“You know I am. I know what’s best for you. What about Saul? Why don’t you go out with him more?”
“With Saul? He’s always busy. Always got a new girlfriend on the go.”
“Yes,” she says quietly, standing and picking up the two empty glasses from the table.
“Let me give you a hand with those.”
“No no, that’s okay.” As she moves toward the kitchen she is shaking her head. “You’re so serious, Alec. So serious. Always have been.”
I don’t reply. It is as if she is angry with me.
“You want another drink?” she calls out.
“No, thanks. I’ve had one too many.”
“Me too,” she says, coming back in. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Fine.”
“Be here when I get back?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I had expected it. When she returns from the bathroom, Katharine is yawning, the elegant sinew and muscle on her neck stretched out in fine strands. She slumps down on the sofa and says, “Excuse me. Oh, I’m sorry. Must be tired.”
I take the cue. The hint is broad enough.
“I should be going, Kathy. It’s late.”
“No, don’t,” she says, jerking up out of her seat with a suddenness that gives me new hope. “It’s so nice having you here. I’m just a little sleepy, that’s all.”
She rests her hand lightly on my leg. Why is she blowing so hot and cold?
“That’s why I should be going. If you’re sleepy.”
“Why don’t you stay the night? It’s Sunday tomorrow.”
“No. You’ll want to be on your own.”
“Not at all. I hate being alone. Strange noises. It would be nice if you slept over.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“Because that would be great if I could. I’d save the money on a taxi.”
“Well there you go, then. It’s settled.” She beams, lots of teeth. “It’ll be just me and you. You can look out for me. Be my protector.”
“Well, if I’m going to do that, I should sleep on the sofa. See the burglars coming in.”
“You won’t be all that comfortable.”
“Well, where do you suggest I sleep?”
I put as much ambiguity into this as is comfortable to risk, but Katharine doesn’t pick it up.
“Well, there’s always Fortner’s room,” she says. “I can change the sheets.”
Not what I wanted her to say.
“That’s a chore. You don’t want to be doing that at this time of night.”
“No really. It’s no problem.”
I scratch my temple.
“Look, maybe I should just get a taxi. Maybe you’d prefer it if I went.”
“No. Stay. I’ll fetch you a blanket.”
“You have one spare?”
“Yeah. I got plenty.”
She twists up from the sofa, her left sock hanging loose off the toes, and walks back down the corridor.
“There you go,” she says, returning with a green checkered rug draped over her arm. She lays it on the sofa beside me. “Need a pillow?”
She yawns again.
“No, the cushions will be fine.”
“Okay, then. Well, I’m gonna get some sleep. Shout if you need anything.”
“I will.”
And she leaves the room.
I am not sure that there was anything else I could have done. For a moment, sex was hovering in the background like a secret promise, but it was too much of a risk to make a move. I could not have been certain of her response. But now I am alone, still clothed, still wide awake, feeling cramped and uncomfortable on a Habitat sofa. I regret talking her into letting me stay the night. I only did it in the hope of being asked to join her in bed. I’d like to be on my way home, working back through the night’s conversations, thinking them through and noting them down. Now I am stuck here for what will be at least six or seven hours.
At around two o’clock, perhaps a little later, I hear the noise of footsteps in the corridor. A quiet tiptoe in the dark. I turn on the sofa to face out into the darkened room, eyes squinting as a light comes on in the passage.
I make out Katharine’s silhouette in the doorway. She pauses there, and the room is so quiet that I can hear her breathing. She is coming toward me, edging forward.
“Kathy?”
“Sorry.” She is whispering, as if someone might hear. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I can’t sleep.”
“I was just gonna get a glass of water,” she says. “Sorry to wake you. You want one?”
“No, thanks.”
If I’d said yes, it would have brought her over here. That was stupid.
“Actually, maybe I will have one.”
“Okay.”
She turns on a side light in the kitchen and the low hum of the fridge compressor cuts out as she opens the door. A narrow path of bright light floods the floor. She pours two glasses of water, closes the fridge, and comes back into the sitting room.
“There you go,” she says. I sit up, trying to catch her eye as she comes toward me. Her legs look tanned in the darkness.
“Thanks, Kathy.”
“Sorry to disturb you.”
She is not stopping. She turns, saying nothing more, moving back in the direction of her room.
“Can’t you sleep?” I ask, desperate now to keep her here. My voice is loud in the room, foolish.
“No,” she whispers. “I’ll be fine after this. Move into Fortner’s bed if you want. I’ll see you in the morning.”
18
“So how was Kiev?”
“Kiev?” says Fortner, as if he has never heard of the place.
“Yeah. Kiev.”
We walk another two or three paces down Ladbroke Grove before he replies, “Oh, yeah. Christ. Kiev. Not bad. Not bad.”
I know he didn’t go to Ukraine. The Hobbit told me yesterday on the phone.
“Were you working the whole time?”
“Flat out. Twenty-four/seven. A lotta talk.”
“Nice weather?” I ask, with a grin that he doesn’t see.
“Oh, yeah. Real nice. They sure don’t know how to dress for it, though. Girls wearing nylon tights in the
