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a thousand times and more. She wrote, the lady doth protest too much. ‘Oh Christ, think what you like, Chris, but I know what I feel, and I know what happened, and I tell you, nothing’s changed so far as you and I are concerned. Not if that’s what you want.’ Mark had been ready to sweep her up into his arms at the conclusion of this avowal, but somehow it didn’t seem the moment. She was writing on her notebook once again. This time only very brief and rather brusque movements of the pencil. She then lay her head on the pillow to indicate that the interview was over. Mark rambled on disconnectedly for a while, but she did not respond. He tried laying his hand on her shoulder, even leant over to kiss her face, but she was hard, rigid, locked solid. So after a while of sitting in silence, in case she should wish to speak or at least to make some sign, he got up and left. He said as he went: ‘I’ll be back tomorrow. All right?’
In the notebook she had inserted, after the second word of the second line she had written for him, two further characters. LD.
‘You all right, Mark?’
Mark was standing in the kitchen with his hands clasped around the back of his neck. ‘Sure.’
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