He put his hands over his aching eyes and shook his head. If only he knew-there
was something missing in him, something that he sought in each new thing he
tried to do … What use has it been to have my heart’s desire? he thought, if I
myself am still the same?
After a little he heard the chair scrape and felt her coming to him, and sighed
again, more deeply, as the strength and softness of her arms enclosed him. She
had scented her skin with oil of sandalwood, and he could feel the opulence of
her body through the thin silk of the night-robe she wore.
It changed nothing, but in her arms he could forget his perplexities for at
least a little while. Gilla kissed him on his bald spot and drew away, and with
a sense of having made a truce with fate he followed her into the other room.
* * *
“Thieves!”
Lalo jerked upright, shocked from sleep by Gilla’s scream and the crash that had
shaken the room. Was it morning? But everything was still dark! He rubbed his
eyes, still half-drugged by dreams of marble terraces and applause.
Shadows moved and feet that no longer troubled to be stealthy thudded on the
floor. . . hard hands grasped Lalo’s shoulders and he cried out. Then something
hit the side of his head and he sagged against the hard hands that prisoned him.
“Murderers! Assassins!”
His head still ringing, Lalo recognized Gilla in the voice, and in the dark bulk
that heaved upward from the bed to fling another assailant against the wall.
Water spattered his cheek and he smelt roses as the vase that had stood on the