movie with a split screen. He could imagine Margaret sitting on the sofa sewing and glancing at the clock every few minutes to see if it was time for him to be landing at Gatwick Airport. He could see her opening the front door and smiling and kissing him and telling him what Alan had been doing at playschool.
âMaybe another day,â Gil heard himself saying, as if there were somebody else in the room who spoke just like him.
Anna drew his head down and kissed him. Her tongue slipped in between his teeth. Then she lay back and whispered, âWhat about two days? I could take you to Zandvoort. We could go to my house, and then we could spend all day and all night and all the next day, making love.â
âIâm not sure that I can manage two days.â
âCall your office. Tell them you may be able to sell the good burghers of Amsterdam a few more of your buses. A day and a night and a day. You can go home on Sunday night. The plane wonât be so crowded then.â
Gil hesitated, and then kissed her. âAll right then. What the hell. Iâll call the airline after breakfast.â
âAnd your wife? You have to call your wife.â
âIâll call her.â
Anna stretched out like a a beautiful sleek animal. âYou are a very special gentle man, Mr Gil Batchelor,â she told him.
âWell, youâre a very special lady.â
Margaret had sniffled: that had made him feel so guilty that he had nearly agreed to come back to England straight away. She missed him, everything was ready for him at home, Alan kept saying, âWhereâs daddy?â And
why
did he have to stay in Holland for another two days? Surely the Dutch people could telephone him, or send him a telex? And why
him
? George Kendall should have been selling those extra buses, not him.
In the end, it was her whining that gave him the strength to say, âI have to, thatâs all. I donât like it any more than you do, darling, believe me. I miss you too, and Alan. But itâs only two more days. And then weâll all go to Brighton for the day, what about that? Weâll have lunch at Wheelerâs.â
He put down the phone. Anna was watching him across the room. She was sitting on a large white leather sofa, wearing only thin pajama trousers of crêpe silk. Between her bare breasts she held a heavy crystal glass of Bacardi. The coldness of the glass had made her nipples tighten. She was smiling at him in a way that he found oddly disturbing. She looked almost triumphant, as if by persuading him to lie to Margaret, she had somehow captured a little part of his soul.
Behind her, through the picture window that was framed with cheese-plants and ivy, he could see the concrete promenade, the wide gray beach, the gray overhanging clouds, and the restless horizon of the North Sea.
He came and sat down beside her. He touched her lips with his fingertip and she kissed it. His hand followed the warm heavy curve of her breast, and then he gently rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. She watched him, still smiling.
âDo you think you could ever fall in love with somebody like me?â she asked him, in a whisper.
âI donât think there is anybody like you. Only you.â
âSo could you fall in love with me?â
He dared to say it. âI think I already have.â
She set her drink down on the glass and stainless steel table next to her, and knelt up on the sofa. She tugged down her pajama trousers so that she was naked. She pushed Gil on to his back, and climbed on top of him. âYou like kissing me, donât you?â she murmured. He didnât answer, but lifted his head slightly, and saw her looking at him with that same disturbing smile.
The house was always silent, except when they spoke, or when they played music. Anna liked Mozart symphonies, but she always played them in another room. The walls were white and bare, the carpets were gray. The