After midnight, Younger lay on his four-poster bed in the Hotel de Crillon, smoking. His jacket he had flung to the floor, but otherwise he was fully clothed. Even his shoes were on.
He had shown Colette to her room. She was skittish in the hallway, nervous, unable to work the key. He thought the strong drink might have gone to her head, except that he was pretty sure she had only sipped at it. When at last he had taken the key from her and opened the door, she practically fled into the room, leaving Younger in the corridor, with the door ajar. He closed it for her and went to his own room.
Younger stared at the gilt ceiling and at the dancing particles of smoke illuminated by the lamplight. Then he got up, extinguished his cigarette, and returned to the hallway.
He unlocked Colette's door. Her sitting room was empty. He walked past the stiff and formal Empire furniture. At the threshold of the bedroom, he saw the door to her bath cracked open. Through it, he caught glimpses of her moving back and forth, wrapped in two white towels — one for her hair, one for her torso. Apparently she hadn't heard him; she had been in the bath.
She opened the bathroom door, saw him, and froze. Her long neck was bare, her shoulders bare, her slender arms and legs bare, her skin wet.
He walked toward her. She backed away, into the bathroom, against a wall, shoulders lifted in apprehension. There was nowhere to go. The air was thick with moisture from the hot water, the mirror blurred by condensation. He took her by the arms. She struggled; he had to use more force than he expected, but he was prepared to, and he did. Their kiss went on a long time. When it was done, her body had softened, her eyes had closed, and the towel about her hair had fallen to the floor. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her down on the crisp sheets.
Colette's hair spread out darkly over the pillows. Moonlight from the window silvered her limbs, still gleaming with moisture. One of her hands lay on her chest, the other over her waist, holding the white bath towel in place. He kissed her neck. He heard her murmur, 'Please.' He heard, 'No.'
Younger said, 'Do you want me to stop?'
She answered in a whisper: 'I don't want you to ask.'
He ran his hand through her long hair. He tilted her chin and kissed her mouth. Later she called out to God, biting her lip to keep her voice down, so many times he lost count.
Still later, as they lay next to one another in the moonlight, her cheek resting on his chest, she said, 'Do you forget?'
'Forget what?'
'This. Does it fade away?'
Her head rose and fell with his breath.
'I remembered this before it happened,' he said. 'I saw it before.'
'Me too,' said Colette, smiling. 'Many times.'
She found Younger downstairs the next morning, eating breakfast at a white-linen table in a grand salon with rococo columns and a floor of checkerboard black and white marble. Daintily robed cherubs cavorted on the ceiling. Colette looked simultaneously happy and alarmed.
'Have you seen the policemen?' she asked quietly. 'They're everywhere.'
'Nothing to worry about,' replied Younger. 'Just another American male wanted for murder. Movie star, I'm told. His wife, also a movie star, was found dead on their bed on top of a hundred fur stoles, naked. It was their honeymoon. Something to eat?'
'Madame took me aside last night before we left,' said Colette, troubled, as she sat down across from him. 'I've never seen her that way. She never shows anyone her feelings.'
'What happened?'
'She burst into tears. She said that Monsieur Langevin doesn't love her anymore because she's old. That she gave up her name for him. That she let the whole world condemn her. All she wants now is her science, her experiments. But without radium, she says, she's nothing. She told me she's ready to die.'
A waiter whisked into view, set a place for Colette, and with a flourish unfolded a linen napkin for her. She barely noticed. Then she saw the piece of paper next to Younger's plate.
'You received a wire?' she asked. 'Is it from Dr Freud?'
'No. Littlemore. I went back to the cable office this morning to see if he'd replied.' Younger showed her the cable: where heck have you been stop you have court date november twenty second stop two pm stop you better be here
'Court date?' asked Colette. 'What for?'
'For assaulting Drobac.'
'Assaulting him?' she protested. 'He kidnapped me. He killed that woman on top of the building.'
'Yes, but he hasn't been convicted yet. In the eyes of the law, he's an innocent man.' 'You mean you could go to jail?'
'Littlemore says it's very unlikely,' he answered.
'What are you going to do?'
'Go back. I have to.'
'Why?' she asked. 'Just stay away until they convict him.'
'Littlemore got me out of prison after they arrested me. If I don't appear in court, it will be bad for him. Very bad. I have to go.'
'I'm coming with you.'
'No,' he said. 'It could still be dangerous for you.'
'How? Even if anyone were looking for me, they couldn't possibly know I came back into the country.'
'Someone was watching you in New Haven. Whoever it was may still be there.'
'I won't go to New Haven.' Colette sat quietly for a long time. At last she said, 'I have to come with you; I'm going to raise the money for Madame's radium. Mrs Meloney told me I could do it. She said I just had to be nicer to one rich man, and we could make up the whole shortfall. Besides, Luc will be with Dr Freud for at least two months. I can't stay here by myself and worry about him.'
That afternoon, they caught a train to Rouen from the Saint-Lazare station. The next day, they went on to Le Havre, where they boarded a ship for New York.
With her hand at his elbow, Colette allowed Younger to lead her on an exploratory tour of their ocean liner. They wandered through a glass-domed rotunda, observed ladies and gentlemen playing belote in the hall of Louis XIV, and took tea in a blue-tiled Moorish saloon. In an empty smoking room, they kissed beneath a gently swaying crystal chandelier. And many levels down, as a hard rain began to fall, causing passengers to scurry indoors, they saw a thousand human beings confined to less opulent and more redolent quarters.
'You're corrupting me,' said Colette as they climbed the stairs back to the upper deck — the first-class deck. A steward readmitted them into the Louis XIV hall. 'You like it.'
'I feel like Dante,' she said, 'emerging from the inferno, with you as my Virgil.'
'No, you're Beatrice, and you'll rise to heaven while I end up below. But,' he considered, 'I'd pay the price again. I'd pay it every time.' 'What price?'
'Eternal damnation,' he answered, 'for a night in your arms.' 'Only one night?'
That evening, despite a fierce storm outside, the ocean liner erupted with merrymaking, toasts, and the blowing of party whistles. In all the dining rooms and lounges of every class, bands and orchestras played American music while the rain beat on the portholes.
'What's happening?' asked Colette. They were descending the grand red-carpeted stairwell into an Edwardian ballroom. Dancers whirled around the floor.
'The United States has elected a new president,' said Younger. 'Who won?'
'A man named Harding.'
They took a seat at a table in silence.
'What's the matter?' she asked him.
'Nothing.'
'All right,' she said. 'Then ask me to dance.' He did.
Well after midnight, they returned to their luxurious stateroom. 'Only one room for both of us?' she asked him, cheeks flushed. 'Monsieur is very presumptuous. Is my corruption never to end?'
The next morning, in their cabin bed, she was happier than he had ever seen her. Lying on their backs, she
