Yes, he was my lover. I had been conscious of this tremendous attraction between us from the first. It had happened in that very moment he had risen from the ground and stood before me.
It was no use fighting, I must let this emotion sweep over me, submerge me … teach me what I had never known before—that I was a deeply sensuous woman who had never before been aware of this.
I made no attempt now to hold him off. I was his completely and he knew it. Perhaps being wise in the ways of women he had always known it.
Afterward we lay on the bed side by side. It was so still, and then away in the distance I could hear the shouting and laughter of the fair.
It occurred to me that I would remember that forever as the background to my ecstasy of passion and my shame.
I put my hand to my face. There were tears there. How had I shed them? What were they? Tears of happiness, the result of this tremendous excitement which had taken possession of me, tears of shame … for that was there too.
He put his arms about me and held me close to him. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you.” I answered.
“Dear Zipporah … be happy. …”
“I am … and then I’m not.”
“It had to be.”
“It should never have been.”
“It has been.”
“Oh God,” I said, and I was praying aloud. I wanted to go back. I didn’t want this to have happened. “Let me go back. … Let it be early this afternoon. Let me walk in the opposite direction … away from Enderby.”
He stroked my face.
“Dearest.” he said, “it had to be … right from the first it had to be. Whatever happens now we have had this. It is worth everything … all the anticipation that was, all the regretting to come. We met as we did. We went through our little adventure of the will, but that is not the point. There are people who are meant to love … to mate … they must. It is their destiny. Don’t blame yourself because you were suddenly awakened. You have been dormant too long, my darling. Zipporah.”
“What have I done?” I said. “My husband …”
He held me fast against him. “Come away with me,” he said. “You will never have to face him then.”
“Leave my home … my husband … my family …”
“For me.”
“I could never do that. That would be the ultimate betrayal.”
“You were meant to love as we have loved. We would have a wonderful life together.”
“No,” I said. “I must go from here. We must not meet again. This must be forgotten. It must be as though it never was. I must go home to my husband … to my family. We must forget … forget. …”
“Do you think I am ever going to forget? Are you?”
“I shall live with this all the rest of my life. I shall never be at peace again. I feel now that I shall wake up and find that it never really happened.”
“And the most exciting experience of your life was not real! You want that!”
“I don’t know. But I must go. What if anyone came back and found me here … like this … ?” I half rose but he had pulled me back. He held me firmly, and he was laughing, a hint of triumph in his voice.
Then he was making love to me again and my resolutions slipped away. I was drowned once more in that sea of passion. There was nothing else that mattered. I was powerless to resist.
As I lay exhausted by my emotion, listening to the sounds of the fair in the distance, I felt I was now irrevocably lost.
The curtains about the bed were half drawn and the sun glinting through the windows touched them with a shade of red. Through my half-closed eyes for a few moments they might have been red velvet. …
There is something strange here, I thought, something uncanny. I knew then that I had started to make my excuses.
I did not rise. I lay there beside him and I listened to his seductive voice telling me that we could go away together. We could leave for France by the end of the week. He would make me happy as I had not dreamed of happiness. He knew that he had opened a new world to me. He had shown me a side to my nature that I had never known existed. I had been happy with Jean-Louis; our life had been, as I thought, satisfactory in all ways. It could never be so again because I knew that with my husband I had never explored those realms of erotic excitement to which Gerard had introduced me. I would always crave for them … long for them. It was as though he had opened a door to a part of my nature which I had not known existed and the new experiences to which I had been introduced would make demands upon me. I should never be satisfied with my marriage after this.
How long did we lie there with the sounds of the fair going on and on in the background? I had no notion of time … it slipped away. There were moments when I forgot everything but our passion. I deliberately refused to think of anything else; not that I had to make a great effort. But I did know that time was passing and even he—reckless as I guessed him to be—was aware of that. The servants would be coming back. How could my presence in the house be explained?
So he agreed that we must go. I soberly dressed. I could not understand my mood, which was half defiant, half exultant. If I could go back, would I? No, I would not. I had lived this afternoon as I would never have believed was possible. I didn’t want to change anything … not yet. Let me live in my magic cocoon a little longer.
He turned to me and held me in his arms, tenderly kissing my brow, stroking my hair, telling me he loved me.
“We must meet soon,” he said. “I must talk to you. … We must make plans.”
“I shall go back to my home. I must.”
“I shall not allow it. When can we meet? Tonight? Come out by the shrubbery.”
At last I said I would.
We went down the staircase past the haunted gallery. The house seemed different now … at peace, in a way, contented, almost laughing at us. I was very fanciful. It was all part of building up excuses, trying to plead extenuating circumstances, fate perhaps, for what I had done.
The sounds from the fair were louder out of doors.
We walked together back to Eversleigh. In the shrubbery he kissed me passionately.
“We belong together,” he said. “Never forget it.”
Then I tore myself away and ran into the house.
I made for my room and on the way I passed Uncle Carl’s room. On impulse I looked in. He was sitting in his chair and he looked grotesque, I thought, out of bed with his long nose and pointed chin, his parchment skin and his very lively dark eyes.
“Oh.” he said, “have you been to the fair, Carlotta?”
“Carlotta?” I said. “Carlotta’s dead. It’s Zipporah.”
“Of course. Of course. You looked so like her … for the moment I’d forgotten.”
I felt shaken. I thought: It shows. What have I done? It has branded me in some way. He knew. … That is why he called me Carlotta.
“Is Jessie in?” he asked.
“She may be still at the fair.”
“She’ll be in now, I’ll swear. It’s nearly supper time.”
I left him. I could not bear those lively eyes looking at me. I was sure they saw something different about me.
I went to my room. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Carlotta,” he had said. Yes … I looked different. There was something about me … a sparkle … a shine almost. My eyes, which had been a darkish blue, looked darker … almost a violet shade.
I had changed.
“I have become an adulteress,” I murmured.
I had exhausted all the excuses. In fact there were none. For the next afternoon I was lying on the bed behind the brocade curtains with my love. I was crafty. I said to myself: I have already sinned against Jean-Louis, against my honor, my principles … nothing can change that. And to go again, to be with him … to experience that emotional turmoil … what does it matter? I am already an adulteress. I shall still be one however many times I give way to temptation.