Chapter Thirty-six

His shoulder hurt, but he was able to walk up the stairs by himself. ‘It’s all right,’ he said to the detective who was following him, ‘I’ve got a key, I can open the door on my own.’

‘Sure you can manage?’

‘Quite sure. Good night.’

Anna lay on the sofa asleep, wearing an old dressing gown of his – she had always been too lazy to buy one for herself. Copies of women’s magazines were scattered round her, on the floor. The French clock on the mantelpiece said a quarter to twelve. He spoke her name, and she opened her eyes.

‘Bill.’ She sat up, shaking herself like a dog. The dressing gown fell open. ‘I thought you’d gone for good. But what’s the matter? You’re hurt.’

‘It’s nothing much,’ he said, absurdly heroic. ‘I was shot in the shoulder.’

‘Why, Bill. Who shot you?’

‘A ghost. A shadow out of the past I’ve been so busy running away from. A gigantic shadow.’ He felt weak, and sat down suddenly on the sofa.

‘You ought to be in bed.’

He felt wonderfully weary, but he said, ‘I’ve got something to do first. Get my wallet.’

‘You’re delirious.’

‘Get out my wallet, I tell you. I can’t use my left arm. Now, you’ll find an envelope. Yes, that’s the one. With two air tickets in it.’

She looked at them, and then looked at the clock. ‘For midnight. To Tangier.’

‘I told you I was trying to run away. Give me a box of matches.’

‘But Bill – oh, all right. I hope you’re not delirious, that’s all.’ He clumsily struck a match and lit the tickets. They watched them burn to ash. ‘That’s what it was all about – Westmark and all that?’ she asked timidly.

‘Yes.’

‘And now you’ve given it up?’

‘It was a pipe dream. I thought I was making a break with the past, but it was just a pipe dream. I was running away, but you can never run fast enough to get away from a shadow.’

‘So you’ve come back to me. Well, I’m no pipe dream.’ Her eyes strayed towards the box of liqueur chocolates, then she looked guiltily away. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Anna, let’s get married.’

‘Married?’ She felt his forehead, her face full of concern.

‘You know you can get a divorce. Then we’ll get married. It’s what you want, isn’t it? And tomorrow morning I’ll ring Charlie and ask about that job.’

‘You’re running a temperature,’ she said decidedly. ‘You’d better get to bed.’

‘Anna, don’t be a fool. I told you, I’ve been playing round for weeks with a pipe dream. Now I’m trying to face reality, and I need a little help. Don’t you understand?’

‘Is that what you call getting married to me – facing reality?’ She reached over, took one of the liqueur chocolates, and settled at his feet among the women’s magazines. With a sigh of contentment she said, ‘I never knew reality could be so nice.’