“How can you say that? How can you do this? Did I ever give you that choice?” She swung around to him, her voice rising in sudden accusation. “You’ve been away nine weeks, Pascal. You said it would be three, at the most four. It’s nine. Did I do this to you? Did I say, if you love me, Pascal, you’ll get the next flight out of Sarajevo and come back? Did I ever say that?”

“You’re suggesting the situation is the same? Dear God, what’s the matter with you? Was I involved with a woman out there? No, I was not. I was faithful to you—I couldn’t have been anything else—and you damn well knew that. I left you in no doubt as to my feelings, not when I spoke to you, not when I wrote. I’m not asking you to choose between me and your work now. I’m asking you to choose which matters more to you—me, or the man who persuaded you into bed last night.”

“He did not do that—I told you. And he has nothing to do with this. I’m asking for a few days, that’s all—Pascal, I can’t explain. In Amsterdam—I swore to myself I’d do this.”

“You’ve sworn a lot of things.” He gestured at the letters he had tossed aside on the bed. “You want to remind yourself of some of the things you swore to me? You’ve obviously forgotten them. They can’t have been too deeply meant.”

“That isn’t true! Pascal—can’t you understand? I’m not trying to excuse what I did. But you must see—while you were away my life didn’t just stop. I was alone, week after week. I was changed by what I saw in Bosnia—and I couldn’t tell you about that. I couldn’t tell you how ill and desperate and mad I felt. I wanted you to be free, so you could work—and so I couldn’t even tell you how much I longed to have you back. Do you know how hard it was not saying that? Week after week. I was so sure you’d come back for Christmas. I was certain—I can make up films too, Pascal, did you ever think of that? I can imagine. I had this Christmas film in my head. I saw—oh, stupid things, perhaps, our first Christmas together. In our apartment. A tree. I bought a tree. And stars. I bought you presents and wrapped them up. And then you didn’t come.”

“Gini?” He moved toward her. “Darling—what are you saying? You told me none of this. At Christmas you said it didn’t matter. You said we’d have Christmas when I came back. You said—”

“I know what I said.” She could no longer control the tears that had begun to spill down her face. “But it wasn’t what I thought. What I felt. I hoped—I was so sure that you must understand. I thought—even Pascal can’t stay out there forever. He must miss me. He must want to come back. And then—it was when I saw Helen. I had lunch with Helen, and she said—”