THE APARTMENT WAS DARK and silent. Genevieve closed the front door as quietly as she could, slipped off her shoes and tiptoed to her room. Still half-dressed, she sat on her bed, staring into space. She was home, safe and sound, so why didn’t she feel safe? Why couldn’t she just laugh off the evening, feel relieved that Robert was fast asleep, then go to sleep herself?

Two knocks at the door. “Genevieve?” A fumbling of the doorknob. “It’s locked! What do you think you’re at, locking the door against me?”

“Darling, it’s nothing personal. I always lock my door at night. It’s just a habit.”

“A habit? Open it at once.”

She made a yawning sound. “Oh, Robert, can’t it wait till morning, whatever it is? I was sound asleep until a moment ago.”

“That’s rot. It’s not fifteen minutes since you came through that front door. I heard you.”

“I’m so tired, I just flopped on the bed and went straight off to sleep.”

A creak of a floorboard. Was he returning to his room?

“It’s after four, Genevieve!”

“Goodness, is it? No wonder I’m so tired.” She pulled off her slip and reached for her nightdress. “Do go back to bed, there’s a dear. I’m frightfully exhausted.”

“Genevieve!” He was shouting now. “I order you to open this door. Immediately.”

And now a thud, as though he’d hit it with his two fists. Or his head.

“All right, I’m coming. Just calm down.” She tried to keep her voice even—tried to stop her hands from shaking as she turned the key in the lock.

His face was pale. His fists clenched and unclenched. And yet there was something lost about him. He was unable to sustain his fury now that the door was open and they were facing each other. “Where have you been?”

“I was at a party with Lulu. You know that.”

“For all this time?”

“Then we went to another party. I wanted to come home, but I was worried about her. She gets herself into such scrapes. She’d had rather too much to drink, you see.”

He sighed. Raked his hand through his hair.

“Do you want to come in?” She did her best to soften her tone, but it wasn’t easy.

“Thank you. Yes.” He was shuffling about the room now, his hands thrust deep in his dressing gown pockets. “Frankly, Genevieve, I’m getting mighty sick of your independent ways.”

“It shan’t happen again. I promise.” She stared down at her hands and lectured herself. Go to him. Put your arms around him. Soothe his anger away. But still she sat there, picking at her nails.

“I don’t want you gadding about town with Lulu. Not anymore.”

“No. Of course.” There’s only one way this can end. Go to him. Get it over with.