Whichever way I turned I seemed to be losing my mind.
I stared at the reflection of myself, knowing I could not trust even that. It made me look as if I were there, when I knew I was not.
You said you saw me, when I knew you could not.
Only Niall knew me for what I really was, and I could not trust him at all.
I ran out to the hall and picked up the telephone. I dialed your number and the ringing tone was sounding before I realized I had brought no coins. Anyway, there was no answer.
Back in my room, the postcard from Niall was still to be explained. I stared at it for a while, thinking of its consequences, then propped it up on the shelf over the gas fire. It was safest to treat it as just another postcard, sent by a friend on holiday.
I went through the rest of my mail again—one letter enclosed a much-needed check, and another a commission for some artwork—then I undressed and went to bed.
The first thing I did in the morning was to telephone you. After a few rings you answered, and I slipped in two coins before we spoke.
“Richard? It’s me … Sue.”
“I thought you might have called last night.” Your voice sounded husky, and I wondered if I had woken you up.
“I did try, but there was no answer.” You said nothing, and I couldn’t remember if we had made a firm arrangement that I would ring you. “How are you?” I said.
“Tired. What are you doing today?”
“I’m going in to visit the studio. There was a letter there’s a job for me. I can’t afford to let it go.”
“Will you be out all day?”
“Most of it,” I said.
“Shall we meet this evening? I’d like to see you and I’ve got some news.”
“News? What is it?”
“I’ve been offered some work. I’ll tell you about it this evening.”
We made arrangements about when and where to meet. Talking to you I had a mental image of you sitting on the floor by your phone. I imagined you with your hair mussed from the bed, your eyes still half closed; I wondered if you slept in pajamas when you were alone. The thought made me feel affectionate toward you, and I wished I could see you at once. I wanted to visit your flat again, be with you in your home, not always traveling around from one hotel to the next, never sure if Niall was watching. For some reason I thought of your flat as safe from Niall, although there was no reason why it should be.
Thinking of you there reminded me of the day of the storm, when we had planned our holiday. I remembered your collection of postcards.
I said, “While we were away, someone sent me a postcard. It wasn’t you, was it?”
“Postcard? Why should I do that?”
“Whoever sent it didn’t sign it.” I thought of Niall’s distinctive handwriting. “It was an old card … the sort you collect.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
I said, “When I see you this evening, would you bring some of your cards along? The places you wanted to visit, in France—I’d like to look at them again.”
XX
I visited the studio in town, and collected the work they wanted me to do. I made a start on it at home in the afternoon, but my mind was elsewhere. To meet you in the evening I had to take a bus across North London; when we had agreed on the place I had been thinking I would be coming straight from the West End. It was a tube station, fairly close to your apartment. I arrived before you, but as soon as I saw you, walking up from the direction of the flat, I was so glad and relieved to see you that all my worries vanished. I ran toward you, and we stood for a long time kissing and holding each other as the traffic went by.
We walked back to your flat, arm in arm, and we went to bed as soon as we were there. So much had happened since we last made love, but to be together again made everything right. Afterward we walked up the hill to Hampstead and found a restaurant.
Feeling relaxed with you, I talked about my day and the commission I had received. I deliberately did not think about or mention Niall.
Then you said, “Don’t you want to hear my news?”
“You said you’d been offered some work.”
“A camera job. I’m thinking of accepting it.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because it’ll mean going away for a while. Maybe as long as two weeks.” You explained about the political tension in Central America, the reason a British crew was wanted. You appeared to be doubtful about telling me this, and at first I assumed it was because the work would be dangerous.
“What about it, Sue? Should I accept?”
“Not if you think you might be killed.”
You made a dismissive gesture. “I’m thinking about you. If I go away for a couple of weeks, will you be here when I get back?”
“Of course I will!”
“What about Niall, Sue? Is that all over?”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“No, and I don’t even know where he is.”
“You’d better be sure of this. Niall and I don’t mix. Either you put the past behind you, or we’ve had it.”
I took your hand across the table. “Richard, I love you.”
I meant it then, as I had always done, but I knew in my heart that the problem of Niall was not yet solved. I changed the subject. I told you to take the job, to be careful, and to come back as soon as you could. With that I implied what you wanted to hear, and sincerely meant to do so. You talked a little more about the work—the other men you would be working with, where you would be going, the sort of stories you were supposed to be covering. I wished it were possible for me to go with you.
You had brought some of your postcards to the restaurant, and you gave them to me to look at. I glanced through them quickly, trying to give the impression that my curiosity was idle. There were pictures of Grenoble, Nice, Antibes, Cannes, Saint-Raphael, SaintTropez, Toulon, all of them depicting the places in their innocent past. There were only two of SaintTropez: one showed a beach near the village, the other was a view of one of the streets, with a glimpse of the harbor through the houses.
You said, “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.” I stacked the cards together and passed them back to you.
“You said on the phone that someone had sent you an old card. Was it one like these?”
“No … I think it’s a modern reproduction.”
“Who sent it? Was it Niall?”
I tried to laugh lightly. “Of course not. You know where Niall has been for the last few days.”
“I know where you said he was. You also told me he was in France—that was why you didn’t want to go there.”
“Oh yes,” I said.
“Come on, let’s get the bill.” You turned your head away with a sharp movement and I saw your angry expression. The waitress came over and you paid the bill. Moments later we were in the street, retracing our steps toward your flat. This time I was not invited in. We went straight to your car, parked outside. I saw you toss the postcards onto the back seat before you unlocked the passenger door for me.
We drove in silence to Hornsey. Outside my house, I said, “Would you like to come in for a while?”
“I know you probably think I’m being unfair, but you’ve got to quit deceiving me about Niall.” I tried to say something, but you went on. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, but I’m damned if this is going to go on any longer. I’ll be away for a couple of weeks. That should give you enough time to make up your mind what it is you want.”