‘Don’t lie to me,’ he thundered.
‘Affairs begin below the waist,’ I protested. ‘All Finn has done is kiss me — three times, to be exact.’
‘You counted them?’
‘Yes I did! Because they mattered.’
‘And where did all this restraint take place?’
‘Finn looked after me the night I found out you and Marina were brother and sister. But the next day, as soon as I discovered I was pregnant, we stopped seeing each other. Tonight I’d been at the whisky and Buster’s porny novel, so when I met Finn in the passage, I suddenly fancied him rotten.’
There was a crack — Rory had snapped the lath in his hands. He was silent for a minute, his face strangely dead, then he threw the broken sticks on the fire. ‘You’re nothing better than a tart,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to be better than a tart,’ I said. ‘Men seem to rather like them.’
‘Well it’s got to stop,’ said Rory.
‘You have the teremity…’ I said.
‘Temerity,’ interrupted Rory.
‘I’ll say teremity if I like. You have the terem… or whatever it’s called… to carry on with Marina behind my back, and then kick up a dog-in-the-manger rumpus, just because I seek a little consolation from Finn. You’re only livid because you hate Finn, not because you care a scrap for me.’
‘Shut up,’ said Rory. ‘You’re drunk — you’d better go up to bed.’
‘No!’ I shrieked. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Sleep in that bed. Not after seeing you and Marina… I get nightmares night after night… I couldn’t sleep there, I couldn’t!’ My voice was rising hysterically.
Rory caught my arm. ‘Stop it, Em! You’re behaving like a child.’
‘Let me go!’ I screamed. ‘I hate you. I hate you!’
After that I said every terrible thing I could think of, and then started hysterically beating my fists against his chest. Finally, he was reduced to slapping me across the face, and I collapsed, sobbing, on the divan.
Chapter Twenty-six
I awoke next morning with an awful head. I lay for a moment with my eyes closed. Slowly, painfully, I pieced together the happenings of the night before. I looked around me, wincing. I was in the studio.
Then, suddenly, I remembered Rory had hit me. ‘The louse,’ I muttered, getting unsteadily to my feet. In the mirror above the fire, I examined my face. Not a bruise in sight — how infuriating. My eyes lit on Rory’s oil paints on a nearby table. Why shouldn’t I paint in a black eye myself?
Soon I was busy slapping on blue and crimson paint — now a touch of yellow. Rory wasn’t the only artist round here. Within five minutes I looked exactly like Henry Cooper after a few brisk rounds with Cassius Clay. Hearing a step outside, I hurriedly jumped into bed.
Rory came in, carrying a glass of orange juice.
‘Awake, are you?’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Not very good,’ I quavered.
‘Don’t deserve to, after all that liquor you shipped.’
Then he caught sight of the bruise.
‘Heavens! Where did that come from?’
‘I think you must have hit me,’ I said in a martyred voice. ‘I don’t remember much about it — it must have been quite a blow. But I can’t really believe you would have thumped me on my first night home — me being so weak and all. Perhaps I bumped into a door.’
Rory looked as discomfited as I’ve ever seen him.
‘You were hysterical,’ he said. ‘It was the only way to shut you up. I’m sorry, Em. Does it hurt?’
‘Agony,’ I said, closing my eyes. A flood of vindictiveness warmed my blood.
‘Let’s have a look,’ he said.
‘Don’t come near me,’ I hissed.
He put a hand under my chin and forced my face up.
‘Poor Em,’ he said shaking his head. ‘What a brute I am.’
‘You should be more careful in future,’ I said.
‘I will, I will,’ he said getting to his feet. He looked the picture of contrition. ‘And next time don’t add so much ochre. Bruises don’t usually go yellow till the second day.’
I opened my mouth, shut it again, and started to giggle. I giggled till the tears, and the bruise, ran down my cheeks, until Rory started laughing too.
After that I slept for most of the day. When I woke up, Rory was painting and it was dark outside.
‘What time is it?’
‘About six.’
Six o’clock — suddenly I wondered what had happened to Finn.
‘Did anyone ring?’ I asked.
Rory had his back to me. There was a pause, then he said nastily, ‘Your boyfriend did telephone about half an hour ago. I told him you were asleep. I’m just going down to the village for some cigarettes,’ he added. ‘Don’t start getting out of bed, or making a bolt for it. I’d track you down in no time, and if you put me to the bother, you wouldn’t find me in a very nice mood.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
As soon as he’d gone, I leapt out of bed and rang the hospital. Finn sounded relieved to hear me, but somehow detached.
‘Are you OK, darling?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied.
‘Rory said you were asleep.’
‘I was — but, oh, Finn, he’s as touchy as gunpowder. I do need you — can’t you come over later?’
‘I can’t, lovie, some of those poor sods from the petrol tanker are in pretty bad shape.’
‘Oh, God.’ Why did Finn always make me feel slightly ignoble? ‘What a horrible, self-centred little bitch I am. I’d forgotten all about them.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten about you,’ said Finn, then someone said something in the background. ‘Look, darling, I’ve got to go. I’ll try and come and see you tomorrow.’
The receiver clicked. At that moment Rory walked through the front door and stood in the doorway looking murderous.
‘Have you gone quite mad?’ he said softly. ‘Standing in a howling draught when you’re supposed to be in bed? Who were you talking to?’
‘Coco. I was just letting her know I’m home.’
‘She happens to be in London,’ said Rory acidly.
He walked towards me, put his hands on my shoulders, and gazed down at me for a minute. The fury seemed to die out of his eyes.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘you think you’re hung up on Finn, but he isn’t the answer for you. He’s married to his work, always has been. He’s a man with no nonsense about him,’ and for a minute his face softened. ‘And you’re a chick
