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"All right." She came over to him, big blue eyes. "My own flat for a Christmas present, pretty please?" "After university, if you qualify, off you go!" "Christmas. I'll love you forever." He sighed, remembering how upset and frightened she had been seeing Gornt in the billiards room. Perhaps I can give you a present of his head tomorrow, he thought. "Not this Christmas, next!" She hurled her arms around his neck. "Oh thank you Daddy darling but this Christmas, please please please." "No, because yo—" "Please please please!" "All right. But don't tell your mother I agreed for God's sake! She'll skin me alive!" 78 7:15 P.M. : The curtains around Orlanda's bed moved gently, touched by the night breeze, the air clean and salt tasting. She was in his arms as they slept, a pervading warmth between them, and then, as her hand moved, Bartlett awoke. For a moment he wondered where he was and who he was, and then everything came back and his heart picked up a beat. Their lovemaking had been wonderful. He remembered how she had responded, cresting again and again, lifting him to heights he had never experienced before. And then the after. She had got out of bed and walked to the kitchen and warmed water and brought back a hot, wet towel and toweled the sweat off him. "I'm so sorry there's no bath or shower, my darling, that's such a shame, but if you're patient I can make everything nice." A new clean towel and feeling grand, never before knowing the wonder of a real afterward—her gentle ministrations, tender, loving, unself-conscious, the tiny crucifix around her neck her only adornment. He had noticed it glinting in the half-light. Its implications had begun to seep into his brain but somehow, all at once, she was caressing the alien thoughts away with magic hands and touch and lips until, in time, they had both become one with the gods again and, through their generosity, slid into euphoria—and thence into sleep again. Idly he watched the curtains that fell from the ceiling waver in the air currents, their surrounding embrace making the bed more intimate, the patterns against the light of the window pleasing, everything pleasing. He lay still, not wishing to move to awaken her, not wanting to break the spell, her breath soft against his chest, her sleep face blemishless. What to do, what to do, what to do? Nothing, for the moment, he answered himself. The airplane's free, you're free, she's unbelievable and no woman's ever pleased you more. Never. But can it last, could it last—and then there's Casey.
Bartlett sighed. Orlanda moved again in her sleep. He waited but she did not awaken. His eyes were mesmerized by the patterns, his spirit at rest. It was neither hot nor cold in the room; everything was perfect, her weight imperceptible. What is it about her? he asked himself. What causes the spell, because sure as death and taxes you're under a spell, enchanted. We've pillowed, that's all, I've made no promises and yet . . . You're enchanted, old buddy. Yes. And it's wonderful. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep. When Orlanda awoke she was careful not to move. She did not want to awaken him, both for his pleasure and for hers. And she wanted time to think. Sometimes she would do that in Gornt's arms but she knew it was not the same, would never be the same. Always she had been afraid of Quillan, on guard, desperately wanting to please, wondering if she had forgotten anything. No, she thought in ecstasy, this pillowing was better than I ever remember it with Quillan, oh so much better. Line's so clean and no smoke taste, just clean and wonderful and I promise by the Madonna I will make him a perfect wife, I'll be the best that ever was. I will use my mind and hands and lips and body to please and to satisfy and there will be nothing he needs that I will not do. Nothing. Everything that Quillan taught me I will do for Line, even the things I did not enjoy, I will enjoy now with Line. My body and soul will be an instrument for his pleasure, and for mine, when he's learned. She smiled to herself, curled up in his arms. Line's technique is nothing in comparison with Quillan's but what my darling lacks in skill he more than makes up with strength and vigor. And tenderness. He has magic hands and lips for me. Never never never before was it ever like this. "Pillowing's just the beginning of sex, Orlanda," Gornt had said. "You can become an enchantress. You can fill a man with such an unquenchable longing that, through you, he will understand all life." But to reach ecstasy you have to seek it and work for it. Oh I will seek it for Line. By the Madonna I will put my mind and my heart and my soul to his life. When he's angry I will turn it into calm. Didn't I stop Quillan's anger a thousand times by being gentle? Isn't it wonderful to have so much power, and oh so easy once I had learned, so very easy and perfect and satisfying. I will read all the best papers and train my mind, and after the Clouds and the Rain I will not speak, just caress, not to arouse but just for pleasure and I'll never say, "Tell me you love me!" but say only, "Line I love you." And long before the bloom is off my skin I will have sons to excite him and daughters to delight him and then, long before I'm no longer exciting to him, I will very carefully arrange another for his pleasure, a dullard with beautiful breasts and tight rump and I will be suitably amused and benign—and compassionate when he fails, for, by then he will be much older and less virile and my hands will control the money and I will be ever more essential. And when he tires of the first I will find another, and we will live out our lives, yang and yin, the yin ever dominating the yang! Yes. I will be tai-tai. And one day he will ask to go to Portugal to see my daughter and I will refuse the first time and the second and the third and then we will go—if I have our son in my arms. Then he will see her and love her too, and that specter will be laid to rest forever. Orlanda sighed, feeling wonderful, weightless, with his head resting comfortably against her chest. Pillowing without precautions is so much more glorious, she thought. Ecstasy. Oh so wonderful to feel the surge, knowing you're young and fertile and ready, giving yourself totally, deliberately, praying to create a new life—his life and yours joined forever. Oh yes. Yes but have you been wise? Have you? Say he leaves you? The only other time in your life you deliberately left yourself free was that single month with Quillan. But that was with permission. This time you have none. Say Line leaves you. Perhaps he'll be furious and tell you to stop the child! He won't, she told herself with complete confidence. Line's not Quillan. There's nothing to worry about. Nothing. Madonna, please help me! All gods help me! Let his seed grow, oh please please please, I beg you with all my heart. Bartlett stirred and half awoke. "Orlanda?" "Yes, my darling, I'm here. Oh how wonderful you are!" She cradled him happily, so glad that she had given her amah the day and the night away. "Go back to sleep, we've all the time in the world, sleep." "Yes but . . ." "Sleep. In a little while I'm going to fetch some Chinese food an—" "Maybe you'd like t—" "Sleep, my darling. Everything's arranged." 79 7:30 P.M. : Three stories below on the other side of the building, facing the mountainside, Four Finger Wu was watching television. He was in Venus Poon's apartment, in front of her set, his shoes off, his tie loose, sprawled in the easy chair. The old amah was sitting on a stiff chair beside him and they both guffawed at the antics of Laurel and Hardy. "Eeeeee, the Fat One's going to catch his fornicating foot in the scaffolding," he chortled, "and the—"