“A mistake?”

“No.” She met his eyes steadily. “No, I would never say that. But it’s something neither of us meant to happen, or even wanted to happen. And then it did happen. If we never think of it again, never speak of it…”

“Treat it as a momentary aberration?” He was watching her intently.

“No. I’m not sure…” Gini flinched. “Maybe. How would you define that word—exactly define it?”

“I can give you a dictionary definition. It’s a straying from the path, a deviation from type.”

“That, then,” she said, grasping at the word. “A straying. Something neither of us would have thought of, or allowed, or planned in normal circumstances.”

“Were these circumstances so abnormal?” He removed his hand and sat up.

“Yes. I think they were.”

“A room. A man and a woman? An unexpected choice? Is that so abnormal?”

“It felt that way.” She turned away from his gaze. “I love Pascal. Rowland, none of this alters that.”

He gave her a sharp, questioning look but said nothing. He rose, reached for his clothes, and began to dress.

Gini sat up, watching him, pleating the sheets in her hand. She wondered if he thought her naïve, or disingenuous; he judged her as a self-deceiver, perhaps. And at that, a memory came back to her, an incident from her past she disliked to recall.

“I was warned of this once,” she began in an agitated way. Rowland turned to look at her, in the act of fastening his belt.

“A man warned me. His name doesn’t matter, and he’s dead now, in any case. He told me—these things happen, and they get under every guard. Duty, ethics, vows—even love. He said nothing was an adequate defense against—”

“Against what?”

“All of this.” Gini gestured sadly to the bed. “Sexual desire. Sexual attraction. Suddenly wanting someone so badly, you can’t think. He warned me how powerful that could be. I was angry. I told him he was wrong.” She rose. “That was a year ago. He was killed a few days afterward. I now see he was right.”

“Was this man your lover?”

“No. Absolutely not. I was working on a story about him, that’s all. I was with Pascal. I don’t sleep around, Rowland, all right?”

“I didn’t think that. I wasn’t suggesting that…” He hesitated, then buckled the belt, reached for his tie and jacket.

“We’ll do as you suggest,” he went on, his manner becoming brusque. “This never happened. It was a dream. A hallucination. A departure from the prescribed plot.”

“I’ll describe it to Pascal that way, shall I?” Gini said, averting her face.

“Do you tell Pascal all your dreams, all your imaginings?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I wouldn’t mention this one.”

“Lie, you mean?”

“Lie by omission. Yes.”

Gini hesitated, looking at him. He had turned away from her so she could not see his face.

“Do you lie, Rowland? Do you lie well?”

“Very well. When necessary. Yes.”

“Would you lie to me?”