“Who is this Jess that everyone keeps talking about?” Walter’s irritation at having his tête-à-tête with his son ruined was palpable. “A war is no place for a woman. And that’s why.” He indicated Amelia’s empty sleeve.

Dan heard Amelia’s gasp and felt his own body stiffen. He knew his father hadn’t meant to be cruel. And he also knew that Amelia would make Dan pay for that barb for months to come.

“You need to apologize to Amelia,” Dan said.

Walter shrugged. “The war is no place for a woman,” he repeated. “I’m sorry if you disagree.”

“That was hardly an apology,” Dan said sharply.

“My skin is thick, as you can see.” Amelia offered an ironic smile. “The apology will do. And in answer to your question, Walter, Jess—otherwise known as Jessica May—was a photojournalist we knew in Europe. She reported for Vogue. I wonder what she’s doing now? Not that it matters. She’d never be any competition for you or your Monsieur Durant. Women don’t win Pulitzers, I believe.”

“You’re damn right they don’t,” Walter said.

With that Amelia floated out of the room, the waft of her silk nightgown sending a draft through the room, the thickness of her scent lingering behind her.

“Now, where were we,” Walter muttered. He raised his glass. “Celebrating. May the best man win.” Walter tipped the whiskey down his throat and Dan at last allowed himself to sink into the nearest chair. May the best man win.

* * *

After his father had left, Dan went upstairs to his wife’s room and prepared to do what he should have done months ago. He pushed the door open and walked across to Amelia’s bed, where she lay feigning sleep.

Her eyes flickered and he saw, a millisecond before she was able to hide it, a look of resignation on her face. He almost laughed: that she seemed as uninterested in sleeping with him as he was in sleeping with her. Why then, continue with the charade?

“I haven’t come to seduce you,” he said dryly. “But rather to finish it. You can say I was the one who was adulterous in the divorce application. I’ll pay you a generous allowance; you’ll have the money you wanted, everyone will be happy.”

“You’ll be happy.” She sat up, leaning against the upholstered bedhead, the low-cut neckline of her nightgown showing him more of her flesh than he wanted to see but it stirred nothing in him.

“I think you will be too,” he said.

“It’s convenient for you to think so. But I’m happy with the way things are.”

“Really? You mean your first instinct when I sat down on your bed wasn’t to think of a reason you were indisposed? You want me the way a woman ordinarily wants the man she’s married to?”

“I think you’re confusing sexual attraction with marriage. They aren’t the same thing. One can be had without the other.” Amelia reached out to the bedside table, opened her cigarette case and lit up, blowing smoke into the room, reminding Dan of the smoke that had once danced through the Hotel Scribe when he’d lain in bed naked with Jess.