smile was bitter. She was thinking about the difference. ‘He didn’t upset me.’
The physical intimacy that she had discovered with Jack had seemed so natural just because he was Jack. His ability to piece together fragments into a satisfying whole had been her good fortune. Isabel had had nothing of the kind. Amy could still feel the heat of Peter Jaspert’s hands on her, and she understood.
‘Jack, I’d like to go home.’
‘Of course.’
Peter Jaspert’s arm was around Sylvia Cole’s shoulders again as Jack shepherded her away. He didn’t look up as they passed.
In the car Jack asked her, ‘Bruton Street or Chelsea?’
‘Chelsea,’ she answered. She wanted very much to be with Jack tonight.
In the quiet little house Jack poured a tumbler full of brandy and put it into her hands, then drew her down on the sofa beside him.
‘Why did that upset you so much? Couldn’t you tell me?’ he persisted.
‘For Isabel. When he touched me …’ Amy shivered, and took a gulp of her brandy. ‘I don’t know why. He isn’t ugly, or even particularly obnoxious. He’s just … poor Isabel. I didn’t understand before. Do you know what he said? That a divorce would be out of the question, in his position. And that Isabel has other fish to fry.’
Jack made a face at her, so full of comical shock and distaste that there was almost a smile in Amy’s eyes again. ‘Didn’t I tell you that Isabel is better off where she is? I’d rather live with Bill Parfitt than Herr Jaspert, any day. And I love his position. Horizontal on top of Sylvia Cole, did he mean? I can’t believe it’s the way to get on, publicly rogering your Minister’s wife.’
Amy did laugh now. ‘It doesn’t seem to be doing him any harm. I heard he’s a great success. Do you think Archer knows?’
‘He can’t do. Yet.’ Jack leaned against the cushions, stretching out his long legs and settling Amy’s head against his shoulder. Gently he stroked her hair. ‘Mmm. That’s better. It won’t be long before Archer Cole does find out. I wouldn’t put any big money on Jaspert’s further advancement.’
Amy settled herself so that her cheek rested against the pleated front of his shirt.
‘Why do you call him Herr Jaspert?’
‘Oh, partly because Massey & Dart are still heavily involved in German loan deals. They must be very good friends of Hitler’s by now. Particularly as he’s using the money to rearm as fast as he can. Archer Cole and his Cabinet pals refuse to see it, of course. The Red menace is the only thing that worries them.’
‘Jack,’ Amy asked very quietly, ‘will there be another war?’
‘Yes. Not yet, but it’s coming.’ He sat up abruptly and reached out for the brandy bottle. ‘So let’s gather our rosebuds while we may.’ When he sat back again his hand moved to stroke Amy’s breast.
The room was silent except for the soft whisper of ash falling from the glowing log fire and the slow ticking of a gilt clock.
‘What’s the other reason?’ Amy asked at last.
‘Do we need a reason? Oh, about Herr Jaspert, d’you mean? I’d hoped we could forget him. The man’s a Fascist. An out-and-out Mosleyite, and beyond. Of course all the Conservatives have been dithering about whether to jump right or left, and Jaspert’s chosen to jump about as far right as you can go. As you rightly said, he’s making a big success just now because they’re all so terrified of Reds. His law-and-order and Trots-off-the-streets-and-into-the-cells policies are going down well with certain segments. It won’t last. He can’t help his temperamental inclinations, but they’ve led him to make the wrong choice. When it comes, the fight will be against Fascism. Look at Italy and Spain, as well as Germany.’
Amy sat watching the fire and thinking. She had heard her brother-in-law’s name mentioned often enough at Appleyard Street, most recently by Jake Silverman only a few days before. Jake was out of gaol again, his face pallid under the black beard but with his fervour burning more brightly than ever.
Tony Hardy had kept her secret loyally. None of the comrades had any idea of Amy’s connections. She listened silently to their denunciations of Peter Jaspert along with Mosley and his sympathizers. Her own dislike of him enabled her somehow to disconnect the memory of his relationship. Tonight, and the insinuating heat of him, had fanned it alive again. It was an ugly thought.
She turned her face against Jack’s shoulder. ‘Let’s not talk about him any more.’
‘By all means.’
‘Jack?’
‘Mmm?’
He was very warm, and close, and she longed to cling to the protection he had given her. But that wasn’t possible, any more.
‘I know we’ve come to a kind of end, together. Do you remember, right at the beginning, I said that I understood the rules?’ Jack moved to put his fingers lightly to her mouth, but Amy turned her head aside. ‘I wanted to say thank you. For giving me what you have done, and for making it happy. That’s all.’
‘Oh, my love.’
Jack stood up and took her hands. He led her up the stairs and laid her down on the black silk cover, and Amy looked round for the last time at the familiar place before he bent over her.
She saw the light glitter on his hair, and the little, tender creases at the corners of his eyes. He kissed her mouth and undid the buttons of her dress, sliding it off so that he could kiss her shoulders and her bare breasts.
Jack had given her her physical self, whole and miraculous. Thank you, for that. Amy let her head fall back. He put his hands up to her face and held it, looking into her eyes. And then he lay down beside her, holding her and stroking her until she moaned deep in her throat and turned imploringly to him.
He tore off the smooth satin of her underclothes and ran his hands over her skin. She reached out for him in her turn, impatient, and she felt his restraint as he guided her, directing her pleasure, as he had always done.
She begged him, please.
At last he fitted himself within her and she wound her arms and legs around him, holding him. They lay still, their faces together, for a long moment of silence. And then they began to move together and Amy forgot their parting, forgot the world itself beyond the bedroom walls. For the last time they belonged together, and there was no more consideration than their bodies’ delight.
Later, in the safe darkness, Amy let her head rest in the hollow of his shoulder. Her eyelashes were heavy, glued together with dampness, and behind them the hot prickle of tears was starting. Amy stared straight up and blinked them back again.
‘May I come with you to Southampton? I’ll wave you off at the dockside.’
And then, in the silence that followed, she heard the sound of solitude.
‘No, my darling,’ Jack said softly. ‘I can’t bear shipboard goodbyes. Let’s say it just as if you were going off to the hospital for an ordinary day.’ The warmth of him
