“Brusque. Shabby. Stereotypically male. I’ve had some practice at that.”

She smiled again, then, her eyes filling with tears, shook her head.

“I’m glad you stopped. I’d have hated that. It would have meant I was wrong about you—that you were less than I thought.” She hesitated, then looked up at him with an expression half doubtful, half pleading.

“May I say something else instead? It’s brief, I promise you—and I probably shouldn’t say it, but…”

“Tell me.”

“I could love you, Rowland…” She gave a small gasp, or sigh, as she said this, as if the words shocked her as much as they did him. She jerked her face away as if ashamed, then turned back, clasping his hands. “Oh, God—I think that’s true. I think I knew that—but I don’t know why. When I walked into that room here with you, when you began talking—it was before you touched me, I’m sure of that. I think it’s why I went to bed with you—but that might just be an excuse. Except no. No…” She shook her head angrily. “It isn’t an excuse—that’s how it was. Something came at me, out of the air, I hadn’t foreseen it, I promise you that. It wasn’t a matter of strategy, decisions… I just… I could see all the possible consequences very clearly. I could hear them, Rowland, shouting away in my head—all the lies, the misery, the betrayal of trust, the hurt to someone I loved—someone I still love. Oh, God…” Her face contorted. “I could see—all those consequences, all those barriers—and I still did it. I’m not proud of that, but I can’t be ashamed of it either. I could—I could sense something, there in the room with us, and it felt bright, Rowland, good, like hope, like a promise—no, not like a promise, like a glimpse, just a glimpse of another future, and I… oh, God. I shouldn’t be saying this—”

She broke off, her eyes filling with tears, and bent her head. She had begun to tremble as she spoke. Rowland was deeply moved; everything she attempted to describe, in all its flimsiness and strength, he, too, had felt. He said her name and drew her into his arms. “Darling,” he began. “I understand. I know exactly what you mean. Listen to me, Gini.”

“No. No.” She drew back from him a little, then clung to him again. “No—you must listen, Rowland. Please listen. Don’t touch me—I have to finish this. I have to make a choice, I know that. I’ve known for days. I’ve been thinking and thinking—I’ve thought of nothing else. I have to decide. And I’ve chosen, Rowland—I’ve already chosen. I’m going to stay with Pascal. Rowland, he loves me—I have to do that.”

“No, you don’t.” He caught her to him again and forced her to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to decide—not yet. You shouldn’t even be trying to decide, not now. You should wait—think. Gini, listen—you think that was nothing to me, what happened here between us? You say you could love me? Why do you say that—why? You know it’s much closer, much stronger than that…”