‘About us?’
‘No-no-about synthetic food.’
‘Synthetic food?’ Denise exploded. ‘That-that-that worm!’
‘What-what did you say?’
‘Nothing. Oscar, listen.’ She had lost, she knew, but she would not retreat without inflicting the greatest casualties possible upon the foe. The old plot had failed, but a fresh one had formed. ‘Tell me, where are you now?’
‘About a mile from you. I had to return to-’
‘Can you come right over?’
‘But your husband-’
‘He’ll be out all afternoon-he will not be back until after dinner.’
‘Denise, please, it is dangerous. He might-’
‘Oscar, I know where he is, and he will not be back. I am quite alone.’
‘But, Denise-as much as I want to see you-in fact, I was up all last night thinking about us-’
‘I was too, darling.’
‘-it could be terrible, if he came on us. Hammarlund warned me.’
‘Warned you? Of what?’
‘About seeing you again. Just as your husband was leaving, he told Hammarlund to tell me that he would break my neck if he ever found me with you again.’
Denise’s sunken heart lifted and soared. ‘He said that?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Bravado, Oscar, mere bravado. He would not touch a flea. He knows that he is impotent, and that I cannot bear it-and he knows that I love you. I told him so.’
‘You told him?’
‘Why not? It is true.’
‘Oh, Denise-’
‘Darling, I am desolate without you. If I cannot have you here now-’
‘Denise-Denise-’ His voice broke off, and then was heard again. ‘Are you absolutely positive that he will not be back?’
‘I swear to it on the Bible. You are safe, and so am I. Come at once. I must know everything that transpired at the laboratory. And I want you-do you hear? I want you.’
She could hear the choking emotion of Lindblom’s voice. ‘I-I-I will be right there.’
The moment that she returned the receiver to the cradle, she regretted the invitation. She had thought that last night would be the last of Lindblom’s pitiful acrobatics. But on instinct, when she understood that all was lost, she had wanted to leave Claude with a picture that would haunt him the rest of his days. She had invited Lindblom with the intention of keeping him in the room, delaying him, and then going to bed with him at the time Claude would be returning. She did not consider what might happen after that. She considered only the humiliation to which he would be subjected. But now, that necessity seemed foolish, and worse, dangerous, especially if she still had the chance to save their marriage. For now, there was one ray of hope. Claude had, after all, displayed a flare-up of husbandly possessiveness in his last words to Hammarlund. This parting threat might have meant one of two things-a defence of pride or honest jealousy.
Why had she so blindly insisted on that child’s coming to her room again, enticed him with the lure of one more fornication? It was some inexplicable intuition and nothing else, a yearning to know, firsthand, at length, what had taken place between Claude and Hammarlund. She could not believe that Claude, in such a wrath, could have coolly sat for an hour and a half and discussed synthetic food. There must have been more, and she would find out. She must trust her feelings and not her sensibility. She would learn if Claude had given any indication of a future for them. If he had not-well, the rest was clear-Gisèle the victor.
She trudged slowly to the bathroom, her slippers plopping against her heels. As to her promise to perform sexual intercourse with Lindblom, she would find a way out of that. She would be attractive, she would permit him to kiss her, even pet her, but beyond such innocence, she would have to say no. She would extract the information that she suspected he possessed, and bid him good-bye. With this last visit, his usefulness would come to an end.
In the bathroom, she discarded her négligé, and then, after giving the matter some thought, she decided on limited provocation. She unclasped her brassière, pulled it off, and allowed her full breasts to drop unhampered. With care, she washed and dried, improved her face bit by bit from eyebrow pencil and eye-shadow to powder and lipstick. Then she doused herself with Arpège, behind the ears and neck, across her shoulders and collarbone, under her armpits, between her breasts and beneath them.
She had just pulled on her négligé, and was drawing it about the pink nylon pants, when she heard the door buzzer. Hastily, she secured the négligé, and went, in a trot, to the door.
The minute that Lindblom came into the room, hair dishevelled and eyes too bright, and she closed the door and realized that he was staring at the movement of her breasts, she knew that she might not have everything her way.
‘Denise-’ he panted, and clutched at her, holding her so tightly to him that she could hardly breathe, pressing her bosom deep into his chest and running his hand down the arch of her back and across the curve of her buttocks.
In their previous two assignations, he had shown none of this impulsive aggressiveness, and now she tried to fathom it. Either she had aroused him to this pitch with her telephonic promise, or the combination of her attire and the dangers inherent in his visit had stimulated him beyond reason. Whatever lay behind his excitement, there was going to be a bout.
‘Denise,’ he was whispering, ‘I could not come to you fast enough. I must have you at once.’
She tried to push him away. ‘Oscar, what has got into you? Not so fast-’
‘I must-I must-immediately. You do not know how it is!’
She was separated from him, and she saw his face and stance, that of an anæmic Mellors who was a keeper of white mice, not game.
‘Denise, you said you loved me.’
‘I do, silly boy, of course I do. It is just that I am no longer in the mood for-’
‘Denise, on the telephone-’
‘You have my affection, Oscar, but understand-I have been upset all day, so worried about you, what my husband might do to you-to you, my precious one, and no one else.’
‘Please, Denise-’
You give a teetotaller his first two drinks, thought Denise, and look what happens. She must put a stop to this. It was Claude who was on her mind. She must know about Claude. ‘Oscar, listen. I want to hear-’
‘Jag vill att du skall ligga med mig-come to bed with me.’
‘I told you-I am not in the mood.’
‘A kiss at least-an embrace-’
‘Very well. But first you must tell me everything that passed between my husband and Hammarlund.’
‘Anything.’
‘All right. No, wait-not here where the chambermaid may-’ She squirmed out of his arms. ‘Come along. But remember-behave.’
She went into the bedroom, and he hurried after her. She secured the door, wondering what he would have to say of Claude, but at once Lindblom was upon her, his hands on her négligé, his moist lips and short breath on her face. She favoured him with a single kiss, then pushed at his arms, and slipped free.
‘You must behave, Oscar-you promised,’ she said, distractedly. ‘Now, no more of this until you tell me what happened. Be a gentleman. Keep your distance.’ She began to pace the room, avoiding his hot eyes, his fervour, determined that he cool down, become rational, give her what information he could. She strode forth and back, still not looking at him. ‘Now, go ahead, Oscar,’ she said in her practical voice. ‘What did my husband say about me?’
‘Only what I told you.’ Tie.
‘Nothing more-you are certain?’
‘Only that he would break my neck if he found me with you. Not another word.’ Shirt.
‘I cannot believe it.’
‘I only tell you what Hammarlund told me. Dr. Marceau was there an hour and a half, and all he talked about was synthetic foods.’ Shoes.
‘He does not care a bit about synthetics. Why should he spend an hour and a half-?’
‘Because something Hammarlund was saying suddenly got him interested.’ Socks.