“Of course I will.”
“And the next time we meet, it will be a proper weekend, at a proper hotel. Here in Paris, or perhaps someplace on the seaside if we can manage a few more days. Although they’re a bit more strict in the provinces. We may have to think up some suitable little falsehoods, in that case.” He winked.
“Falsehoods?”
“Oh, Mr. and Mrs., you know. Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out. I can be very clever and deceitful, when properly motivated.”
“I guess you’ve had heaps of practice at this.”
“Don’t say it like that. This is nothing like that sort of affair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“How can you suggest such a thing? You know how I feel.”
“Do I? You haven’t said.”
“Haven’t I? My God, what about yesterday? I poured my heart out.”
In the face of his astonishment, my voice fell to a mumble. “But this morning. You seemed—you weren’t very happy.”
“Oh, that. Haven’t you ever heard of the old Latin phrase? Post coitum omne animalium triste est. Common affliction, except among women and roosters, apparently. One perks up after a bit and sees the bright side. Namely, the fact that you’ve just made love to the most marvelous woman in the world, and might, if you happen to dodge the German artillery for a few more months, have the great luck to repeat the privilege.”
“Oh!”
“Virginia. Dear one. Don’t be afraid. Last night—you can’t imagine what it meant to me. What you have meant to me. I was only melancholy because—well, you know it’s going to take some time, all this wretched legal business. It may be a year or two before I am properly divorced, however willingly Lydia undertakes the matter. And then there’s my parents.”
“Parents?”
“I mean my family, and hers. They’ll be rather shocked, I suspect, at the whole mess. The scandal of divorce, when they thought everything settled exactly to their liking.”
I drew my hands away. “Haven’t you told them anything?”
“Not yet. I wanted to see you first. And of course they know nothing about Samuel’s part in all this. Nor will they, if I can help it.”
“I see. I’m just an interloper, then. The woman who destroyed your happy marriage.”
“No! Good Lord, of course not. I’d never put you in that position. As far as they’ll know, Lydia caught me in bed with a whore and demanded a divorce, and you came along later and reformed me. Back to a sober, faithful chap, a credit to his family.”
“But until then—”
“Yes. I’m afraid you must remain a bit of a secret, for now. At least from my own friends and relations. My parents and my sister.”
“The one in the white dress? The photograph on your desk?”
“You’ve got a splendid memory. Yes, that’s her. Two years younger. She’s an angel; I shall have to be careful how I explain things to her. I don’t think I can bring myself to besmirch her memories of Samuel.” He added, after a pause, “Her name is Clara.”
The train clattered through a junction. I turned my head to the window and watched the buildings slip by, hot and bright in the August morning. Through an opening I glimpsed a street, and a fleeting image of a woman dressed in black, carrying a straw basket. “Yes, of course. I don’t want to create any trouble for you.”
“Sweetheart, you’re not trouble. You’re the opposite. The trouble is mine, my own doing, though God knows I meant to do right. I promise you, as soon as the divorce comes through, we can be married. It’s just that it will take some time, that’s all. I need you to trust—”
“Married?”
“Yes. Married. Isn’t that what you want?”
My heart seemed to seize in my chest at that unexpected word. I stared at his quizzical face and thought, as the panic ran up my throat and down my limbs, making me dizzy: Of course. Marriage was always the point, wasn’t it? Every girl wanted to be married. Home and hearth and a husband who loves you. Children and a large, well-appointed house and a servant or two to help manage the whole works. All that marvelous domestic machinery, stamping out families without a fault. Until it didn’t. Until an awful, irreversible fault occurred, and the machine trembled and groaned and fell to pieces.
“No.” I locked my fingers together in my lap. “No, it isn’t. I don’t want to be married.”
Simon tilted his head. Squinted his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“There’s no need.”
“But I thought—”
“I’m used to independence. I’ve never wanted to marry.”
“A modern woman?”
“Yes.”
He observed me in disbelief. “You’re quite sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then why—I don’t mean to argue—but why, when you learned about Lydia why did you care? Why did you send that telegram?”
“Because I’d never wreck another woman’s marriage. I couldn’t bear that. Even now, knowing she doesn’t care, it hurts to think what we’ve done.”
“Virginia, darling, don’t. I promise you I’ll make it right, perfectly right. With Lydia’s blessing. You haven’t hurt anyone. There is nothing whatever sacred about this . . . this convenient legal fiction that constitutes my union with her. In God’s eyes, it isn’t even a marriage. What is sacred is my union with you. Which I mean, at the earliest possible moment, to make formal before God and man.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is to me.”
“I just—I can’t be married. I’ve known that since I was a girl. I don’t want that kind of dependence.”
“I see. And what if I do? Want that kind of dependence? Want to marry you?”
“Then I’ll have to refuse you.”
Simon turned his head and looked out the window. The gray light coated his skin. “What a surprise you are, Virginia. What a series of surprises you’ve given me, in the past thirty-six hours.”
“I hope you haven’t—that you didn’t make this decision thinking—”
“Thinking what? That we should be married? Of course I did. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. I’m afraid—na?ve chap that I am—I assumed you had a more official connection in mind, when you decided to go to bed with me.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
He turned back to face me. “Then what do you have in mind, Virginia? How do you wish me to serve you? What sort of future do you imagine for us?”
“Let’s not think about the future at all. Why should we? We’ll go on writing and meeting when we can—”
“A tawdry affair, then. I thought you didn’t want that.”
“It isn’t tawdry. It’s beautiful. Last night, it was so beautiful and right. And that’s why—oh, I don’t want to ruin it, I don’t want to darken everything—”
“Marrying me would darken everything?”
“No! Not marrying you. Marrying anyone. I can give you anything else, anything at all, but not that. I wish you would just understand—”