“I wonder if you really mean that.” He glanced away, then back. “Perhaps you do. I can’t tell anymore. I wish you’d told me at the time. My reaction might have been different from the one you expected—who knows? As it is, perhaps it’s just as well. Presumably you changed your mind, did you, when you had that conversation with Helen, and you suddenly realized what a very unsuitable father I’d make?” The words were coolly said; the blood rushed into Gini’s face.

“No—I did not,” she said. “That wasn’t what I thought, not exactly. I told you. I wasn’t well. I couldn’t think clearly. I was afraid, terribly afraid. You have a child already. You might not have wanted a child with me.”

“I would certainly have resisted making a decision in Bosnia.” His voice remained cool. “A decision like that—it determines the next eighteen, twenty years of your life. It wouldn’t have been wise to rush into it then, in a war zone, when we were both under stress. You always told me how important your work was to you—in fact, you’ve been reminding me of that just now. So I would have suggested we wait until we had returned to London, had time to think—” He bent and picked up his camera case. “As it is, of course, it’s irrelevant now. Out of the question. You have all these requirements for the father of your children, and I don’t measure up to them. You’ve made that clear.”

“Pascal—please. I know what you’re going to say next. Don’t. I know you so well—if you say it, there’ll be no going back.”

“I know it’s hurtful. It still has to be said.” He gave her a long, steady, and regretful look, then moved toward the door. “I have a child, Gini. I know what that involves. If you have requirements for any future father of your children, doesn’t it occur to you that I have requirements also? I know what I would want in any future wife, in the mother of any children I might have. This time—” He hesitated. “This time I’d want to be sure that there was love on both sides. The kind of love that didn’t waver, that would endure. Responsibility, fidelity—all those things.” His voice became bitter. “Above all, like most men, I would want to be totally sure that any child my wife gave birth to was actually mine.” He paused. “You can be very self-absorbed, Gini. Even so, I imagine you can understand that.”

The final reproach was gently made; Gini had never felt such shame. With a low cry she held out her hand to him.

“Pascal, wait Whatever I did—I do love you. I still love you. I can’t bear to hear you say these terrible things. I wish none of this had happened. I’d give anything to put the clock back. But you could trust me. I’d never—you could come to trust me again. Please—we could move beyond this eventually, you said we could.”