Arthur Hailey - Wheels

She was also grateful for an opportunity to assess her relationships with both men: Adam and Pierre. The result - in everything except sex and the small amount of time they spent together, Adam came out far ahead.

Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - for Erica, sex continued to be important in her life, which was the reason she agreed to meet Pierre again a few days later, though this time cautiously and across the river in Windsor, Canada. But of all their rendezvous, this latest proved the least successful.

The fact was: Adam had the kind of mind which Erica admired. Pierre didn't. Despite Adam's obsessive work habits, he was never out of touch with the sum of life around him; he had strong opinions and a social conscience. Erica enjoyed hearing Adam talk - on subjects other than the auto industry. In contrast, when she asked Pierre for his views on a Detroit civic housing controversy, which had been headline news for weeks, Pierre had never heard of it. "Figure all that stuff's none of my business," was a stock reply. Nor had he ever voted. "Wouldn't know how, and I'm not much interested."

Erica was learning: An affair, to be successful and satisfying, needed other ingredients than merely fornication.

When she asked herself the question: Who, of all the men she knew, would she soonest have an affair with, Erica came up with the revealing answer - Adam.

If only Adam would function as an entire husband.

But he rarely did.

The thought about Adam stayed foremost in her mind through several more days, carrying over to their evening at Grosse Pointe with Hank Kreisel.

Somehow, it seemed to Erica, the ex-Marine parts manufacturer managed to bring out all that was best in Adam, and she followed the talk about Hank Kreisel's thresher, including Adam's cogent questioning, with fascination. It was only afterward, going home, when she remembered the other part of Adam she had once possessed - the eager lover, explorer of her body, now seemingly departed - that despair and anger overwhelmed her.

Her statement, later the same night, that she intended to divorce Adam had been real. It seemed hopeless to go on. Nor, next day or during others following, had Erica's resolve weakened.

It was true she did nothing specific to set the machinery of divorce in motion, and did not move out of the Quarton Lake house, though she continued sleeping in the guest bedroom. Erica simply felt that she needed a chance, in limbo, to adjust.

Adam did not object - to anything. Obviously he believed that time could heal their differences, though Erica did not. Meanwhile she continued to keep house, and also agreed to meet Pierre, who had telephoned to say he would be briefly in Detroit during an absence from the racing circuit.

"Something's wrong," Erica said. "I know it is, so why don't you tell me?"

Pierre appeared uncertain and embarrassed. Along with his boyishness, he had a transparent manner which revealed his moods.

He said, in bed beside her, "It's nothing, I guess."

Erica propped herself on an elbow. The motel room was darkened because they had drawn the drapes on coming in. Even so, enough light filtered through for her to see the surroundings clearly, which were much like those of other motels they had been in - characterless, with mass-produced furniture and cheap hardware. She glanced at her watch. It was two in the afternoon, and they were in the suburb of Birmingham because Pierre had said he would not have time to drive across the river into Canada.

Outside, the day was dull and the midday forecast had predicted rain.

She turned back to study Pierre whose face she could see clearly too.

He flashed a smile, though with a touch of wariness, Erica thought. She noticed that his shock of blond hair was mussed, undoubtedly because she had run her hands through it during their recent love-making.

She had grown genuinely fond of Pierre. For all his lack of intellectual depth, he had proved agreeable, and sexually was every inch a man, which was what Erica had wanted after all. Even the occasional arrogance - the star syndrome she had been aware of at their first meeting - seemed to fit the masculinity.

"Don't mess about," Erica insisted. "Tell me whatever's on your mind."

Pierre turned away, reaching for his trousers beside the bed and searched in their pockets for cigarettes. "Well," he said, not looking at her directly, "I guess it's us."

"What about us?"

He had a cigarette alight and blew smoke toward the ceiling. "From now on I'll be more often at the tracks. Won't get to Detroit as much. Thought I ought to tell you."

There was a silence between them as a coldness gripped Erica which she struggled not to show. At length she said, "Is that all, or are you trying to tell me something else?"

Pierre looked uneasy. "Like what?"

"I should think you'd be the one to know that."

"It's just . . . well, we've been seeing a lot of each other. For a long time."

"It certainly is a long time." Erica tried to keep her voice light, knowing hostility would be a mistake. "It's every bit of two and a half months."

"Gee! Is that all?" His surprise seemed genuine.

"Obviously, to you it seems longer."

Pierre managed a smile. "It isn't like that."

"Then just how is it?"

"Hell, Erica, all it is - we won't be seeing each other for a while."

"For how long? A month? Six months? Even a year?"

He answered vaguely, "Depends how things go, I guess."

"What things?"

Pierre shrugged.

"And afterward," Erica persisted, "after this indefinite time, will you call me or shall I call you?" She knew she was pushing too hard but had become impatient with his indirectness. When he didn't answer, she added,

"Is the band playing, 'It's Time to Say Goodbye'? Is this the brush-off?

If it is, why not say so and have done with it?"

Clearly, Pierre decided to grasp the opportunity presented. "Yes," he said, I guess you could say that's the way it is."

Erica took a deep breath. "Thank you for finally giving me an honest answer. Now, at least, I know where I stand."

She supposed she could scarcely complain. She had insisted on knowing and now had been told, even though, from the beginning of the conversation, Erica had sensed the intention in Pierre's mind. At this moment she had a mixture of emotions - the foremost, hurt pride because she had assumed that if either of them chose to end the affair it would be herself. But she wasn't ready to end it, and now, along with the hurt she had a sense of loss, sadness, an awareness of loneliness to come. She was realist enough to know that nothing would be gained by pleading or argument. One thing Erica had learned about Pierre was that he had all the women he needed or wanted; she knew, too, there were others whom Pierre had tired of ahead of herself. Suddenly she felt like crying at the thought of being one more, but willed herself not to. She'd be damned if she would feed his ego by letting him see how much she really minded.

Erica said coolly, "Under the circumstances there doesn't seem much point in staying here."

"Hey!" Pierre said. "Don't be mad." He reached under the bedclothes for her, but she evaded him and slipped from the bed, taking her clothes to the bathroom to dress. Earlier in their relationship, Pierre would have scrambled after her, seized her, and forced her playfully back to the bed, as had happened once before when they quarreled. Now he didn't, though she had been half-hoping that he would.

Instead, when Erica came out of the bathroom, Pierre was dressed too, and only minutes later they kissed briefly, almost perfunctorily, and parted. He seemed relieved, she thought, that their leave-taking had been accomplished with so little trouble.