moments.
Slowly and deliberately, she took off all her clothes and placed them in
a neat pile on a chair.
Then she got into bed and lay waiting for her husband.
TONY COX was a happy man. He played the radio as he drove slowly home
through the streets of East London in the Rolls. He was thinking how
well everything had gone, and he was forgetting what had happened to
Deaf Willie. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to a
pop song with a bouncy beat. It was cooler now. The sun was low, and
there were streamers of high white cloud in the blue sky. The traffic
was getting heavier as the rush hour approached, but Tony had all the
patience in the world this evening.
It had gone well, in the end. The boys had had their shares, and Tony
had explained how the rest of the money had been hidden in a bank, and
why. He had promised them another payout in a couple of months’ time,