sharply. ‘Actually, you see, we should have kept to what, two years ago, you called an ideological friendship. My mistake was to love you.’
‘But since I love you …’
‘Yes,’ she said. It was most irritating; she was unable to pin down any definite grounds for complaint against him without their seeming nothing but petty grievances.
‘Well?’ said Claude.
‘Well, nothing,’ said Elisabeth. She had put a world of misery into these words, but Claude did not choose to take notice of it. He looked round the room with a beaming smile; he felt relieved and was already preparing to change the subject when she hurriedly added: ‘Fundamentally you’re a very simple soul. You were never really aware that I wasn’t happy.’
‘You take pleasure in tormenting yourself,’ said Claude.
‘Perhaps that’s because I’m too much in love with you,’ said Elisabeth dreamily. ‘I wanted to give you more than you were prepared to accept. And, if one is sincere, to give is a way of insisting on some return. I suppose it’s all my fault.’
‘We aren’t going to question our love every time we meet,’ said Claude. ‘This sort of conversation seems absolutely pointless to me.’
Elisabeth looked at him angrily. He could not even sense this pathetic lucidity that now made her so piteous. What was the good of it all? Suddenly, she felt herself growing cynical and hard.
‘Never fear. We shall never question our love again,’ she said. ‘That’s just what I wanted to tell you. From now on, our relations will be on an entirely different basis.’
‘What basis? What basis are they on now?’ Claude looked very annoyed.
‘Henceforth, I only want to have a peaceful friendship with you,’ she said. ‘I’m also tired of all these complications. Only, I didn’t think I could stop loving you.’
‘You’ve stopped loving me?’ Claude sounded incredulous.
‘Does that really seem so extraordinary to you?’ said Elisabeth. ‘Please understand me. I’ll always be very fond of you, but I shan’t expect anything from you, and as far as I am concerned, I shall take back my freedom. Isn’t it better that way?’
‘You’re raving,’ said Claude.
Elisabeth turned scarlet with anger.
‘But you’re insane! I tell you that I’m no longer in love with you! A feeling can change. And you – you weren’t even conscious of the fact that I had changed’
Claude gave her a puzzled look.
‘Since when have you stopped loving me? A few minutes ago, you said that you loved me too much.’
‘I used to love 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