They soon got over the surprise of their reunion, and settled into daily routines. When they talked about the past at all, the furthest back they went was to the Gerry Grove shooting, the only unfinished business that mattered.
That was then, this was now. While he watched over the top of his newspaper as Amy undressed, he noticed she was smiling. He loved the way maturity had filled out her body: strong and well-shaped legs, a long and handsome back, breasts that were much fuller than before but without any sign of sag, a strong face and a crown of dark hair. She was no longer pretty, but he could imagine no woman more attractive.
'What is it?' he said. 'What are you smiling at?'
'You, lying there looking at me.'
She was naked, and stood directly before him.
'I look at you every night. That's what you like, isn't it?'
'Shall 1 put on my nightie?'
'No ... get straight in.'
He tossed the newspaper aside and took her in his arms as she climbed into the bed beside him. Her skin was cold, and when she turned her buttocks against him and pressed them into his groin she felt like a chill vastness. With the hand stretching under her body he cupped one of her breasts, with the other he reached around and pressed his hand against her sex, pushing that lovely chill vastness of buttocks harder against him. He loved to feel the soft weight, the hairy moistness, together.
They never hurried their lovemaking, and rarely fell asleep straight away afterwards. They liked to he together, arms holding around, playing affectionately with each other's body.
Sometimes it led to more lovemaking, but at other times they simply dozed together or talked inconsequentially about the day. That night Amy was not sleepy, and after a few minutes of cuddling she sat up, pulled on her nightie and switched on the bedside lamp.
'Are you going to read?' Nick said, blinking in the sudden glare.
'No. 1 want to ask you something. Do you think Mrs Simons is a reporter?'
' The American woman?'
'Yes.'
'I hadn't given it a thought.'
1 Well, think about it now.'
'What's given you that idea?' he said. 'And what does it matter if she is?'
'I ran into Dave today. He said she was.'
'You know what Dave's like better than 1 do.'
'It doesn't matter, of course, not really. But I've been thinking. She hasn't said anything about it to us, and when the other reporters came around asking questions, they never made a secret of it. They weren't too popular and they knew it, but they didn't try to hide what they wanted.'
'Then she probably isn't,' Nick said. 'Not every stranger who comes to town is trying to get a story.'
'I wondered if, because she's an American, maybe she works differently.'
'Why don't you ask her?'
'All right.' Amy yawned, but showed no sign of being about to turn off the light and lie down. 'She told me she's British. Born over here, anyway. One of her parents was British.'
'Why are you interested in her?'
'I thought you might be.'
'I'd hardly noticed her,' he said, with complete truth.
'That wasn't the impression 1 got.'
Amy had an expression he had only recently learned to recognize, in which she smiled with her mouth but not with her eyes. lt usually meant trouble for him, because of something he was thought to have done, or to have omitted doing. Now she was staring down into her lap, scooped into shape by her crossed legs. He reached out to touch her hand, but found it unyielding.
'What's up, Amy?'
'I saw you with her in your office, laughing and that.'
'What ... ?' He could hardly remember it. 'When was that?'
'This morning. 1 saw her in there with you.'
'That's right,' Nick said, and glanced at an imaginary wristwatch on his arm. 'I was setting myself up for a visit to her bedroom later this evening. Do you mind if 1 go to her now?'
'Shut up, Nick!'
'Look, just because a single woman checks into my hotel doesn't mean' He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, so ludicrous was the idea.
'She's not single, she's married,' Amy said.
'Let's turn out the light,' he said. 'This is getting silly and pedantic.'
'Not to me it's not.'
