“I don’t know.”
“Was he following us when we were in Collioure? Was he there?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can’t you see the damage this does? You just let Niall barge in on us whenever he feels like it, you don’t tell me, and it drives me away from you. I’m sorry if he’s unhappy … but why do you act like this? What’s going to happen the next time he feels unhappy?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t believe you. I’d like to, but I don’t.”
“I’ve told you the truth!”
“All right.” I subsided, realizing how futile all this was. Sue’s face was drained of color: her skin, her lips, even her eyes looked paler than normal. As her hair dried she looked less gaunt, but now she was as angry as I was. I kept thinking that what we should do is hold each other, kiss, make love, put the clock back, the other formulas for making up, but this time it was not possible.
We sat up late into the night, both of us entrenched in our needs, angry with each other because it all mattered so much. In the end I undressed and got into bed with her, but we lay awake without making love. Neither of us would make the first move.
At one point in the night, knowing she was awake, I said, “When I met you in the street, what were you doing?”
“Trying to work things out. Why?”
“Where was Niall?”
“Waiting for me somewhere. I had gone for a walk, then you appeared.”
“You looked as if you were talking to someone.”
“So what?”
We lay on in the warm darkness, the sheet thrown down from our bodies. When I opened my eyes I could just make out her shape next to me. She always lay still in bed, without tossing, and in the dark I was never sure whether she was asleep or not.
I said, “Where is Niall now?”
“Somewhere around.”
“I still don’t understand how he found you.”
“Never underestimate him, Richard. He’s clever, and when he wants something he’s persistent.”
“He seems to have power over you, whatever you say. I wish I understood what it was.”
There was a long silence from her, and I thought she must have fallen asleep at last. But then she said, very quietly, “Niall’s glamorous.”
XV
We spent most of the next day traveling: a taxi to the airport, then two flights, with a long wait for the connection in Bordeaux. From Gatwick we caught the train to Victoria, and took a taxi to Sue’s house. I asked the driver to wait while we went inside.
There was a small pile of mail waiting for her on a table in the hall, and she picked this up before unlocking her own door. I carried her suitcases inside, and put them down. Her room came as a surprise: I think I had expected the usual cramped chaos of bed-sitter existence, but the room was large, very tidy, and what furniture there was had been chosen with taste. In one corner was a single bed, and next to this was a bookcase filled with expensive art books. Under the only window was a desk, with a drawing board, several glasses filled with brushes, pens and knives, a container for paper, and a large angle-poise lamp. There was stereo equipment but no television set. Against one wall was a hand basin, a small cooker and a massive, antiquated wardrobe. As she closed the door to the room I noticed she had fitted two heavy bolts, one at the top, one at the bottom.
“I’d better not keep the taxi waiting,” I said.
“I know.”
We were facing each other, but not looking. I felt very tired from the journey. She came up to me and suddenly we embraced, more warmly than I would have expected.
“Are we going to see each other again?” I said.
“Do you want to?”
“You know I do. The only thing wrong with us is Niall.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about. I promise you Niall won’t bother me again.”
“All right, let’s not discuss it now.”
“I’ll give you a ring later this evening,” she said.
We had exchanged addresses and numbers soon after meeting, but we went through the routine of making sure we still had them. Sue’s address was easy to remember, so I had never written it down, but I had scribbled her telephone number in the back of my address book.
“Shall we meet for a meal tomorrow evening?” I said.
“Let’s decide that later. Now I just want to unpack and look at my mail.”
We kissed again, and this time it was decidedly warm. It reminded me of how she tasted, how she felt against me. I started to regret my behavior of the day before, but she pulled back from me smiling.
“I’ll call you later,” she said.
The London rush hour had started, and it was much later when the taxi dropped me outside my flat. I let myself in and put down my bag, looking at the pile of mail on the mat. I left it there and went upstairs.
After so long away, so many different places seen, the rooms had that disorienting air of familiarity and strangeness. The flat smelled slightly of damp, so I opened some windows, then switched on the water heater and the fridge. My apartment had four main rooms, apart from kitchen and bathroom: there was a lounge, bedroom, a spare room, and the fourth room which I thought of as my study. It was here that I kept the various pieces of elderly film equipment I had picked up over the years, as well as copy prints of some of the stories I had worked on. I had a 16-mm projector and screen, and an editing bench. All these were tokens of a halfhearted intention of starting up as an independent film maker one day, even though I knew that most of this stuff would have to be replaced with modern equipment of professional standard. I should also have to rent a proper studio.
The flat felt cool after the summer weather in France, and outside it was raining. I wandered around, feeling anticlimactic and already lonely for Sue. It had been a bad note on which to end the holiday; I didn’t know her well enough to judge the changes in her mood, and I had left her just as we were on another upswing. I thought for a moment I should telephone her, but she had said she would call me, and anyway there was much to do around the flat. I had a suitcaseful of dirty clothes that had to be washed soon, and there was no fresh food. But I felt unmotivated and lazy, missing France.
I made a cup of black instant coffee and sat down with it to go through the mail. A pile of accumulated letters always looks more interesting before they are opened. What had built up for me was a number of bills and circulars, subscription copies of magazines, halfhearted replies to halfhearted letters I had written before I went away. A postcard had arrived from Annette in Canada. The best pieces of mail were two checks I had been expecting, for film work a couple of months before, and a note from a producer asking me to call him urgently. His letter was a week old.
My humdrum life was reintegrating around me. How Sue had the capacity to distract me! She had become so important to me, so immediate. When I was with her she put everything else out of my mind. Maybe in London she would seem different, the relationship would continue at a lower pressure in the context of everyday existence. What I knew for sure was that we could not possibly conduct a longterm affair in the way we had started.
I telephoned the producer who had written to me; he had left, but there was a message on his answering machine to contact him at home. I called there, but there was no answer. I walked down to the lock-up garage where I kept my car, and much to my surprise the engine started on the first attempt. I drove back to the house and parked outside. Then I collected my dirty clothes and a shopping bag, dumped the clothes in a machine at the local laundromat, and went to buy some groceries. When all this was finished I went home.