“You’re great, baby. Imagine if you loosened up.” She sighed. “You’re so vanilla.”

“I have to go,” he said, and let himself out, as fast as he could manage it.

As he stood waiting for the elevator, he thought he heard her laughing, back in the apartment; yes, she was definitely laughing. But it didn’t sound amused, it sounded bitter. They were sometimes like that, particularly when the sex had been especially athletic, or passionate. Because no matter what happened in bed, he was up and dressing seconds after he had finished. It offended some of the girls; too brutally honest, perhaps, about the transaction.

Karen had revenged herself nicely, though, if that had been her intent. Talk of sex toys and other girls . . . boys . . . dressing up.

Because it was just sex, wasn’t it? Any kind of friction or titillation, she didn’t care, and she didn’t see why he should care. He found every such suggestion disgusting, and felt cheapened, completely, by it. They were the same motions, the same sensations, as with Georgie, but that had been so precious to him. There was nothing in common except the relief.

The elevator came and he climbed into it, pressing the button for the lobby. He wished he wouldn’t have to think of Georgie at times like this. But he always did. This time seemed worse than usual.

He wouldn’t use this girl again, but it made no difference. There was that vile sense of having betrayed her, somehow; yet he had never cheated on her, never wanted to, not even for a minute.

I’m sorry, he said to her, quietly. Forgive me.

She would always have forgiven him, of course. He wasn’t sure that he could forgive himself.

It was a balmy night, and he decided to walk back to his hotel instead of taking a cab, to breathe and think, and work through the disgust. He was tempted to promise himself he would never do it again, but that resolution was so shallow, this time he didn’t bother even to make it.

Somehow that was the most depressing thing of all.

The street lights beckoned him on. WALK, DON’T WALK . . . everything spelled out. He wished life were that easy. Oh well, at least, if his pattern were to repeat, he would not need a woman again for at least two months. Karen had been unusual, for him to succumb quite so soon after the last girl. He wondered what the trigger had been; the deal, the stress? Montfort doubted it. He lived for work.

After a few moments it came to him. He had been restless, charged, since the night of the benefit gala, since his meeting with Sophie Massot.

He took another shower as soon as he got back to the hotel, washed the smell of her off him, the sweat and heavy perfume she used.