return – her session with Palmer was not due to end until six – so as to have an interval of quiet before the storm of excited chatter which would undoubtedly follow. Antonia always arrived back from Palmer's house in a state of restless elation. I had supposed, and one is often complacently led to believe by persons undergoing such treatment, that a psycho-analysis is a grim and humiliating affair; but in the case of my wife, analysis seemed to produce euphoria and even self-satisfaction. At peace with the world and with myself I breathed the quiet air, lying relaxed and warm in the bright multi-coloured shell which Antonia and I had created, where silk and silver and rosewood, dark mahogany and muted gilt blended sweetly together against a background of Bellini green. I sipped the frosted fragrant Martini which I had just prepared for both of us and thought myself, I dare say, the luckiest of men. Indeed at that moment I was happy with an idle thoughtless happiness which was never to come, with that particular quality of a degenerate innocence, ever in my life again.
I was just looking at my watch, wondering whether she was late, when Antonia appeared in the doorway. Usually when she entered she took possession of a room, gliding immediately to the centre of it, and even, with people she knew well, turning about as if to fill all the crannies and corners with her presence. But tonight, already so marked as unusual, she stayed at the door, as if afraid to enter, or as if conscious of her entrance as dramatic. There she stood wide-eyed, her hand upon the door handle, staring at me in a disconcerting way. I noticed too that she had not changed her clothes, but was still wearing the striped silk blouse and cinnamon-coloured skirt which she had had on in the morning. Normally Antonia put on different clothes three or four times in a day.
'You haven't changed, my love,' I said, sitting up. I was still in the slow old world. 'What is it? You look a bit bothered. Come and have your drink and tell me all about it.' I laid Napier aside.
Antonia came in now, moving in a slow deliberate heavy-footed way and keeping her eyes fixed on me. I wondered if she had seen something which I had missed in the evening papers, some account of a distant cataclysm, or of some accident to an acquaintance, either of which might be announced to me with a certain portentous interest. She sat down at the far end of the sofa, still watching me with a tense unsmiling look. I tinkled the long glass rod in the cocktail jug and poured her out a Martini. 'What is it, darling? Has there been an earthquake in China or have you been arrested for speeding?'
'Wait a minute,' said Antonia. Her voice sounded thick, almost as if she were drunk. She was taking slow deep breaths, like someone collecting his powers.
I said sharply, 'What's the matter, Antonia? Has something bad happened?'
'Yes,' said Antonia. 'Wait a minute. Sorry.'
She sipped her drink and then poured the rest of it into my glass. I realized that she was inarticulate with emotion.
'For God's sake, Antonia,' I said, beginning to be thoroughly alarmed. 'Whatever is it?'
'Sorry, Martin,' said Antonia. 'Sorry. Wait a minute. Sorry.'
She lit a cigarette. Then she said, 'Look, Martin, it's this. I've got to tell you now. And there's no way of breaking it gently. It's about me and Anderson.' She was looking away from me now and I could see the hand holding the cigarette trembling.
I was still slow. I said, 'You and Anderson what, angel?'
'Well, just that,' said Antonia, 'just that.' She threw the cigarette into the fire.
I stared at her and began to think and to read her face. Her manner more than her words frightened me a lot. I was so used to repose in the peace of her simple confident spirit. I had hardly ever seen my golden Antonia so shaken, and this in itself was dreadful. I said gently, 'Do I understand you? If you mean you're a bit in love with Palmer, I'm not surprised. I'm a bit in love with him myself.'
'Don't be flippant, Martin,' said Antonia. 'This is serious, it's fatal.' She turned towards me, but without taking my gaze.
I pushed back the shorter strands of golden hair from her big pale lined brow and drew my hand down her cheek to her mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment, remaining rigid. 'Well, do stop looking like that, dearest. You look as if you were going to be shot. Calm down and have your drink. Here, I'll pour you out another one. Now talk to me rationally, and don't frighten me out of my wits.'
'You see, it's not a matter of being a bit in love,' said Antonia, looking at me now with a glazed troubled stare. She spoke monotonously as if in her sleep, with an air of comatose desperation. 'It's a matter of being very desperately and deeply in love. Perhaps we ought to have told you sooner, only it was so improbable, such an extreme love. But now we're certain.'
'Aren't you both a bit old for this game?' I said. 'Come now!'
Antonia looked at me, her eyes hardened a little, and she became suddenly more present and conscious. Then she smiled sadly and gave a slight shake of the head.
This impressed me. But I said, 'Look, darling, need we be quite so serious about this?'
'Yes,' said Antonia. 'You see, I want a divorce.'
She had found the word difficult to utter. At the shock of it I stared at her, and bracing her body stiffly she stared back at me, trying to control her face. She lacked expressions for a scene of this austerity. I said, 'Don't be ridiculous, Antonia. Don't say wild things that you don't mean.'
'Martin,' said Antonia, 'please help me. I do mean it, and it will save us a lot of pain if you will understand me now, and see what things are like now. I know this must be a ghastly shock. But please try. It makes me utterly wretched to hurt you like this. Please help me by understanding. I am quite certain and quite determined. I would not have spoken to you if I were not.'
I looked at her. She would soon be in tears, her face stripped, strained like something exposed to a great wind; but there was, in her retention of control, a certain touching dignity. I could not yet believe her or believe that there was anything here which the customary pressure of my will could not sweep aside. I said quietly, 'You're in an over-excited state, my sweet. Has that wretch Palmer been giving you drugs, I wonder? You say you're in love with him. All right. That often happens in analysis. But let's not have any more nonsense about divorce. And now can we just abandon this topic for the present? I suggest you finish your drink and then go and dress for dinner.'
I tried to rise, but Antonia grasped my arm, lifting a pitiful yet violent face. 'No, no no' she said. 'I must say it all now. I can't tell you what this costs me. I want a divorce, Martin. I'm deeply in love. Just believe me, and then let me go away. I know it's absurd and I know it's dreadful, but I'm in love and I'm absolutely relentless. I'm sorry to surprise you and I'm sorry to speak like this, but I've got to make you understand what I mean.'
I sat down again. There was a desperate fierceness in her manner, but there was also fear, fear of my reactions. It was the fear which began to convince me and I felt the first light touch of a nightmarish terror. Yet this strange half-savage, half-terrified being was still my Antonia, my dear wife. I said, 'Well, well, if you're so much in love with your analyst perhaps you'd better go to bed with him! Only don't talk to me about divorce, for I simply won't hear of it!'
'Martin!' said Antonia in a shocked tone. Then she said, and her voice became monotonous again, 'I've already been to bed with him.'
My cheeks became hot with a sudden rush of blood as if I had been struck. My knee was against Antonia's. I captured Antonia's two hands which were still clawing at my sleeve, in a strong grip in my left hand. 'Since when? And how many times?'
She looked back at me, frightened but still firm. Antonia had her own soft frantic evasive way of getting what she wanted. I could feel her will upon me like a leech. She said, 'That doesn't matter. If you really want the details, I'll tell you later. Now I just want to tell you the main truth, to tell you that you've got to set me free. This thing has overwhelmed me, Martin. I've simply had to give in to it. Honestly, it's all or nothing.'
I crushed her wrists in my left hand. It may seem strange, but I was conscious of wondering and of deciding now how I ought to react, I was very conscious of her fear of a blow. I let go of her hands and said, 'Well, let me recommend nothing.'
Antonia relaxed and we drew a little apart. She gave a deep sigh and said, 'Oh, darling, darling —'
I said, 'If I broke your neck now I'd probably get off with three years.' I got up and leaned against the mantelpiece looking down at her. 'What have I done to deserve this?' I said.
Antonia smiled nervously. She patted her hair, her long fingers straying over the bun, pushing in hair-pins. She adjusted the neck of her blouse. She had a little the air of feeling that the worst was over. She said, 'I hate this, Martin. And I've been in torment. You've been so perfect. But I'm beyond thoughts about justification. I'm just desperate.'
'Yes, I have been perfect, haven't I?' I said. 'But still I don't accept what you say. We've been happy. I want
