‘I want to take you somewhere,’ Quaid phoned Lily to say.
‘Bed?’
‘You are merry, my lady. No, not bed.’
‘Where then?’
‘Shepherd Market.’
‘Do you intend to whore me out?’
‘Christ, Lily, have you been drinking?’
‘Just a small glass. I’ve been celebrating with Lucasta. Her husband’s just come back. Unless he’s gone again. We drank to whichever it was.’
‘I have something serious to discuss with you. This is not a line I ever expected to deliver to you, of all people, but maybe we should wait until you’re sober.’
‘Stick-in-the-mud.’
She was never – all right, rarely – drunk. And looked stone-cold sober, careworn even, apprehensive, when they met in Shepherd Market three days later. It was early evening, warm enough to sit out.
They kissed cautiously, as was their habit in a public place. By way of further precaution she was wearing lowish heels and had brought her blue exercise book out with her.
‘So, what’s this something serious you need to talk to me about?’ she asked.
‘A crime.’
‘Whose crime?’
‘Mine.’
‘Am I to hear your confession?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘Why specifically in this place?’
‘Because this is the crime scene.’
‘The crime is of a sexual nature then? Are you sure I’d want to hear about it?’
‘It’s not of a sexual nature. I betrayed you here.’
‘Then it is of a sexual nature.’
‘Lily, there is more than one kind of betrayal. And the sexual kind is not always the most serious. I denied you.’
‘You denied me what?’
‘I’m employing the word in the biblical sense. I denied your importance to me.’
‘To whom?’
‘To me.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking. To whom did you deny my importance to you?’
‘Selena.’
‘I’d say that was very sensible of you.’
‘No, no. I wasn’t just denying that we are lovers. I as good as denied your very existence.’
‘Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?’
‘I’m being a lot dramatic. What I did was terrible. I negated you.’
‘I don’t feel negated.’
‘You weren’t there.’
‘Then it doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it matters more. Had you been there my words might have hurt your feelings but at least your presence would have proved you were not to be written out of the scene.’
‘This is convoluted morality, Sam.’
‘It isn’t. I said I didn’t love you. I’m sorry. I said you were nothing to me. As Peter denied knowing anything of Jesus – Jesus? Man I know not what thou sayest – I denied caring anything for you. It was a disloyalty of the heart compounded by disloyalty of language. It was spoken infidelity.’
‘And did the cock crow three times?’
‘If it didn’t it’s because we live in irreligious times.’
She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. To anyone watching they could have been brother and sister. But in his ear she whispered, ‘I wish it had been bed you’d wanted to take me to.’
‘So you forgive me?’
‘You’ve done no wrong.’
‘I hope you are right. Now teach me to forgive myself.’