you too much.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure just how it all happened, but it’s true, things are not as they used to be. For instance …’ she added quickly in a slightly choked voice, ‘before I could never have slept with anyone but you.’
‘You’ve been sleeping with someone?’
‘Does that upset you?’
‘Who is it?’ said Claude inquisitively.
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t believe me.’
‘If it’s true, you might have been loyal enough to tell me,’
he said.
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I am informing you. Surely you didn’t expect me to consult you beforehand?’
‘Who is it?’ repeated Claude.
His expression had changed, and Elisabeth was suddenly afraid. If he was suffering, she would suffer too.
‘Guimiot,’ she said in a wavering voice. ‘You know, the naked messenger in the first act.’
It was done; it was irreparable; it would be useless to deny it; Claude would not believe her denials – she didn’t even have time to think-she must go blindly ahead. In the shadows, something horrible was threatening her.
‘Your taste isn’t bad,’ said Claude. ‘When did you meet him?’
‘About ten days ago. He fell madly in love with me.’
Claude’s face became inscrutable. He had often showed suspicion and jealousy, but he had never admitted to it. He would far rather have been hacked to pieces than utter a word of censure, but that was of no reassurance to her.
‘After all, that’s one solution,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought it a pity than an artist should limit himself to one woman.’
‘You’ll soon make up for lost time,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Why, that Chanaux girl is just waiting to fall into your arms.’
‘The Chanaux girl …’ Claude grinned. ‘I prefer Jeanne Harbley.’
‘There’s something to be said for that,’ said Elisabeth.
She clutched her handkerchief in her moist hands; now she could see the danger and it was too late. There was no way of retreat. She had thought only of Suzanne. There were all the other women, young and beautiful women, who would love Claude and who would know how to make him love them.
‘You don’t think I stand a chance?’ said Claude.
‘She certainly doesn’t dislike you,’ said Elisabeth.
This was insane. Here she was trying to brazen it out and each word she uttered sucked her deeper into the slough of despond. If only they could get away from this bantering tone. She swallowed and with great difficulty said: ‘I don’t want you to think, Claude, that I wasn’t open with you.’
He stared at her. She blushed. She did not know exactly how to go on.
‘It was really a surprise. I had always meant to speak to you about it.’
If he kept looking at her in that way she would cry. Whatever the cost, that must not happen; it would be cowardly, she ought not to fight with a woman’s weapons. Yet, that would simplify everything. He would put his arm round her shoulders, she would snuggle against him and the nightmare would be ended.
‘You have lied to me for ten days,’ said Claude. ‘I could never have brought myself to lie to you for one hour. I put our relationship on such a high plane.’
He had spoken with the dismal dignity of a judge, and Elisabeth rebelled.
‘But you haven’t been loyal to me,’ she said. ‘You promised me the best part of your life and never once have I had you to myself. You have never stopped belonging to Suzanne.’
‘You aren’t going to blame me for behaving correctly to Suzanne,’ said Claude. ‘Pity and gratitude alone dictated my behaviour towards her, as well you know.’
‘I don’t know anything of the kind. I know that you’ll never leave her for me.’
‘There was never any question of that,’ said Claude.
‘But if I were to raise the question?’
‘You’d be choosing a very strange moment,’ he said coldly.
Elisabeth remained silent. She should never have mentioned Suzanne. She could no longer control herself, and he was taking advantage of this. She saw him exactly as he was, weak, selfish, self-seeking and eaten up with petty conceit. He knew his faults, but with ruthless dishonesty he wanted to give a faultless picture of himself. He was incapable of the slightest impulse of generosity or sincerity. She loathed him.
‘Suzanne is useful to your career,’ she said. ‘Your work, your ideas, your career. You never gave me a thought.’
‘How contemptible!’ said Claude. ‘So I’m a careerist, am I? If that’s what you think, how could you ever have been fond of me?.’
There was a sudden burst of laughter and footsteps echoed on the black tiled floor. Françoise and Pierre were arm in arm with Xavière, and all three seemed hilariously happy.
‘Look who’s here!’ said Françoise.
‘I’m very fond of this place,’ said Elisabeth. She would have liked to have hidden her face, she felt as if her skin were stretched to the point of cracking! it was drawn tight under her eyes and round her mouth and beneath it the flesh was swollen. ‘So, you’ve got rid of the bigwigs?’
‘Yes,’ said Françoise. ‘We just about managed it.’
Why wasn’t Gerbert with them? Was Pierre suspicious of his charm? Or was it Françoise who feared Xavière’s charm? With an angelic and obstinate expression, Xavière smiled without uttering a word.
‘It was an undoubted success,’ said Claude. ‘The critics will probably be severe, but the applause was excellent.’
‘On the whole, it went off very well,’ said Pierre. He smiled warmly. ‘We must meet one of these days. We’ll have more time to spare now.’
‘Yes, there are a number of things I’d like to talk to you about,’ said Claude.
Elisabeth was suddenly dazed by an access of suffering. She saw her empty studio where she would no longer wait for the ring of the telephone, the empty letter rack in the concierge’s office, empty restaurants, empty streets. This was impossible. She did not want to lose him. Weak, selfish, hateful, that was of no importance. She needed him in order to live. She would accept anything at all if she could keep him.
‘No, don’t do anything about Berger until after you have your answer from Nanteuil,’ Pierre was saying. ‘That would be unwise. But I’m sure he’ll be very interested.’
‘Ring up some afternoon,’ said Françoise. ‘We’ll
