Spinning away, she ran to the turning, and then up the corridor. Approaching the bright lights from the living-room entrance, she slowed, then halted, shaken, trying to collect her poise. She found a handkerchief in her bag, and carefully picked at her eyes, drying them without disturbing the make-up. Next, she found her compact, snapped it open and studied her reflection-so worn, so defeated, too old-in the circular mirror. Stalling for time, she touched powder to her pale cheeks and then added the slightest edge of rouge.
She had lost, she knew. The final débâcle was in the making. Three days from this night, less than three days, Gisèle Jordan would land from Copenhagen for an afternoon’s assignation in a hotel room, hidden and secure. And with some lie, carefully invented, Claude would leave her to carry out alone the hateful schedule she had wished upon them. He would leave her, the used, tiresome person known too long, leave her, the forty-two-year-old dowdy who smelled not of perfume but of chemical compounds, leave her with her unforgiving, curdled hostility; and he would go to the other one, so fresh, so unencumbered, so blonde and tall and perfect, so exciting with the fragrance of youth, flesh and high fashion and murmuring approval and secret skills; and after this exchange, Denise would suffer total obliteration.
Despite the headache, her mind ranged for some hope of survival. How could she contest this superior opponent, survive this uneven match? Continuing anger would only drive Claude away, for as it was, she had become for him the embodiment of guilty conscience. What if she thwarted his rendezvous on the ninth, followed him, exposed him, or, less crudely, revealed to him what she had just learned? Impossible, her intuition warned her. It would enforce upon him the ultimate decision, and she dreaded an ultimate decision now. Inevitably, she believed, proceedings for divorce would follow. If it must be black or white, she was lost. Yet she could not go on in this directionless fog of grey. More important now was the impact of one decision made, or made for her by some second self: Claude must not be lost to her; she must not be deserted, condemned to embittered and solitary confinement. The question mark remained, but what preceded it now was different. No longer how to punish him-now how to hold him?
At once, Denise remembered where she was. She could not remain rooted in the corridor another instant, brooding, for Claude would appear and find her. Not only her location, but her face, might give her away. That could drive him to the choice too fast. Or worse, might induce pity in him. She shuddered, dropped her compact into the bag, and then returned to the masquerade in her guise of imperturbability.
Scanning the room, seeking for someone, anyone, to attach herself to, and to be busy and vivacious with when Claude came back, her eyes came to rest on Lindblom, that ridiculous, sallow chemist-whatever was his first name?-standing off to one side, nearby, shyly isolated and sipping a drink.
While she studied him, unseen by him, something clicked in Denise’s head. No hypothesis, and experiments, and trying and discarding, and formulating, and deducing. Simply-click-a find-idea-discovery. But she was scientist still. She never leaped. Always the magnifying microscope first. She put her mind’s eye to the invisible microscope and enlarged the image of Dr. Lindblom-Oscar Lindblom-Dr. Oscar Lindblom, boy chemist. She enlarged and enlarged and studied the validity of the idea.
As specimen for use, he was not her ideal. Quite the opposite. Too weak, yet there was strength in this, for he would bend with her strength, he would comply. Also, another fault, too lacking in distinction. He had definitely taken on Hammarlund’s absence of coloration, the pallor of the face chalky, and all else, features and frame and personality tentative, inconclusive. For such an experiment, one wanted strength, caring, dash, masculinity. Still, the microscope was unerring, the virtues were evident, also. His face, for all its monotony, was well made, even pleasing, the features regular. Despite his thinness, there must be six feet of him, with the limbs finely proportioned if not muscular. He was single, she remembered, and unattached. And most favourable quality of all-potentially troublesome, but now favourable, nonetheless-he worshipped her.
With an incisiveness that she had not known since her laboratory period, she made her decision. It was this or nothing. In less than three days, Claude would be beyond retrieving. She must stake all on this, trusting her suspicions of Claude’s vulnerability and knowledge of the power of her own sudden ingenuity.
Boldly, she advanced on Lindblom. ‘Well, hello,’ she said cheerfully. ‘A handsome young bachelor like you all alone?’
Lindblom came around startled, recognized her and beamed, heard her and blushed. ‘I-I get this way sometimes at parties. Not exactly unsocial, but-’
‘I understand,’ said Denise softly, searching his eyes, which he quickly cast downward. ‘May I stay with you?’ she inquired.
‘May you? Why, Dr. Marceau-I cannot tell you-this I esteem. It is a glory for me.’
She decided not to waste time. Elaborations and seductive dances were not necessary to win over this callow youth. ‘Dr. Lindblom, do I remember correctly-did you invite me to inspect your laboratory?’
‘Yes, I did. It is what I wish more than anything. You said that you and your husband might someday-’
‘I am a woman. Do I possess a woman’s privilege-?’
‘Privilege?’
‘-to change my mind?’
Lindblom’s grey eyes were wide with revival of a lost hope. ‘Would you? It it possible?’
‘My husband and I have another Nobel function in the morning. But it is unimportant. He can manage it himself. I have had enough of those formal duties. I plan to have a migraine headache tomorrow morning. Once I have got out of the engagement, my headache will vanish. And I will be quite free to do as I please. And you? Will you be free, Dr. Lindblom?’
‘I will see that I am free,’ said Lindblom with rising enthusiasm. ‘I have nothing but my work. Besides, Hammarlund will be so pleased.’
‘Forget Hammarlund,’ she said curtly. ‘I find him tiresome and opportunistic. No, not Hammarlund or anyone, for that matter. If I am to have a busman’s holiday, I wish to have it on my terms. It is you I want to see, quite alone, undisturbed by others. You will show me your experiments, charts. We will go over them together in peaceful quiet-’
‘Oh, Dr. Marceau, I cannot express to you my joy!’
‘Perhaps we shall find ways to be useful to one another.’
‘For me, it will be memorable-’
‘Yes,’ said Denise with a faint smile, ‘I expect so.’ Then she added in a crisper tone, ‘Let us say eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Where will I find you?’
‘The private laboratory is a half kilometre from the house, back in the small forest. I will tell you what I can do. I shall send a car for you, with instructions, and I will wait for you at the forest path.’
‘At eleven?’
‘I could not forget in a million years.’
From the corner of an eye, Denise observed Claude re-enter the living-room with studied casualness. She pretended not to see him. With an elaborate show of gaiety, she slipped an arm inside Lindblom’s arm.
‘Now we must celebrate,’ she said. ‘Take me to the bar. We shall toast our-scientific assignation.’
Waiting for one more drink before dinner, Andrew Craig greeted Denise Marceau and Lindblom with a noncommittal smile, and gave his attention once more to the troublesome seating-plan placard on the easel at the end of the table. He had promised to look in, once more, on John Garrett in the bathroom, but he was sure that the ammonia and cold water had been sufficient to repair the medical researcher and revive his sense of propriety.
Since he had been separated from Emily for more than an hour, the prominent seating-plan took on even greater importance for Craig.
Nonchalantly, he drifted to the end of the table, pretending to have just noticed the placard bearing the legend Placering, scrutinized it closely, and then picked it off the easel and took it to the carved mahogany armchair against the wall.