Behind her Ah Soh was tidying the four-poster, picking up her stockings and underwear. The crinoline already hung on a rack with two others, and half a dozen new day dresses still wrapped in their sheaves of rice paper. Through the open window came the sound of laughter and drunken singing, and music from the Club that still showed no sign of abating.
She sighed, wanting to be back at the dance.
The brush moved more vigorously.
"Miss'y wan thing, heya?"
"No. Want to sleep."
"Ni'te Miss'y."
Angelique bolted the door after her. The connecting door to Struan's suite was closed but unbolted. By custom, as soon as she had finished her toilet, she would knock, then go and kiss him good night, perhaps chat just a little and return again, leaving the door ajar in case he had a seizure in the night. These were infrequent now, though since he had stopped the night medicine a week ago, he was very restless, hardly sleeping, but never demanding.
Again she sat at her mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Her peignoir was silk and lacy and Parisian--a locally made copy of one she had brought with her:... and you cannot believe the workmanship, Colette, or the speed of the Chinese tailor, she had written this afternoon for tomorrow's mail ship.
Now I can get anything copied. Please send me some patterns, or cuttings from La Parisienne or L'Haute Couture of the latest styles or anything wonderful--my Malcolm is so generous and so rich! He says I can order what I like!
And my ring!!!! A diamond with fourteen smaller ones around it. I asked him how on earth he had got it and where in Yokohama and he just smiled. I really must be more careful and not ask silly questions. Colette everything is so marvelous except I'm worried about his health. He improves so slowly and walks very badly. But his ardor increases, poor man, and I have to take care... Must dress for the party now but I'll write more before the post. My everlasting love for the moment.
How lucky Colette is, her pregnancy a gift of God.
Stop! No more or the tears and terror will come back. Put the problem aside. You decided what to do, if it was or if it was not. It is, so the other plan--what else can you do?
An absent touch of perfume behind her ears and on her breasts, a slight adjustment of the lace.
A gentle knock on his door. "Malcolm?"
"Come in--I'm alone."
Unexpectedly, he was not in bed but sitting in his armchair. Red silk dressing gown, eyes strange. At once some instinct put her on guard. She bolted the door as usual, and went over to him. "Not tired, my love?"
"No, and yes. You take my breath away."
He held out his hands and she came closer, heart picking up a beat. His hands were trembling. He coaxed her nearer and kissed her hands and arms and breast. For a moment she did not resist, enjoyed his adoration, wanting him, and leaned down and kissed him and allowed him to fondle her. Then, the heat mounting too swiftly, she sank on her knees beside the chair, heart pounding like his, and half broke the embrace.
"We mustn't," she whispered breathlessly...
"I know but I must, I want you so much..."
His lips were throbbing and hot and seeking and, pushed onwards, hers responded. Now his hand was caressing her thigh, feeding more fire to her loins, and then the pleasing tormenter moved higher and higher still and she wanted more but drove herself from the ever-pressing brink and again pulled away, whispering, "No, cheri." But this time he was surprisingly stronger, his other arm held her in an amorous vise, his voice and lips ever more persuasive, closer and closer but then, without thinking, he twisted too quickly and pain ripped through him. "Oh Christ!"
"What is it? Are you all right?" she said, frightened.
"Yes, yes I think so. Christ Almighty!" It took him a moment or two to recover, the surging pain lancing his ardor, that ache remaining, the other pain making it seem more strong. His hands still held on to her, still trembling but without strength. "Jesus, sorry..."
"No sorry, my darling." When, thankfully, she had recovered her own breath, she got up and poured some of the cold tea that he kept beside the bed, her loins restless and cramped and nervous, heart agitated, not wanting to stop either but must, a few more minutes and wouldn't have, must find a way to be safe, him safe, us safe--a voice shouting the litany at the forefront of her mind, "a man never marries his mistress, nothing before marriage, everything permissible after," pounded into her as soon as she could understand.
"Here," she murmured, giving him the cup.
She knelt and watched him, eyes closed, sweat staining his face and dressing gown. In a moment, most of her own unease and disquiet slid away. She put a hand on his knee and he covered it. "Being so, so close is bad for us, Malcolm," she said softly, liking him very much, loving him but not truly sure about love. "It's difficult for both of us, cheri, I want you too and love you too."
After a long time he said with difficulty, his voice low and hurting, "Yes but, but you can help."
"But we can't, not before we're married, not yet, we can't, not now."
Abruptly his pain and frustration crested at having to sit all evening and endure other men dancing her, lusting her, while he could hardly walk where a month ago he knew he was a far better dancer than any one of them, crested.
Why not now? he wanted to scream at her, what difference does a month or two make? For Christ's sake... but all right I'll accept that, that at marriage a proper girl must be virgin or she's a loose woman, I'll accept that a gentleman doesn't wrong her before marriage, I accept that! For the love of God there are other ways.
"I know, we, we can't now," he said throatily, "but... Angelique, but please help me, please."
"But how?"
Once more words choked him: For Christ's sake like girls in Houses do, kiss you and fondle you and finish you--do you think lovemaking is just spreading your legs and lying there like a piece of meat--the simple things these girls will do without fuss of shame and happy for you afterwards, "Hey, you now all same good-ah, heya?"' But he knew he could never tell her. It was against all his upbringing. How do you explain to the lady you love when she's so young and artless or so selfish or just ignorant. Suddenly the truth became rancid. Something in him mutated, changed.
In a different voice he said, "You're quite right, Angelique, it's difficult for both of us. Sorry. Perhaps it would be best if you moved back to the French Legation until we leave for Hong Kong. Now that I'm getting better we must guard your reputation."
She stared at him, unnerved by the change. "But Malcolm, I am comfortable where I am, and near in case you need me."
"Oh yes, I need you." His mouth moved with the shadow of an ironic smile. "I'll ask Jamie to make the arrangements."
She hesitated, off balance, not sure how to proceed. "If that's what you want, cheri."
"Yes, it's best. As you said, being so close is difficult for each of us. Good night, my love, I'm so glad you enjoyed your party."
A chill passed through her but whether from outside or inside she did not know. She kissed him, ready to return his passion, but there was none. What had changed him? "Sleep beautifully, Malcolm, I love you." Still nothing.
Never mind, she thought, men are so moody and difficult. Smiling as though nothing was wrong she unbolted his door, blew him a tender kiss and went into her own room.
He watched their door. It was slightly ajar.
As usual. But everything in their world was no longer as usual. The door and her nearness no longer tempted him. He was feeling different, somehow refashioned. He did not know why but he was very sad, very old, some instinct telling him that however much he loved her, however much he tried physically, she would never in their whole life together ever completely satisfy him.
Using his stick he heaved himself to his feet and hobbled as quietly as he could to the bureau. In the top drawer was the small bottle of the medication that he had secreted away against nights when the idea of sleep became impossible. He swigged the last of it. Heavily, he shuffled to his bed.