That was clever of her. It seemed this was going to be one of their more interesting contests. He grinned at her and said: 'Take off your knickers.'
'That won't work tonight, Micky,' she said. 'I used to think it meant you loved me. Now I've realized sex is just your way of controlling people. I doubt whether you even enjoy it.'
He reached out and grasped her breast. It was warm and heavy in his hand, despite the layers of clothing. He caressed it, watching her face, but her expression did not change. She was not going to give in to passion tonight. He squeezed hard, hurting her, then let go. 'What's got into you?' he said with genuine curiosity.
'Men catch infectious diseases at places such as Nellie's.'
'The girls there are very clean--'
'Please, Micky--don't pretend to be stupid.'
She was right. There was no such thing as a clean prostitute. In fact he had been very lucky: he had only caught one mild case of the pox during many years of visiting brothels. 'All right,' he conceded. 'I might catch an infectious disease.'
'And give it to me.'
He shrugged. 'It's one of the hazards of being a wife. I might give you the measles, too, if I catch it.'
'But syphilis can be hereditary.'
'What are you driving at?'
'I might give it to our children, if we have any. And that is what I am not willing to do. I will not bring a child into the world with such a dreadful disease.' She was breathing in short gasps, a sign of severe tension. She means it, he thought. She finished: 'So I'm going to leave you, unless you agree to cease all contact with prostitutes.'
There was no point in further discussion. 'We'll see whether you can leave with a broken nose,' he said, and he raised his cane to strike her.
She was ready for him. She dodged the blow and ran to the door. To Micky's surprise it was ajar--she must have opened it earlier, in anticipation of violence, he thought--and she slipped outside in a flash.
Micky went after her. Another surprise awaited him outside: there was a carriage at the curb. Rachel jumped into it. Micky was amazed at how meticulously she had planned everything. He was about to leap into the carriage after her when his way was blocked by a large figure in a top hat. It was her father, Mr. Bodwin, the lawyer.
'I take it you refuse to mend your ways,' he said.
'Are you abducting my wife?' Micky replied. He was angry at having been outmaneuvered.
'She's leaving of her own free will.' Bodwin's voice was a little shaky, but he stood his ground. 'She will return to you whenever you agree to give up your vicious habits. Subject of course to a satisfactory medical examination.'
For a moment Micky was tempted to strike him--but only for a moment. Anyway, the lawyer would undoubtedly charge him with assault, and such a scandal could blight a diplomatic career. Rachel was not worth that.
It was a standoff. What am I fighting for? he asked himself. 'You can keep her,' he said. 'I've finished with her.' He went back into the house and slammed the door.
He heard the carriage drive away. To his surprise he found himself regretting Rachel's departure. He had married her purely for convenience, of course--it had been a way of persuading Edward to marry--and it some respects life would be simpler without her. But in a curious way he had enjoyed the daily clash of wits. He had never had that with a woman. However, it was often tiresome too, and he told himself that on balance he would be better off alone.
When he had caught his breath, he put on his hat and went out. It was a mild summer night with a clear sky and bright stars. London's air always tasted better in summer, when people did not need to burn coal to warm their houses.
As he walked down Regent Street he turned his mind to business. Since he had had Tonio Silva beaten up a month ago he had heard no more of his article about the nitrate mines. Tonio was probably still recovering from his wounds. Micky had sent Papa a coded telegram with the names and addresses of the witnesses who had signed Tonio's affidavits, and they were probably dead by now. Hugh had been made to look foolish, for having started an unnecessary scare, and Edward was delighted.
Meanwhile, Edward had got Solly Greenbourne to agree in principle to float the Santamaria railroad bonds jointly with Pilasters. It had not been easy: Solly was as suspicious of South America as most investors were. Edward had been obliged to offer a higher commission and take a share in a speculative scheme of Solly's before the deal could be closed. Edward had also played on the fact that they were old school friends, and Micky suspected it was Solly's softheartedness that had tipped the balance in the end.
Now they were drawing up contracts. It was a painfully slow business. What made life difficult for Micky was that Papa could not understand why these things could not be done in a few hours. He was demanding the money right away.
However, when Micky thought of the obstacles he had overcome he was quite pleased with himself. After Edward turned him down flat the task had seemed impossible. But with Augusta's help he had maneuvered Edward into marriage and a partnership in the bank. Then he had dealt with opposition from Hugh Pilaster and Tonio Silva. Now the fruits of all his efforts were about to fall into his hands. Back home the Santamaria railroad would always be Micky's railroad. Half a million pounds was a vast sum, greater than the military budget of the entire country. This one achievement would count for more than everything his brother Paulo had ever done.
A few minutes later he stepped into Nellie's. The party was in full swing: every table was occupied, the air was thick with cigar smoke, and ribald banter and raucous laughter could be heard over the sound of a small orchestra playing loud dance tunes. All the women wore masks. Some were simple dominoes but most were more elaborate, and a few were entire headdresses covering everything but the eyes and mouth.
Micky pushed his way through the crowd, nodding at acquaintances and kissing some of the girls. Edward was in the card room, but he got up as soon as Micky walked in. 'April's got a virgin for us,' he said thickly. It was late, and he had drunk a lot.
Virginity had never been Micky's particular obsession, but there was always something stimulating about a girl who was frightened, and he was titillated. 'How old?'
'Seventeen.'
Which probably meant twenty-three, Micky thought, knowing how April estimated the ages of her girls. Still, he was intrigued. 'Have you seen her?'
'Yes. She's masked, of course.'
'Of course.' Micky wondered what her story was. She might be a provincial girl who had run away from home and found herself destitute in London; she might have been abducted from a farm; she
