“Suffice to say”—Harry lit both cigars and took a puff—“that Genevieve is one of those girls who are pretty enough to have men falling all over them, and who are in love with drama. They have sufficient brain to know how to work a situation—how to manipulate a man’s feelings. And they don’t care how it ends. They’re in it for the ride, if you’ll excuse the expression. And that’s an irresistible but lethal cocktail in a woman. I can smell it a mile off, Robert. I’ve tasted it too often. Now, I’m not saying these girls are irredeemable—not altogether. But they don’t have a sense of responsibility. They don’t care about getting hurt or about hurting other people—and that is how good men like you and me end up with broken hearts.”

The cigar was blending evilly with the bourbon. The room was drifting about. Harry’s face loomed larger and larger.

“They have to grow up and learn responsibility, these girls, before it’s too late. Now, I suggested you hire Felperstone because I thought to myself, the sooner that boy sees it how it is, the sooner he can take action. You catch the lady before she falls, so to speak, and you can save her. You can save yourselves, both.”

That creak of the chair. How it taunted. A squealing from the upper room. Robert closed his eyes, and all he could see were the two bodies, side by side, like dolls. The holes in their heads.

“I’m mighty glad that she’s having a baby, Robert. Mighty glad. Now, if I were you, I’d get her on the first boat home you can manage.”

Robert was shaking his head. The movement was bigger than he wanted it to be, so that he almost lost balance on his chair. “What are you talking about, Harry? What? This is all your fantasy, don’t you see that? All this stuff about ‘these girls.’ It has nothing to do with me and my wife. Why, I could almost feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. Listen to me.”

“I should go home,” said Robert, stubbing out the cigar. “Or I’ll end up knocking you out. You know what? I think perhaps we shouldn’t meet anymore.”

He made to get up, but Harry put a hand on his arm.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this, Robert. But it’s the only way I’ll get through to you.”

“Tell me what?”

Harry sighed. “It was about a week ago. Maud saw Genevieve in the Jardins du Luxembourg. She was with a man.”

“What man?”

“They were kissing.”

“Friends kiss, don’t they? This is Paris.”

“Maud said it was obvious they were lovers. I’m sorry, friend.”

“What are you thinking?” Zachari asked. They’d just made love again, and Genevieve was lying in his arms.