Дональд Джеймс - The House of Eros

They lay in a tangle of sheets, charged with elation, still in each other’s arms. As the shafts of morning sunlight moved from the glistening whiteness of the snow on the window sill into the Greenwich Village apartment, she eased him out of her and rolled on to her back, breathing slow, deep draughts of air, her eyes half closed.

Max raised himself on one elbow, like her, steeped in a heavy drowsiness. His fingers touched her lips, stroking her until her eyes opened fully. She raised her head and kissed him. Then let her head fall back on the pillow.

They both knew that, if they were to talk, this was the time to talk. But they lay together, beside each other, in silence. Outside they could hear the sounds of New Yorkers beginning another day, the slow swish of trucks across the melting slush, two men’s voices raised, the rattle of a skateboard, the sound of someone shovelling snow. At one point he reached out, found her hand and held it tight. She turned towards him, making circles with the flat of her hand on his bare chest, but still the silence persisted between them. Moments passed. Perhaps no more than a minute. Nan Luc got out of bed and put on her yellow robe. From where she stood she could see down into the street.

‘Nobody told me that snow in the city didn’t stay crisp and white,’ she said.

He could feel the turmoil in her. He reached up and took her hand. ‘At Jason’s house,’ Max said, ‘when you went to call Edward. What did you say?’

She looked out at the bruised lumps of snow heaped by the kerbside. ‘I said I’d take a plane this morning.’ she said. She turned to look up at him, her eyes glistening. ‘I said for him to meet the flight at San Diego.’ She turned her back to the window. ‘Whatever happens now has to be Edward’s decision, not mine.’

‘Even though a lot of things have changed?’

‘Nothing’s changed, Max. I knew I loved you when I married Edward.’

‘He knows about me?’

‘A little, not all.’

‘If ever you’re free,’ he said, ‘will you marry me?’

‘She looked at him. ‘If ever…’ she said.

In the crowded airport Christmas carols intermingled with passenger announcements.

From where he stood at the phone point Max was unable to see her any more. But he kept his eyes on the departure gate as the phone rang.

‘Ruth Caswell,’ the crisp voice on the phone said.

‘Ruth. This is Max Benning. I’m glad I caught you.’

‘Where are you, Max?’

‘I’m at Kennedy. I just saw Nan Luc off to San Diego. I have a couple of hours or so before my London flight. Is there any chance we could meet for a drink?’

‘Nan Luc’s gone back west?’

‘She just left.’

‘My office is in Queens,’ Ruth said. ‘Jason’s with me. We can make lunch.’

‘Even better.’

‘Let’s make it lunch then,’ Ruth said. She paused. ‘Max, Edward Brompton has been trying to contact Nan Luc at the house all morning. He spent a long time talking to Jason.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Jason’ll fill you in over lunch.’ She paused. ‘He talked about Nan Luc. About Nan Luc and you.’

From the phone booth Max suddenly made out Nan Luc’s pale leather jacket as she passed into the departure lounge. For a moment at the gate she hesitated, as if somehow she too had heard what Ruth was saying. Half turning, she looked past the red-robed Father Christmas and the children surrounding him, towards the spot were Max had been standing.

‘If ever…’ she had said.

‘If ever…’ The words echoed in his head as he strained to catch a last glimpse of her among the flickering shapes of the San Diego passengers passing behind the patterned glass screens.

© Donald James 1991

Donald James has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in 1991 by William Heinemann Ltd.

This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.