IX

When Marie LaFarge moved out of her husband's bedroom, she had fully expected the outward props of her life to disintegrate. She was living in limbo now, she told herself, waiting for the moment when Eduardo would send for her and she would never return to the cage of her present existence.

In her mind, she had escaped from the cage, had spread her wings and moved from beyond the bars, only to find herself perched uncertainly on a shaky limb. It was cold out on that limb and the sun shone only when she was with Eduardo. But Eduardo was elusive, and when they met he insisted on the secrecy of their relationship. He would call her once a week, perhaps twice, and she would go to him.

"You must not tell him," he had warned when she had told him that she had moved out of Claude's bed.

"But why? I want the world to know."

"Not yet." The sense of expectancy reinforced her optimism.

"When?"

"Please, Marie. You must not endanger yourself."

"I want my life to be your life. I don't care about danger."

And when it was time for her to go, she always held back, lingering. If he had gone, leaving her in the bed, she would wrap herself in the sheets like a mummy and imagine that she could be part of the room, always there, until she would become jealous of the inanimate objects that were fortunate to share his presence. Sometimes he would insist that she leave first.

"You must go. I have work to do."

"What sort of work?"

"I am writing a document."

"What sort of document?"

"A manifesto, the fundamental words of our movement."

"Please, Eduardo. Let me stay. Let me watch you. I will not disturb you."

"Please, Marie."

After those times with Eduardo, she dreaded coming home. It seemed an alien place now, although she went through the motions of devoted motherhood. Claude had reacted with his usual calculated methods, designed to maintain appearances at all cost. Nothing, after all, must stand in the way of his career. And since she had not actually left the house, appearances could still be preserved for the outside world. It is only temporary, she told herself.

"How long is this madness to go on?" Claude asked her one evening at dinner, after the children had gone off to watch television. She knew he had, up till then, been deliberately proper. But she also knew his discipline and surmised that he had swallowed great draughts of bitter bile to maintain his control. She had, after all, challenged his manhood, a very precious commodity, especially to a Frenchman. She wished he would have had the guts to respond to his true emotions and throw her out of the house. But nothing she could do or say had been enough to cause Claude to explode. His career was, as it had always been, the main priority of his life.

"It isn't madness, Claude."

"Then what is it?"

"Loathing."

She could see his upper lip tremble and his eyes blink with abnormal speed as he sought control. What she wanted most was a confrontation about "another man." If he accused her, she would admit it, she decided. She longed to admit it. Only fear held her back.

"You are trying to ruin me," Claude said, after a long pause, when he seemed certain that his voice would be strong, controlled.

"That is absurd," she said with contempt. Actually, she pitied him. In comparison to Eduardo, he seemed so inconsequential.

"Perhaps if you saw a psychiatrist," he said. She wondered if she sensed an edge of sarcasm.

"A psychiatrist?"

"Surely what you're doing is not normal. The mother of two beautiful children. The wife of a successful and rising diplomat. I wouldn't consider what you have done as rational." He tapped his forehead. "Something is going on up there that bears some scrutiny."

"Save your money," she said, getting up from the table. She feared that if the conversation kept on, the confrontation would be inevitable. She picked up the dessert dishes and coffee cups and brought them into the kitchen. She could hear his footsteps behind her.

"Marie," he pleaded, on the verge of losing control again. He put his hands on her shoulders. Briefly, she saw his eyes, the pain that lay there. "You are torturing me." She shrugged his hands away and averted his gaze. It is easy to be cruel, she observed, hating herself.

"There is nothing here for me anymore," she said quietly. "Why can't you understand that?"

"But the children."

She wanted to say, "The hell with the children," but that might confirm her madness to him. Besides, she could not understand why she no longer loved her children. Perhaps, she thought, it was because they were not Eduardo's children. Maybe I do need a psychiatrist, she told herself.

"It will pass," Claude whispered. "I will be patient."

"Never," she said. It had not been meant to be said.

Because there was no regularity to her meetings with Eduardo, she lived in a constant state of tension. Sometimes he would call her on Monday. Sometimes Tuesday or Wednesday. It seemed a kind of unwritten understanding that she would never see him on weekends. She had thought about it, but since it was part of the rhythm of their lives, she did not let her mind dwell on it. Occasionally, though, after they had made love and she imagined that they had achieved their most intense closeness, her courage would rise above her caution.

"When you are not with me, Eduardo," she asked, "where are you?" He did not stir, as if the words had not been spoken. But she persisted. "What is your life like when you are not with me?" He continued to remain silent. "Mine is a nightmare. I walk through a dream. I live only for you to call me. I live only for this." She caressed his body.

"It is better that you don't know," was all he would say.

Despite her longing, when she was not with him, she could still feel a residue of passion, an afterglow. At night, though, when she would slip between the sheets of her bed, she would make a conscious effort to empty her mind of him. Most of the time, she was not successful. Beside her, on the night table, were piles of books on Chile which she would read for hours, sometimes until the first gray signs of morning. Occasionally, she would hear Claude's footsteps along the corridor. They would reach her door, hesitate. Thankfully, they would begin again and move away toward their old bedroom. Even when she slept, there seemed no respite, and when she awoke the sheets were badly wrinkled and the blankets on the floor.

Once, odd sounds seemed to come to her as part of a restless dream and she opened her eyes to find Claude in her bed, fighting to pry apart her legs. He had been drinking and the smell of whiskey, as his mouth searched for hers, sickened her. Freeing one arm, which he had pinned behind her, she flailed at his groin until he desisted.

"You lousy bitch!" he hissed, his lips twisted, his eyes blazing with hatred. But she felt no pity. Why doesn't he ask me? she thought. I will tell him now. But he did not ask. Without looking at her again, he limped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

The incident had left her frightened and restless and the next day she bought a strong chain and attached it to her door. At dinner the following night, he apologized.

"I'm sorry, Marie." He was feigning contrition, she knew, but she determined to accept it.

"It was foolish."

"I had been drinking."

"Yes, I noticed."

He played with his spoon.

"What would be the harm if you saw a psychiatrist?" he asked. He was not being sarcastic now. It was obviously a sincere conclusion. She looked at him and laughed. It seemed to come in a long rolling sound, uncontrollable and rippling, as if in response to a hilarious joke. The ridicule was, she knew, pure malevolence on her part.

"You are a bitch, you know," he said, his face suddenly pale. He threw down his napkin and rushed angrily from the table.

A few days later, when she told Eduardo about the incident, he was shocked. Then she informed him that she had moved out of Claude's bedroom. The knowledge agitated him further. His reaction confused her. He should be happy, she thought. I have made a commitment to him. I am faithful. He paced the floor of his apartment in his bare feet, puffing deeply and frequently on a cigarette.

"I had no idea," he said.

"You think I can sleep with another man?" she said angrily. "My skin crawls at his touch."

"And you have not told him about us?" he asked suddenly.

"No."

"Does he think there is another man?"

"No. He is blind. He is an idiot."

He smashed out his cigarette in an ash tray and lit another one.

"It could be a disaster for him to know," he said finally.

"He will know sooner or later. I can't go on like this."

"You must."

"Must?"

He sighed, came toward her and sat beside the bed, stroking her arm gently. "I had no right to involve you."

"Involve me, Eduardo? You did nothing. Why explain it? You have given me a new life. No. You have given me life."

"I have endangered you," he said. "I am deeply involved in dangerous work. A complication with your husband would be a disaster. It could destroy everything we are working for."

"We?"

"The Chilean people."

"But, darling. You must understand. There is no life without you." Was she going to lose him? She shuddered. "How can I do anything that will hurt you?" she said.

"Then you must make it up with Claude."

"I don't understand."

"You must not make Claude suspicious. It could not only hurt me ... and you, but endanger the lives of many innocent people."

"If only you would confide in me, my darling." She balled her fists, feeling the full force of her frustration. "But you tell me nothing. I am simply a woman in love." She paused waiting for some response, frightened. "Tell me how to act so that I will not do foolish things to hurt you or your friends. Tell me. I will do whatever you ask." He continued to stroke her arms, then leaned over and kissed her deeply.

After, he stood up, paced the floor again. Then he was suddenly back with her, and from his expression she knew he had reached a decision.

"I have something to ask of you, Marie," he whispered.

"Anything, darling."

"It is simple. But it could be dangerous."

"Why can't I persuade you that nothing I can do for you can frighten me. I will do anything." She kissed him again, and she felt tears brim over her eyes. "I am capable of killing for you, Eduardo." It was an odd thought. Could she really do that, she wondered.

"Hardly that dramatic," he said, shaking his head with amusement. He moved to the closet, brought out a box, and took something out of it. Returning to the bedside, he held out his palm, on which rested a small, shiny object. She looked at it and touched it. It felt cold.

"It is an electronic device." Lifting it, he held it between his thumb and index finger.

"What does it do?"

"It listens."

"I see." She was concentrating now. It was important. He was making her a part of his work and she was grateful.

"I want you to put it somewhere."

"Where?"

"You must be very clever." He paused. "I want you to put it in the study of the Chilean ambassador. In his residence. His private study."

"But how...."

He put a finger on her lips. "You must be very clever. You must get an invitation and it must be in a large group so that they will not be suspicious. They are very shrewd." She was trying to absorb the information and what it meant. Since she had moved out of Claude's bedroom, she had refused all invitations. She knew Claude was telling them that his wife was ill. Eduardo brought over a brief case which lay against the wall. Opening it, he took out a large envelope and withdrew from it a package of large photographs, which he spread before her on the bed.

"These are pictures of the study. I have marked all the possible points where the device can be placed."

She followed his graceful white fingers as they traced the area in the pictures, feeling the special joy of the complicity.

"There are so many possible choices that it would be difficult to make a mistake."

"But where is the best place?" she asked. She looked at the pictures.

"Here." He pointed at a bookshelf.

"I could slip it under a dust jacket." She looked up proudly, touching his fingers.

"An excellent place. But everything will depend on the question of time. Ideally, you should be invited into the study by the ambassador, and when his attention is deflected you could do the job."

He gathered up the pictures on the bed, replaced them in the envelope, and put them on the floor on top of the brief case.

"I would suggest you study them carefully again," he said. But her mind had already snapped a clear picture of the study, and her thoughts were already alerted to strategies. Surely, she could persuade Claude to solicit an invitation on the basis of her sudden interest in Chile. It was then that the idea of physical proximity to Claude intruded, and she felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. If only she could find a way to do it without that. Perhaps she might befriend the Chilean ambassador's wife, a lovely lady, easy to meet and talk with.

"Above all, you must not arouse suspicion," Eduardo said suddenly, with emphasis, as if reading her thoughts. He held up the device again, his fingers on the rim, then placed it on top of the envelope.

He stood over her now, his fingers running through her hair. She rested her head against his body, caressing him again, holding him tightly.

"I will not fail you, my darling."

"I am sure," he said.

"Thank you, Eduardo," she said hoarsely, kissing the flesh of his belly. Before she left, he wrapped the device in tissue paper and put it in her hand. She held it tightly for a long time before she finally put it in her purse. "I will show him how clever I am," she vowed.

That night in her own bed, she did not feel the same tug of emptiness. Now there was a sense of mission, participation. Claude, of course, must be manipulated to be her instrument of entry into the Chilean Embassy. Anything is possible for Eduardo, she assured herself.

"Good morning, Claude," she said pleasantly as he arrived at the breakfast table. It was the first time in weeks that she had actually taken any notice of him. He seemed to have bloated slightly and there were dark circles under his eyes. The children had already been packed off to school and she had taken great care with her morning toilette. Not a hair was misplaced and she had dabbed herself with the scent Claude had liked and which she had deliberately abandoned. She had, up till then, rejected anything that gave Claude pleasure.

His face suddenly brightened, although she could tell he had quickly rallied his defenses. It had never been Claude's way to be taken in easily. He was naturally cautious. He would test her first.

"You look very charming this morning, Marie."

"Thank you, Claude."

The smell of freshly perked coffee was heavy in the room. Coincidentally, the sun was shining and the day clear, a fitting background for the illusion of harmony that she wished to convey.

"Lovely," Claude said as he sat down, the folded newspaper beside him on the table. She sat down in her usual place, feeling his gaze. He is confused, she thought. After a while, he withdrew his hand and sipped his coffee. Enough for now, she thought, feeling the excitement of her deception.

"You seem quite different today, Marie," he said. She could sense his subtle sarcasm. It was, after all, safer for him to be cautious.

"Perhaps it is because of the wonderful morning," she said, her eyes deliberately averted, as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips. He continued to observe her, the newspaper ignored.

"Is there something you would like to say, Marie?"

"Perhaps later," she said pleasantly, turning to him now, offering the faint hint of a smile. Slowly, she warned herself. You are such a pompous ass, she mused as she looked at him, wondering if she were wearing a proper expression.

"I would like that, Marie," he said, his hand sliding near hers across the table. With an effort, she kept it still.

"I suppose we have lots to talk about."

"Yes."

His hand touched hers and again she resisted the desire to move it away. Then the full weight of his hand was on hers and he was squeezing it. Although her indifference was absolute, she could feel his emotion. The fool, she thought. After a while, he withdrew his hand and sipped his coffee. Enough for now, she thought, standing up and moving toward the kitchen.

"Marie," he called. She stopped and turned, conscious of improving her posture. She felt her breasts strain against her brassiere and knew she was deliberately emphasizing their fullness.

"Yes, Claude."

"We will talk later."

"Yes."

Getting through the day required an enormous effort of will. If only Eduardo would call, she thought, feeling the need for reassurance. Make it up with Claude, he had told her. And then? But she had not dared to ask that question. She was now part of Eduardo's life, of his work, and that was a step forward, perhaps a tiny step from the present limbo.

That evening Claude came home with a great bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of champagne. There seemed to be some sentimental currency in it and she remembered that it was one of the elements of his courtship, yellow roses and champagne. How ridiculously contrived, she thought. At dinner, she kept the scene deliberately cheerful. The children talked of their day with great enthusiasm and she forced herself to listen, feeling Claude's eyes on her, watching for any signs of retrogression. Without his realizing, she deliberately delayed the children's departure for bed. It was Claude who intervened finally. When they were alone, he opened the champagne.

Please help me, Eduardo, she pleaded to herself as Claude handed her the champagne, clinking the glass with his.

"To better days ahead, my darling," he said, sipping the champagne and watching her with a silly, glazed, fawning look. She tossed off the champagne in a single gulp, hardly tasting it. He quickly poured her another glass. The expected lightheadedness seemed slow in coming.

"Is it over, Marie?" he asked tentatively, touching her arm, caressing it, still fearful of rejection.

"I'm not sure, Claude," she said. Better to be tentative as well, she had decided.

"These last weeks have been the worst of my life, Marie. The worst."

She wondered why she could not summon pity. Only contempt. Holding out her glass, she let him pour her more champagne. He did it eagerly and she knew that he, too, was being calculating, deliberately plying her. I will do this for Eduardo, she thought. By the time the lightheadedness began, he had moved toward her and summoned the courage to hold her in his arms.

"Perhaps I have been too self-centered," he said. "I will change, Marie. You'll see. I have been thinking it over these last few weeks. It is all my fault. I promise I will change."

She endured his fondling, and the fear of showing indifference forced her to increase her outward response. The objective, she told herself, was to get through this as quickly as possible.

"It will be beautiful again, my darling," Claude said. She could feel his mounting excitement, encouraging its acceleration by caressing his genitals. The touch disgusted her, but she did not falter. She listened for the quickness of his breath, the swift pounding of his heart. His hands groped into her body. She imagined that he was interpreting his own ardor as spontaneity and she fed the fantasy by increasing the strength of her endearments.

"Can we?" he asked.

"Yes."

She had wanted to say later, but it had passed beyond that point and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. Removing her pantyhose, she lay on the couch. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander while she mechanically drew him inside of her. She was thinking of her girlhood and suddenly she missed that part of her life, before Claude, her father's strong hand in hers, walking on the Champs Elysées, the smell of flowers in the Tuileries, the view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. She had been safe then, beyond abuse, beyond this. She might have lost herself in these memories if Claude had not hurt her. She was dry and tight, like a virgin. It was detestable, revolting. Thankfully, he did not last long, falling on her in a heap. She waited. His breath became regular again and his heart slowed, she observed with clinical objectivity. She made no move to crawl from under him, waiting for him to act.

"It will be different," he said.

"Of course," she responded, wondering if he could sense her revulsion.

She moved out of the spare room and back into their bedroom, finding that it was possible to endure anything for the sake of one's objective, Eduardo's objective. I am playacting, she told herself, an idea which sustained her. Claude's sexual appetite seemed insatiable, and she endured it with a strange sense of pride. His deprivation had been total, and he had not, out of spite, she was certain, allowed himself the relief of another woman. That would be typical of Claude to deliberately savor his suffering, to increase his self-immolation. If only he could know of her noninvolvement. Someday she would tell him. How deliciously castrating it would be.

"I feel like I've been raped by an army of barbarians," she told Eduardo a few days later when they were together again in his apartment. He put a finger on her lips.

"You mustn't talk about it," he said.

"Not talk about it," she protested, feeling anger even as she caressed him. "It is loathsome. I can barely live through it. I feel violated."

"He is your husband."

She looked up at him. "He is nothing to me."

"Then perhaps we had better forget about it." He was pouting now, and she contained her rage.

"You're not jealous?"

"If it is too much to endure.... "His voice trailed off. But the implied threat struck home.

"If the roles were reversed, I would kill you for it."

"Kill?"

A shadow passed over her face, triggering her own fear. "I could not bear the thought of you with another woman."

"Another woman?" He seemed surprised. Was she being too intense? Was she going too far?

"I am jealous of every moment you spend without me." The new idea appeared to break the tension. "I will endure it only until I have done what you have asked," she said quickly.

His face brightened. He put out his hand, smiling. She took it, squeezed it, like two people sealing a business deal.

"Agreed," he said. She felt her anger subside. But somehow the deal seemed incomplete.

"And after?" she asked quietly.

"After what?"

"After I have done it."

She watched him, frightened again. He was, she knew, trying to formulate an answer, but she dared not hear it.

"Please, Eduardo. I am sorry. It's not necessary to answer that." He seemed relieved. "I cannot bear being away from you."

But the idea of their future together would not go away. The more she endured Claude, the more it plagued her. I can't live like this, she told herself. Yet, she took solace from a new thought. If she proved herself, if she showed Eduardo how clever she was, how cunning, he would overcome his own caution. He is afraid for me, she decided. But when he sees how efficient I am, how fearless, he will not resist our being together always. Let Claude take the children. Nothing mattered now. Only Eduardo.

It did not take her long to persuade Claude to work at securing an invitation from the Chileans. They had begun to do the party circuit again and she had sought out the Chilean ambassador at these events, ingratiating herself with coquetry and what he must have observed as a surprising knowledge of his country.

"It is my great ambition to visit your country," she told him.

"You will fit in nicely," he said. He was a tall man, barrel-chested, with well cut clothes and an obvious interest in women. When she discovered this, she became boldly flirtatious. "The women of Chile are the most beautiful in the world."

"It is the men that make them so." What a perfect retort she had contrived, she thought.

He seemed to puff himself up like a proud bird, and she pressed her advantage. She suddenly yearned for Eduardo to stand beside her invisibly and see her in action.

"We used to believe it was the climate," he said.

"There is a lot more to the environment than the weather."

He caught her drift, obviously a man experienced in such byplay. She was amused by his naïveté. Can't he tell I am playing with him?

"Only a country where men appreciate women can gain such a reputation," she pressed. "And, of course, the women must feel the truth of it to allow it to perpetuate."

"I will accept that for our hemisphere." He winked and bent over, whispering in her ear, "If you'll allow that the women of France reign in your hemisphere."

"We do have a reputation of sorts."

"So I have heard. Is it deserved?"

"I hope so." She hesitated and looked into his eyes. "At least, I do my part." She could see a slight flush begin near his jowls, and she marveled at her own forwardness. This will be easier than I imagined, she decided.

But when the Chilean invitation came a week later, the victory was merely pyrrhic. Eduardo had not called and she was helpless with anxiety, almost to the point of revealing the full force of her irritability to Claude, who seemed to be watching her microscopically for any sign of relapse. His attentions were stultifying, smothering. On the morning that the invitation arrived, she dashed out of the house after the children had gone to school and drove the car to the parking lot of Eduardo's apartment building.

She waited for three hours, watching the entrance, feeling foolish and conspicuous. Suppose he has been killed? Or kidnapped? He had described his danger and had warned her to stay away from him except when he told her to come. She sat there in the car, sick with worry. Then, unable to endure the anxiety, she got out and walked quickly to the apartment house, averting her eyes from the desk man and rushing toward the elevator bank. A couple came in behind her in the elevator and she rode to the top of the building before coming down again to his floor.

In front of his apartment she knocked quietly, pressing her ear to the door. There were no sounds from within. She knocked again. Still no stirring within. Then she rang the buzzer and still no answer came. A woman passed through the corridor. When she was out of sight, she dipped into her pocketbook and, finding a blank envelope, scribbled a note on it, slipping it under the door. "I have news," she had written, wanting to say more.

It was not until she returned home that the full impact of the panic seized her. How can I stand this, she asked herself, pacing the floor. Where is Eduardo? That evening they went to a reception at the State Department honoring those who had given gifts to the Adams room on the top floor. She was listless and withdrawn, barely spoke to people, hoping that she looked attentive despite her indifference.

"Are you well, darling?" Claude asked as she prepared for bed.

"I think I am getting the flu," she answered.

"Is there something I can do?" Claude asked. He was being unctuous and she dared not look at him for fear he would see her loathing.

She awoke the next day exhausted, and her image in the mirror frightened her. There were heavy dark pouches under her eyes and her skin was pale and unhealthy looking. When Claude and the children left, she went back to bed and lay there staring at the ceiling. It was only when the telephone rang that she realized she had dozed. Hearing Eduardo's voice, she was instantly alert.

"You shouldn't have done it," he said. His voice was low, muffled. "They watch. They listen."

"I had to. I can't stand it, Eduardo."

"It is too dangerous."

"I don't care."

"And the news?"

"I will be there on Friday night, at the Chilean Embassy."

"Good."

"Will I see you today?" she asked, wanting to press the issue. There was a brief silence on the line.

"Not until it is done," he said. "That is why I have not called. I think they are watching me closely now."

"I must see you, Eduardo," she said. An idea had occurred to her. Once again the line was silent, but this time it was her voice that filled the void. "The pictures. I want to be sure where it can be put."

"You don't remember?"

"I want to be sure."

She could feel him sigh into the phone.

"I want to be sure," she repeated. His hesitation reassured her, and although she was deliberately lying, she knew that she had found a way to manipulate him.

"I am not afraid," she said. "If I have you, I am not afraid."

"All right."

"Today."

"Yes. Come at noon."

She jumped out of bed, took a long lingering bath, perfumed herself, feeling her body's signals of longing, and when she arrived at his apartment she groped toward him like an animal in heat. The touch of his flesh enervated her and her body lurched with pleasure and abandon.

"You must love me forever," she cried, feeling the pleasure come in deep waves again. "I want you in me always, always." She must have been making loud noises, as he put a hand over her mouth. "I can't help it," she said, when she realized what she had done. "I must shout my joy. You are my life."

After a while her body relaxed and her mind cleared. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her.

"I need you so much, Eduardo."

He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose.

"I had to be near you."

"And the pictures?"

"I'm sorry, Eduardo. I lied." She knew it would be impossible to lie to him directly.

There was a flash of anger. "I told you it was dangerous."

"I don't care."

"But there are others," he said. "Other lives are at stake. They are ruthless killers." His arms tightened and he banged a fist into his palm. "Your assignment is of the utmost importance, Marie."

She remembered her conversation with the barrel-chested ambassador.

"He seems so harmless, almost naive."

"That's what he would like you to think. Believe me, he is a key man for them here, and what we learn from him could be most crucial, most crucial."

"He fancies himself a ladies' man."

"He is and I'm sure he finds you irresistible."

"Well," she said gaily, "I must admit he does respond to my blandishments."

"That is certainly not hard to comprehend." She felt secretly pleased, although she would have preferred him to be jealous.

"It will be no problem, no problem at all for me to get him to show me his study."

"I'm sure of that."

She laughed. The anxiety of the previous days had dissipated.

"What you do to me, Eduardo." She bent over and kissed his flaccid penis, caressing its shaft with her tongue. He lay quiet for some time, but he did not grow hard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My mind seems to be on other things. And I am anxious about your safety. You had better leave."

"Must I, Eduardo?"

"Please, Marie. Your safety is essential."

She searched her mind for some excuse to stay.

"Can I see the pictures again?" she asked, proud of her cunning. He looked at her archly.

"But I thought...."

"One more time. It would be better to be sure."

He bent under the bed, found his brief case, and pulled out the envelope and pictures, handing them to her. She spread them over the bed and studied them for some time. She felt his breath on her bare shoulder.

"Well?" he asked.

"I want to be sure that I have explored all the alternatives." She stroked her chin, feigning absorption. But it was his nearness that held her attention. Finally she turned toward him and her lips sought his, her body pressing against him.

"You are my life, Eduardo. There is nothing else in my life anymore but you."

Although she hadn't intended it, the words seemed like a warning. When she released him, he gathered up the pictures and replaced them in the envelope, then returned them to the brief case.

"Everything else in my life is pointless," she said, unafraid now, caution gone. He must know, she told herself. "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything."

"Please, Marie," he said. "You must go. I fear for your life."

"And what of yours, Eduardo?"

His eyes averted hers.

"I am fully prepared to die."

"If you die, I die."

"You mustn't talk like that. It is my cause."

"And now mine."

He was silent for a while. She sensed that he was choosing his words. If only she knew what he was thinking.

"Are you sure about the room now?"

"Yes."

"And you have the device?"

"It is perfectly safe." She had put it in her jewelry box.

"The Chilean people will be grateful."

"That is ridiculous." She was suddenly angry. I am not doing this for the Chilean people, she wanted to tell him. "It is for you, Eduardo, for you." She drew him toward her, caressing him, feeling again the fury of her sexuality and the joy of discovering his response again. He grew hard. She felt a sense of victory. "I love you. That is all that matters to me. There is nothing else." She drew him inside of her and she felt her happiness again, her fullness as a woman, and nothing else truly mattered.

She arrived at the Chilean Embassy in a low-cut gown, designed to display as much of her upper flesh as was appropriate for a diplomatic event. Taking great pains with her toilette, she began early in the day, fussing with her eyes and skin as she never had before.

"Still at it?" Claude called from the living room. Previously, before Eduardo, his impatience would have been close to rage and he would have railed and cursed, his anger resounding through the house. And she would have been suitably obedient and deferential. Not now. She was contemptuous of the absurdity of his blandness and she deliberately stalled the final touches to her hair.

"Please, Marie. It's growing late."

She wanted to make a grand entrance, which was not diplomatic etiquette but, for her purposes, a necessary gesture to draw attention to herself. It would take some doing to get the ambassador to take her to his study, and despite her previous optimism, she was not without trepidation and had spent the last few days mulling over the possibilities that might defeat her purpose. I cannot fail, she told herself, removing the device from the jewelry box and placing it in a little pouch that she had constructed within her dress, dead center, where the slope of her dress reached its lowest point. She could simply slip out the device by reaching between her breasts and placing it in one of the alternative places shown in the pictures.

"Hurry, Marie. Please," Claude pleaded. She looked at the clock. She was already a half hour late. He was at the foot of the stairs as she moved down, tightening an earring, her purse held under her arm.

"You look exquisite, Marie," Claude said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. She was pleased, only because he had validated her own assessment. A beautiful woman was an enormous asset in the diplomatic world, she knew, stimulating courtliness and a display of manners and quaint archness which passed for communication in the ritual of diplomatic socializing.

"I have never seen you looking so radiant," Claude said as they drove to the Chilean Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue.

"Thank you," she said confidently.

"And I love you," he whispered, the words meaningless. She deliberately did not acknowledge them.

When they arrived at the embassy, the guests were still having cocktails in the front drawing room. With a quick sweep of her eye, she noted that there were approximately sixty guests, noting on the posted seating list that there would be six tables of ten. She looked at the six wheels. She had, as she had surmised and hoped, been seated next to Ambassador Pallett, at his left, as protocol required that a guest ambassador's wife be seated at the host ambassador's right.

In the foyer, the ambassador and his wife greeted her and Claude with kisses and compliments. She squeezed the ambassador's hand to heighten whatever effect she might be having.

"You are exquisite," he whispered, his lips lingering on her cheek a shade longer than might be appropriate. Then he led them into the front drawing room, where black-tied waiters passed silver trays of drinks. She felt the ambassador's eyes washing over her even as he passed through the crowds, playing the affable host. She watched him peripherally, circling the room, and occasionally when she turned full face, she would deliberately lock her eyes with his, encouraging his attentions. She knew that he was heading for her, merely performing the expected social rituals.

Eduardo had explained that the ambassador's study was on the same floor as the reception rooms, behind the double staircases that rose on either side of a large chandelier. It had seemed a simple process to find the study and plant the device, but suddenly confronted with the imminence of the plan, she began to question its simplicity. She felt conspicuous and was beginning to regret her deliberate attempt to call attention to herself. Perhaps it was the wrong strategy, she wondered, wishing that she could somehow will herself to be invisible.

"Your scent is positively divine." It was the ambassador's voice. She turned quickly, felt the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched blatantly downward into her décolletage. If only he knew, she thought, feeling her attack of anxiety vanish.

"You're very flattering," she said, moving closer to give him a better vantage for his obvious interest. "And your home is always so breathtakingly beautiful."

"Yes, I agree. We Chileans have an eye for beautiful things." His meaning was unmistakable.

"I would love a grand tour," she requested quietly.

"It would be a pleasure to show you around."

"I'd love to see where you live and work."

"Well, actually, we have our main offices a few blocks away. Mostly, this is a residence." Another of the guests had come up to join them and his voice had become considerably more formal.

"You do not perform any official functions here?" It was an insipid question. As a knowledgeable diplomatic wife, she knew the answer. But she was determined to plant in his mind the idea of the study. He exchanged a few words with the other guest, a silver-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. The ambassador grabbed him under the elbow and they moved away to join another group, but she knew he was merely depositing him in another place.

"So you will give me the grand tour?" she asked when he had returned.

"I look forward to it."

"And you will be the only tour leader?" It was a bold probe, but his reaction reassured her. His voice seemed to take on a new intimacy.

"I wouldn't think of sharing the experience," he whispered.

"Nor I," she said, feeling ridiculous as she watched the man puff up again like a bird. He looked at his watch, excused himself with a conspiratorial wink, then announced to the guests that dinner was to be served, and the group entered the adjoining dining room.

"You've made quite a hit with the ambassador," Claude whispered as he brought her into the dining room. "And see where he has placed you." He could not conceal his pride in her.

"He's rather a pleasant fellow," she said.

"Lucky, I'd say." He bent over and kissed her cheek. "To have you for the evening." Claude's fawning added to her contempt. He had never expressed jealousy if she had been flirtatious with men of greater rank and importance. Claude seated her and went off to another table.

Before she had lifted her fork, she felt the ambassador's leg against hers, stroking it as he talked animatedly with the woman at his right. Deliberately she held her leg inert until the main dish was served and she deemed it appropriate to return the pressure. His face glowed with pleasure as he turned toward her.

"I'm afraid I've been neglecting you," he said. He had, she knew, overcompensated by giving the ambassador's wife more than her fair share of attention.

"I don't feel neglected." The reference was pointed and she increased her pressure on his leg, which he eagerly returned.

"I am, you know, tremendously interested in Chile."

"Ah," he said warmly. "I'm delighted."

"Frankly, I don't quite understand what's happening there. It is all so confusing."

"Yes," he said. "We are having our troubles. We had not expected things to come to this. We are a beautiful country, a beautiful people."

She thought of Eduardo, his passion, his fear. It annoyed her to see Eduardo's enemy so vulnerable.

"You Americans do not understand us. We are an example of the failure of civilian government. It is, thankfully for you, beyond your comprehension." His leg continued to rest against hers; then it began to move in a steady rhythm. She could feel his anticipation. Yet she wanted suddenly to talk about terror, thinking of Eduardo and his anxieties.

"We read all sorts of things about your intelligence services."

He stopped the movement against her leg. His eyes opened in surprise and she wondered if she had gone too far. Then the stroking began again, and she returned the pressure to reassure him.

"The activities of our intelligence services are much exaggerated. We must protect ourselves as you do. The French, the Americans, the Israelis are amazingly efficient. And the CIA is everywhere. Why should a country like Chile be singled out? We have been given few alternatives."

She retreated into the familiar cliché of trivial femininity.

"I don't understand such things. I only know what I have read in the American press."

"We live in a dangerous world, Madame LaFarge."

"Marie," she added quickly.

"Marie," he seemed to savor the name as if he were tasting the first sip of a rare wine. Then she felt his hand touch her thigh. Even he must have realized that he had gone too far. He dropped his napkin, then quickly bent to retrieve it, watching the faces around him. But no one noticed, and he quickly moved to converse with the ambassador's wife on his right, his leg not leaving hers. He seemed to have increased the pressure, an accurate gauge, she thought, of his excitement.

She touched the spot between her breasts where she had placed the device, then began to talk to a little man on her left, who appeared to be hard of hearing. He smiled benignly. She knew he had not heard a word she uttered.

After the dessert, which she ate with unaccustomed eagerness, more out of nervousness than desire, the ambassador clinked his glass and stood up. He cleared his throat and, watching her, began what seemed like an elaborate toast to his guests, who were all characterized as distinguished, the ladies portrayed as elegant and beautiful. He looked toward her pointedly as he made this reference and she felt Claude's eyes resting on her, his pride certainly unbounded as if he were receiving a compliment for a pet orchid that he had grown himself. It was all so brittle and insincere, without any meaning for her, irrelevant to her new life. This is absurd, she thought. Yet she knew her face was beaming up at him, hopefully glowing with admiration.

When he sat down, his leg immediately took up its accustomed place and she bent over and whispered to him, "You were quite marvelous." But his reaction was deterred by another man who rose to make a countertoast, also complimenting the beauty of the ladies, but his eyes were on the wife of the Chilean ambassador, who certainly deserved the accolade.

Finally the guests rose and the men and women were separated in the old tradition, the women off to the front drawing room for coffee and the men to a back parlor to enjoy brandy, coffee and cigars.

"I know it's all very archaic," the ambassador said, "but we follow the tradition. Sometimes we get complaints, but after all, diplomats may be allowed some leeway in following the amenities."

She shrugged. He was obviously embarrassed now that the moment of truth had arrived, stealing a glance at his wife among the group of departing ladies.

"I hope it is the appropriate time for me to collect my special good fortune." She wondered if she had inadvertently winked, for he immediately blushed and led her quickly to the foyer.

"The house was built with perfect symmetry," the ambassador said. "The two drawing rooms are identical, as you can see, although the colors and furnishings are deliberately different." He seemed to have assumed a formal approach and she wondered if he were actually frightened that his private tour might be misconstrued by an observant guest. It was only after he had passed through the drawing room, out of sight of the others, that he began to loosen up.

"And this is the library," he said, taking her arm, squeezing it, then in a quick motion sliding the door shut. With his back to the high doors, she could see his arm move behind him and turn the lock. Quickly, she looked toward the end of the large library to what Eduardo had explained was the entrance to the study. But before she could turn her head back to face him, he was pressed up against her, his lips searching for hers. She let him kiss her, felt her lips pried open and his tongue shoot into her mouth. A hand slid itself down into her bodice and caressed a nipple.

"I'm wild for you, Marie," he whispered.

"Please. Not now. Your guests."

Gently, she moved him away. His face had flushed a deep scarlet.

"And what's in there?" she asked, feigning breathlessness and patting her hair. At first, he seemed puzzled by the question.

"In there?" She wondered if he would understand the implication of her inquiry. Where it's safer, you ass. Must I say it? He came toward her again and put his arms around her, kissing her neck.

"It can't be safe here," she said.

"I've locked the door."

"Still.... "He kissed her again and she let her hand fall limp, feeling his hardness against the backs of her fingers. "Please. I am afraid."

Again, she managed to release herself and moved toward the door of the study. He pursued her and as he kissed her again, she turned the handle. The door was locked. She felt a sudden burst of anger and pushed him away.

"Not here."

"I want you," he said.

"Not here," she replied firmly. She could see the bulge in his pants and, looking up at his face, noted his confusion. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a key chain and quickly opened the study door. Eduardo would be proud of her cunning, she thought. Had he known that the door would be locked? She moved into the study, searching for signs of familiarity as she converted the pictures in her memory to the reality of the room. The ambassador shut the door behind him and clicked the lock with some flourish, designed to alleviate her fears. She moved quickly to the bookcases behind the antique desk. He did not lose a second in pursuit, gathering her into his arms again, pressing his lips tightly against her own, his body pressing against hers as she searched for a place to put the device. His hand groped at her buttocks and she could feel the relentlessness of his erection now. There was no escape, she knew, as she spotted a place for the device inside the jacket of one of the books. She managed to turn in his arms and place her back against him. His arms came around her, feeling for her breasts, and she reached backward for his erection.

"This is madness," she said, turning her head toward him, but still facing the bookcases.

"I must have you," he murmured. "I must."

She bent over and lifted her gown, gathering it around her waist and leaning forward. With one hand she gripped the edge of a bookcase. Anticipating the situation, she had worn no encumbering underthings. She heard the sound of his zipper and then he was groping for her, plunging his erection in the general direction of her parts. She was dry, but reaching for him, she managed to insert him. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain. I must endure this, she told herself repetitively as she reached into her bodice for the device. Then, finding it, she slipped it quickly under the dust jacket of a book. Behind her, his body moved like a piston. This must end. Please! Fortunately he reached a climax quickly, and he stepped away, releasing her.

She turned and let her dress fall, smoothing it. His face was beet red and he was sweating profusely.

"I can't tell you how much pleasure...."

"Quickly," she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the room. She noted that he still retained enough presence of mind to relock the study door. He passed through the library, unfastened the latch, and they moved back into the foyer.

To her relief, the powder room in the foyer was empty and she stepped in. Her knees were shaking and she was seized with a sudden fit of nausea. The recently eaten dessert seemed to turn sour in her stomach and she gagged, disgorging the half-digested mess into the toilet. When she recovered herself, she cleaned herself up, repaired her makeup, and went back to join the guests. In the foyer mirror she noted that all her rouge could not hide the unaccustomed whiteness, the pallor. Had Eduardo expected this, she wondered as she forced a smile and entered the drawing room to join the ladies.