I have a sudden, painful image of you as a successful writer, sought after and feted while my own pictures go unnoticed. I feel excluded and second-rate. Despite the promise I have made to myself I burst out.

“Clive and I have been wondering how your harem is faring!” I turn and face you. “Have you spoken to Sydney since you refused him?”

Clive laughs. “Poor Waterlow! I can’t say I am surprised, though. Now, what kind of creature will you have, I wonder . . .”

“Ah! There’s the rub.” I know from your tone that I have played straight into your hands. The topic of your suitors has piqued Clive’s interest. For the first time since your arrival you toss me a gleeful smile.

“First loves are difficult to replace—as all dolphins know.”

I look away. Such public declarations embarrass me. You turn back to Clive.

“As to who I should like to make my life’s companion—I do not honestly know that such a being exists.”

Grace has put a vase of flowers on my desk, red and yellow chrysanthemums and papery autumn leaves. I look out the window at the garden. In a few weeks the leaves will be down. Already there are great piles swirling about the lawn. I crinkle one of the leaves in the vase and watch it flake into confetti in my fingers. I did not tell Clive I was pregnant that first autumn. I kept the slow swell of my belly, the dawning realization that I was carrying a new life, to myself. When I finally broke the news to Clive I watched his face alter from pride through fear to regret. As I grew bigger his attitude to me became more distant. We no longer spent lascivious afternoons exploring each other’s pleasure. Wounded by his rejection I turned in on myself, focusing my energies on the coming baby.

If you had had children, you would have been able to describe what it has always seemed to me impossible to express. You would have known how to carry language into the mute hinterland of the body, where what happens is governed by an invisible force. I had not expected the unremitting pain of labor, the violent dips and peaks of terror and hope. I can still remember the awe of holding my newborn infant. A pact was established between us as I prized open his tiny fingers and felt them curl tight again round mine. The gesture sealed a pledge to love and protect this child always. It was a promise neither you nor Clive understood.