While I ate my rudimentary version of home cooking, I read a copy of the morning’s newspaper, wondering what might have happened in the world while I was away. My job had given me a peculiar attitude to news reporting: either I saturated myself in stories as they developed, or I cut myself off from them entirely. While away, I had been content to let a vacuum of non-interest develop around me. From the paper I discovered that most of the news was the same as always: a new round of pay talks with the unions, fears of an IRA bombing campaign in London, tension in the Middle East, rumors of an upcoming general election, a political scandal in the U.S.A., drought and famine in East Africa.
I called the producer again and this time got through to him. He was pleased to hear from me: one of the American networks wanted documentary footage of U.S. military involvement in Central America, and because of political sensitivity an American crew could not be used. He had been trying to find a camera operator all week, but no one wanted the job. I thought about it while we talked, and then said yes.
The evening drew on, and I felt increasingly restless. I knew I was waiting for Sue to call me as she had said she would. I had been out of the flat for an hour and a half and she might have called then, but surely she would try again later? I could easily have telephoned her, but she had said she would call me and there was a sort of emotional protocol involved. I was still feeling the effects of the day before.
I waited for her, feeling tired, and after about ten o’clock more and more irritated. I had a feeling in my bones about it, the familiar dread of Niall’s intrusion. If he could mysteriously follow us to Biarritz, it would not be beyond him to have followed us home. More likely, though, there had been a message for her at the house—a letter, a telegram, a phone call.
I stayed up until I could hardly keep my eyes open. I went to bed still irritated with her, and so fell into an unpleasant state of exhausted but restless sleep. At one dark low point of the night I resolved never again to have anything to do with her. If this resolve survived until morning, it was broken by her telephoning me before I was out of bed. I picked up the receiver and heard the sound of pay-phone pips.
“Richard? It’s me, Sue.”
“I thought you were going to call me last night. I waited up for you.”
“I rang an hour or two after you left, but there was no answer. I was going to try again later, but I fell asleep.”
“I thought something might have happened.”
She said nothing for a moment. Then: “No. I was exhausted. How are you?”
“You woke me up, so I’m not sure yet. What about you?”
“I’ve got to visit the studio. I’m more broke than I thought … there was a pile of bills waiting for me.”
“Are you going to be at the studio all day?”
“I think so.”
“Shall we meet this evening? I’d like to see you.”
We made the practical arrangements as if we were fixing up a business meeting. Sue sounded cool and distant, and I was making an effort to keep a querulous tone out of my voice. I was still deeply suspicious of why she had not telephoned.
“By the way, your card was here in the mail.”
“Card?”
“You sent me a postcard from France … at least I think it was you. It wasn’t signed.”
“Oh yes.”
Old SaintTropez—fishermen, nets and a warehouse. It reminded me of being alone while she was with Niall, and it reminded me of how things had become since. My suspicions and her evasiveness, all about Niall.
“I’ll see you later, then,” she said.
“All right. Goodbye.”
The call was over before the time pips could intervene. I went through the day trying not to think about her, but she had become so bound up in my life that I could not disregard her. She still informed everything I did or thought. Yet I knew my love of her was founded on two brief periods: a few days before she went to see Niall, a few days that had followed. I still loved her, but it was based on the past.
XVI
Full of forebodings, I walked down to Finchley Road underground station to meet her as planned. She was already there when I arrived, and as soon as she saw me she ran toward me, kissing me and holding me tightly. Forebodings dispersed.
She said, “You live somewhere around here, don’t you?”
“In West Hampstead.”
“Can I see your flat?”
“I thought we’d go for a drink now, and I’ve booked a table for later.”
“Good, we’ll go later. I want to see where you live.”
She led me off, hurrying along. As soon as we were inside she started kissing me again, more affectionately than I could ever remember her. I felt emotionally detached, so hard had my defenses built up during the day. But there was no question of what she wanted, and soon we were in bed. Afterward she left the room and walked around the flat, looking at everything, then returned to me. She sat on the bed, cross-legged and naked.
“I’m going to make a speech, and I want you to listen,” she said.
“I don’t like speeches.”
“This one’s different. I’ve been working on it all day, and you’re going to like it.”
“Are you intending to read it to me?”
“Don’t interrupt. The first thing I want to do is say I’m sorry I saw Niall without telling you. It’s never going to happen again, and I’m sorry if I hurt you. The second thing is that Niall’s going to be back in London any day now, and I can’t stop him finding me. He knows where I live and he knows where I go to work. What I’m saying is, if I see Niall it’s not going to be my fault, and I’ll tell you immediately. The third—”
I said, “But what happens if you do see him? It’ll be the same all over again.”
“No, it won’t be. You interrupted. The third thing is that I’m in love with you, you’re the only person I want to be with and we must never let Niall interfere again.”
I felt relaxed after the lovemaking, felt fond of her, felt the warmth radiating from her, but there was damage that had been done. Only that morning it had seemed to me that we had been broken apart irreparably by events, but now there was yet another reversal, Sue saying the very words I wanted her to say. What she did not know, and what I was only beginning to sense, was that it was the reversals themselves that did the harm. Each time I accommodated the change, something of the past became lost.
“What we have to do is see Niall together,” I said. “I don’t trust what he might do if he saw you alone. How do I know he won’t beat you up again?”
Sue was shaking her head. “You can never see him, Richard.”
“But if we’re together, he would have to accept the situation for what it is.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“Then make me.”
“I’m scared of him.”
I suddenly thought of the job I had been offered, and how I was due to leave London in two days’ time. For a moment I regretted having accepted, thinking of Niall’s imminent return, the likelihood that he would see Sue while I was away. Knowing how he could influence her when I was there, I could imagine the worst. Yet to do so was to disbelieve her sincerity, her own freedom to act for herself. I had to trust her.
We eventually dressed and went to the restaurant, and while we were there I told Sue about having to go away. I said nothing of my fears, but she sensed them at once.
She said, “The worst thing about it is not seeing you until you get back. Nothing else will happen.”
She stayed with me in my flat for the next two days, and then I left.
XVII