“Do you know what I want?” Monteray’s hand closed over hers. His hand was hot and heavy. She wanted to flinch away, but the hand stopped her.

“It was all a mistake,” said Genevieve. “I was drunk. I’m married.”

“Let me tell you what I want, Mrs. Shelby King.”

“She’s been lying there all night.” Lulu stepped forward and stretched out her arms to two burly men sitting smoking at a table in front of her, gesturing for them to lift her up. Up onto the marble-topped, Dubonnet-stained bar. “The bath is full but the tap is drip-dripping. And now it is morning and there’s water on the floor, seeping down through the boards. Down through the ceiling of the reception hall below…seeping and creeping and dripping…onto the bald head of the owner as he writes out the bills for the guests who are leaving. And he looks up at the ceiling, at the wet patch that’s growing, and he thinks, where is my wife? How can she allow this to happen? This anarchic leaking? This bathroom unruliness in my respectable hotel?”

“What I want,” said Monteray, “is to get inside of you again. Inside where it’s hot and tight. You understand?”

“Let go of my hand,” said Genevieve through gritted teeth.

Lulu was up on the bar now, reclining full-length while the hard-as-nails barmaid tutted and put her hands on her hips. Laurent smiled and shook his head and stroked his mustache.

“He’s banging on the door of the bathroom. He’s demanding they open up, whoever they are. But that’s what she’s done, you see. She’s opened up her wrists and let it all flow out with the water. The drips downstairs are landing rusty-red on the hotel diary.”

“I have to get home, Norman.” Genevieve yanked her hand free. But Betterson was too busy watching Lulu to acknowledge her.

“Sweetheart!” Monteray’s face was all concern. “Have I upset you? It was meant as a compliment, I assure you. A discreet exchange between two people who’ve known each other.”

“Please, Guy. I don’t want to talk about what we did.”

“Oh. Pity.” He shrugged. “Women like you don’t grow on trees, and that’s a compliment too. But c’est la vie. Tell me we’re still friends, Genevieve.”

“Of course we are.” But her tone said the opposite.

“Well, that’s something. I’ll see you at your party next week. It is next week, isn’t it? I’ve got that right?”

“There’s nobody to help the owner as he tries the handle of the bathroom. The hotel is silent and still. He realizes he has not seen his wife this morning. He has not seen his wife this morning.”