Why, she said, the box! Then you did get the box!

Reminded of an incident, this was as cold as glass, as dead as Muriel Raphael.

Yes, he said. I supposed at first it was Muriel. Then when it wasn’t, somehow one just didn’t think to inquire.

She sat in a kind of horrified excitement.

I’m glad, Elyot. I thought I’d lost. I left it at a fruit shop. I wanted you to have the box.

She was glad, but doubtful, her voice, her face.

It was very thoughtful of you, Connie. Will you have more tea?

Behind the thick glass, she sat concentrated on some issue that seemed to be taking control of her. He wanted in defence to give her tea.

I would have spoken, she said, and then I thought – Well, after all, the box was lost. But I’ve wanted, Elyot, to speak about many things. I mean, Elyot, there’s such a lot I might do. If only you’d ask me I’d do – do anything you asked.

Her breath fell quickly on the agitated cushion of her under-lip, before she turned, she had to, not exactly hide in a corner, but the face of shame. He noticed that the calves of her legs quivered, full, round, in the black stockings, agonized with shame.

It’s always been like that. You wouldn’t know, she said. But perhaps it might be different. Now. I don’t ask for much. I’m not used to much.

He was fascinated by the calves, which continued to quiver through a situation, to intensify the daze and blur of its unreality. Something sat on his stomach that he could not lift, or the voice to protest, against the heavy, possessive emotionalism of Connie Tiarks. Vaguely, but unconvincingly, he said: This is a moment for gratitude, this is the reaction that convention expects, and a quiet wedding, in The Times, on account of bereavement. Out of just how many similar situations, the moment of sticky, emotional sympathy, had developed quasi-solutions? He had to stop the trembling of the calves.

That’s to undervalue yourself, he said.

She listened with her whole body.

Connie, I don’t see why you shouldn’t, shall we say, expect more.

Because somehow he had to withdraw from the quagmire of emotion in which the body quivered.

Elyot, you’re so – so kind. But there’s nothing I can – nothing I want to expect. Nothing any more.

Turning, she was over-lifesize. Her face had swollen with the tears that hadn’t fallen. Intensity had stripped her. She was almost naked.

Elyot, if you’d understand, she panted. With your kindness. I could help. We’re not meant to live in isolation. We’re – I could love you, she gasped.

It became an advance, in space, the arms, he could feel the breasts of Connie Tiarks, her now unguarded desperation. Impulse was to push away the eiderdown that stifled. But behind his resisting hands, he knew he had to speak.

Listen, Connie, he said. This isn’t the way. This isn’t the way for either of us. Though honestly, I don’t know what is. Yet.