It was almost eight thirty when we got to the Rossio. As soon as she saw Daisy, Iris stood and waved, as always, while Julia, as always, remained in her chair, smoking and gazing into the distance. In her quietude she resembled one of those sleepy settecento Madonnas whose smiles belie the horror and the apotheosis to come.
“Sorry we’re late,” Edward said as we sat down.
“What happened to your shirt?” Iris said.
“What happened to it? Dirt happened to it,” Edward said.
“And Daisy—she’s all dusty.”
“Dogs get dusty. Especially white dogs. It’s an occupational hazard.”
Iris lifted Daisy onto her lap and began picking through her coat. “I wish you’d take more care with her,” she said to Edward, tweezing a nugget of something from Daisy’s fur and holding it between her fingers to examine.
“My dear, if I could control the weather, I would, but it’s not within my power,” he said. “When it doesn’t rain, the soil gets dry. When the soil gets dry, dogs get dusty.”
“I’ll have to give her a bath tonight.” In one motion, Iris put Daisy down and pulled herself up. “Well, we’d better be going. We have a reservation at Negresco.”
“But I haven’t had a drink yet.”
“If you wanted a drink, you should have been on time. You can have a drink when we get there.”
With exaggerated, even comical, weariness, Edward hauled himself out of his chair. Iris handed him Daisy’s leash. Once again, there was that mysterious decoupling and recoupling, as at a train depot—only now it was Iris and I who were moving ahead, Julia and Edward who were falling behind.
“I thought you preferred to walk behind your husband,” I said to her, once we were far enough away that they couldn’t hear us.
She smiled cryptically. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that I must have a reason for wanting the four of us to have dinner together every night?” she said. “It’s because when we’re together, I know he won’t disappear. It’s the cavalier servente in him, he’d never do anything ungentlemanly in front of a woman. Well, besides me. And you have to admit, it’s only fair that I should get something out of the arrangement.”
“Such as?”
“Sleep. Since you came on the scene, I’ve been sleeping better than I have in years. I know that when I wake up, he’ll be there.”
I didn’t answer. I thrust my hands into my pockets, gripping the keys in my fist. Somehow the weight of them, at that moment, was a comfort.
“And while we’re on the subject of marriage, how are things with Julia?” Iris said.
“Funny, I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“Just a feeling I have.”
She laughed archly. “As usual, you overestimate my powers of clairvoyance.”
“It’s not your clairvoyance I’m worried about. It’s your influence.”
“Influence! What do you think I am, a Svengali?”
“I don’t know. That’s the trouble. Since she met you, Julia’s been acting … well, in a way she’s never acted before.”
“And you think that’s my doing?” Iris clicked her tongue. “This tendency men have to blame everyone but themselves for things! It’s almost funny … Hasn’t it occurred to you that it might be since she met Edward that she’s been acting differently? After all, it’s him you’re sleeping with.”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure they couldn’t hear us. “On your advice, I’ve made sure she doesn’t know that.”
“Oh, it’s true, you haven’t rubbed her nose in it. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know. She knows something’s up even if she doesn’t know what it is. Which only makes it worse.”
“Then why not tell her?”
“Well, why not break it off with Edward, if it comes to that?”
“I think you’re wrong. I don’t think Julia has the slightest clue what’s going on … Anyway, if I was the bastard you think I am, I could just say to her, ‘Fine, you stay in Sintra, I’ll go. When I get home, I’ll wire you money.’ Then there’d be no obstacle to my going on with Edward. But I haven’t done that, you’ll have noticed. I refuse to abandon my wife.”
“How noble of you.”
“My point is that I care enough about Julia to protect her. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Or are you afraid of how guilty you’d feel? Not that it matters, because you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. There’s more on Julia’s mind than going home.”
“Such as?”
Iris touched her hand to her forehead. “Oh dear, how do I put it? … I gather it’s been rather a long spell since you and she last had—what is it the courts call them? Conjugal relations?”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Of course, if it was par for the course, it would be one thing. But given that you’ve been such an amorous pair until now—twice a week on average, isn’t it?”
“Shut up. I can’t believe she told you that.”
“You really don’t know much about women, do you? Not that that comes as any surprise.” She stopped in her tracks, turned to look me in the eye. “All right, here’s some education for you. Women aren’t like men. They’ll talk about anything with each other. Anything … Why, Pete, you look positively stricken! Poor thing, you’re such an innocent in some ways. Such a novice. You think there’s a protocol to all this—that if you make love to your wife, it’ll be tantamount to cheating on your lover. But there are no rules here. We’re beyond rules … Anyway, if you’re worried what Edward will think, you can relax. I promise not to breathe a word. It’ll be our little secret.”
“And why should I trust you—about anything?”
“You shouldn’t. But you should believe me.”
Our spouses had now caught up with us. “Sorry about that,” Edward said, a little breathlessly. “Daisy slowed us down.”
“You shouldn’t let her stop to lick everything,” Iris said. “God knows what’s been spilled on the pavements around here.”
“It’s not just that she stops to lick at everything. It’s that she’s old. She can’t move the way she used to.”
“She moves just fine with me.” Iris made a sound like a gear shifting. “Oh, Pete, I meant to tell you—this afternoon Julia showed me the pictures of your apartment in Vogue. It turned out we’d already seen it—only we hadn’t realized it was yours.”
“I’m not surprised, since our name wasn’t given.”
“I thought the couple in question was called Client,” Edward said.
“They’re rather dramatic rooms,” Iris said. “So … uncluttered.”
“It’s true,” I said. “Whenever I was in them, I always felt as if I was spoiling an effect.”
“Out of curiosity, why didn’t you give your name?” Edward said.
“It was Julia’s decision. I remember at the time I said, ‘But, darling, if we don’t give our name, how will your family know it’s our apartment?’ And she said, ‘My family would consider it the height of vulgarity to give our name.’ In so many more ways than she cares to admit, my wife is her mother’s daughter.”
“Your memory is off,” Julia said. “We made the decision jointly. We didn’t want to seem to be showing off.”
“Well, but why have an apartment in Vogue in the first place if not to show off?” I said.
“Don’t be facetious.”
“Actually, I think Pete has a point,” Iris said. “I mean, one would want to show off an apartment like that. Certainly I would.”
“In any case, I don’t see why you’re kicking up such a fuss about it now,” I said. “It’s not as if you were ever happy there.”
“Of course I was happy there.”
“Really? As I recall, you were always worried about spilling something on the carpet, or knocking over a lamp, or scratching something. It was why we never had people over.”
“That’s not true. We did have people over.”
“And then that leather desk you wouldn’t let me use—”
“One doesn’t use a desk like that—”
“Then what’s the point of having it?”
“Living among beautiful things is its own reward.”
“I agree,” Iris said. “Beautiful things lead to beautiful thoughts.”
“No beautiful thoughts were ever thought in that apartment,” I said bitterly. “At least by any of its inhabitants.”
“Is there a reason you’re being so horrid?” Julia said.
“I wish your decorator could have had a go at our house,” Iris said. “So much clutter! Eddie’s one of those people who’ll never throw anything away.”
“As if it makes any difference now,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Julia said.
“Well, how likely is it that any of us are ever coming back to France?”
“Iris, will you excuse me?” Julia said. “I’m not feeling terribly well. I don’t think I’m up to dinner.”
“Julia,” Iris said.
But she was gone. It was remarkable how fast my wife could move when she wanted to. She was like Daisy in that regard.
Suddenly Iris turned to me. “Good God, what were you thinking?” she said.
“What do you mean? If she doesn’t feel well—”
“Are you mad? Go after her. She might do something.”
“Yes,” Edward repeated, almost hissing. “Go after her.”
I looked at him. His face was contorted with something like rage. And I thought: Of course. He cannot bear other people’s scenes—only his own.