He let her take his hand and lead him out of the living room and into his bedroom. The shutters were open and the light from the streetlamps shimmered in bright yellow flecks through the drops of rain on the window, tiny needles of light in the darkness. He let her slip off his jacket and tie and start undoing the buttons of his shirt, and all the time he watched her green, speckled eyes. He still felt warmed by the drink, and the sadness had stayed with him. He felt her lips on his chest and he reached out and pressed her head close into him. It felt small and fragile and precious in his hand, her hair soft and silky so that it was almost like touching nothing. He felt the softness of her body pressing against him. All the curves and hollows. She stretched up and he kissed her and they slipped back on to the bed so that he felt all the nakedness of her skin against his – and he could not remember her having undressed.

They lay for some time, wrapped in each other, without having made love, until Bannerman slipped away into a deep alcoholic sleep. Sally looked at his fine features and ran her finger lightly over his face, feeling the roughness of a day’s growth on his jaw. She was glad that they had not made love. It made it easier to draw back, to avoid involvement.

She dressed slowly in the darkness and laid Bannerman’s clothes over the chair by the bed. Something fell from his trouser pocket and landed with a light thud on the carpet. She stooped and searched about and felt a key under her hand. He’d forgotten to put the key back under the mat. Quietly she left the room and pulled the door to and slipped down the hall. She opened the front door and replaced the key beneath the mat and heard footsteps and voices on the stair below. A glance at her watch told her it was nearly two. How was it possible that three hours had passed?

She shut the door and hurried back into the living room and was picking up her book as Slater slipped his key in the lock.

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE