more servants. Still she wasn't impressed. He took her to his hunting lodge in his ZU limousine, showed off the beautiful grounds, the guns, the dogs. Finally he said, 'Mother, mother, why don't you say something? Aren!t you proudr So she said, Ilts wonderful, Leonid. But what will you do if the Communists come backr ' Rostov roared with laughter at his own story, but Hassan only smiled. 'You don't think it's funny?' Rostov said. 'Not very,' Hassan told him. 'It's guilt that makes you laugh at that joke. I don't feel guilty, so I don't Imd it funny.' Rostov shrugged, thinking: Thank you Yasif Hassan, ishm% answer to Sigmund Freud. They reached the road and stood there for a while, watching the cars speed by as Hassan caught his breath. Rostov said, 'Oh, listen, there's something I've always wanted to ask you. Did you really screw Ashford!s wife?' 'Only four or five times a week,' Hassan said, and he laughed, loudly. Rostov said, 'Who feels guilty now?'
He arrived at the station early, and the train was late, so he had to wait for a whole hour. It was the only time in his life he read Newsweek from cover to cover. She came through the ticket barrier at a balf-run, smiling broadly. Just like yesterday, she threw her arms around him and kissed him; but this time the kiss was longer. He had vaguely expected to see her in a long dress and a mink wrap, like a bankees wife on a night out at the 61 Club in Tel Aviv; but of course Suza belonged to another country and another gen eratim and she wore high boots which disappeared under the hem of . her below-the-knee skirt. with a silk shirt under an embroidered waistcoat such as a matador might wear. Her face was not made up. Her hands were empty: no coat, no handbag, no overnight case. 'Mey stood still, smiling at eaclk other. for a moment Dickstein, not quite sure what to do, gave her his arm as he had the day before, and that seemed to please her. They walked to the taxi stand. As they got into the cab Dickstem said, 'Where do you want to go?' 'You haven't booked?' I should have reserved a table, be thought. He said, 'I don't know London restaurants.' 'Kings Road,' Suza said to the driver. As the cab pulled away she looked at Dickstein and sad, 'Hello, Nathaniel.' Nobody ever caffed him Nathaniel. He liked it. The Chelsea restaurant Ae chose was small, dim and trendY. As theY walked to a table Dickstein thought he saw one or two familiar faces, and his stomach tightened as he strove to place them; then be realized they were pop singers he had seen in magazines, and he relaxed again. He was glad his reflexes still worked like this in spite of the. atypical way be was spending his time this evening. He was also pleased that the other diners in the place were of all ages, for he had been a little afraid he might be the oldest man in sight. They sat down, and Dickstein said, 'Do you bring all your young men hereT' Suza gave him a cold smile, 'Thats the first witless thing you've said.' 'I stand corrected.' He wanted to kick himself. She said, 'What do you like to eat?' and the moment passed. 'At home I eat a lot of plain, wholesome, communal food. When I'm away I live in hotels, where I get junk tricked out as haute cuisine. What I like is the kind of food you don't get in either sort of place: roast leg of lamb, steak and kidney pudding, Lancashire hot-pot' 'What I Eke about you,' she grinned, 'is that you have no idea whatsoever about what is trendy and what isnl; and furthermore you don't give a damn.' He touched his lapels. 'You don't like the suit' 'I love it,' she said. 'It must have been out-of-date when you bought it.' He decided on roast beef from the trolley, and she had some kind of sauteed liver which she ate with enormous relish. He ordered a bottle of Burgundy: a more delicate wine would not have gone well with the liver. His knowledge of wine was the only polite accomplishment he possessed. Still, he let her drink most of it: his appetites were small. She told him about the time she took I.M. 'It was quite unforgettable. I could feel my whole body, inside and out. I could hear my heart. My skin felt wonderful when I touched it. And the colors, of everything ... Still, the question is, did the drug show me amazing things, or did it just make me amazed? Is it a new way of seeing the world, or does it merely synthesize the sensations you would have if you really saw the world in a new way?' 'You didn't need more of it, afterwards?' he asked. She shook her head. 'I don't relish losing control of myself to that extent. But rm. glad I know what irs like.' 'That's what I hate about getting drunk-the loss of selfpossession. Although I'm sure it's not in the same league. At any rate, the couple of times I've been drunk I haven't felt I've found the key to the universe!' She made a dismissing gesture with her hand. it was a long, slender hand, just like Efla!s; and suddenly Dickstein remembered Eila making exactly the same graceful gesture. Suza said, 'I don't believe in drugs as the solution to the world's problems.' 'What do you believe in. Suzar' She hesitated, looking at him, smiling faintly. 'I believe that all you need is love.' Her tone was a little defensive, as if she anticipated scom ~ 'Tbat philosophy is more likely to appeal to a swinging Londoner than an embattled Israeli:' 'I guess there's no point In tying to convert you~' 'I should be so lucky.' She looked into his eyes. 'You never know your luck~' He looked down at the menu and said, 'It's got to be strawberries.' Suddenly, she said, 'rell me who you love, Nathaniel.' 'An old woman, a child and a ghosV' he said immediately, for he had been asking himself the same question. 'The old woman is called Esther, and she remembers the pogroms in Czarist Russia. The child is a boy called Mottle. He likes Treasure Island His father died in the Six-Day War~' And the ghostT' 'You will have some strawberries?' 'Yes, please.' 'CreamV 'No, thanks. You're not going to tell me about the ghost are YOU?' 'As soon as I know, you'll know.' It was June, and the strawberries were perfect. Dickstein said, 'Now tell me who you love.' 'Well,' she said, and then she thought for a minute. 'Well She put down her spoon. 'Oh, shit, Nathaniel, I think I love you.
Her first thought was: What the hell has got into me? Why did I say that? Then she thought: I don't care, it's true. And finally: But why do I love him? - She did not know why, but she knew when. There had been two occasions when she had been able to look inside him and see the real Dickstein: once when he spoke about the London Fascists in the Thirties, and once when he mentioned the boy whose father had been killed in the Six-Day War. Both times he had dropped his mask. She had expected to see a small, frightened man, cowering in a corner. In fact, he had appeared to be strong, confident and determined. At those moments she could sense his strength as if it were a powerful scent. It made her feel a little dizzy. The man was weird, intriguing and powerful. She wanted to get close to him, to understand his mind, to know his secret thoughts. She wanted to touch his bony body, and feel his strong hands grasping her, and look into his sad brown eyes when he cried out in passion. She wanted his love. It had never been like this for her before.
Nat Dickstein knew it was all wrong. Suza had formed an attachment to him when she was five years old and he was a kind grown-up who knew how to talk to children and cats. Now he was exploiting that childhood affection. He had loved Eila, who had died. There was something unhealthy about his relationship with her look-alike daughter. He was not just a Jew, but an Israeli; not just an Israeli, but a Mossad agent. He of all people could not love a girt who was half Arab. Whenever a beautiful girl falls in love with a spy, the spy is obliged to ask himself which enemy intelligence service she might be working for. Over the years, each time a woman had become fond of Dickstein, he had found reasons like these for being cool to her, and sooner or later she had understood and gone away disappointed; and the fact that Suza bad outmaneuvered his subconscious by being too quick for his defenses was just another reason to be suspicious. It was all wrong. But Dickstein did not care.
,They took a taxi to the flat where she planned to stay the night. She invited him in-her friends, the owners of the flat, were away on holiday-and they went to bed together, and that was when their problems began. At first Suza thought he was going to be too eagerly paisionate when, standing in the little hallway, he gripped her arms and kissed her roughly, and when he groaned, 'Oh, God,' as she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. There flashed through her mind the cynical thought: I've seen this act before, he is so overcome by my beauty that he practically rapes me, and five minutes after getting into bed he is fast asleep and snoring. Then she pulled away from his kiss and looked into his soft, big, brown eyes, and she thought: Whatever happens, it won't be an act She led him into the little single bedroom at the back of the flat, overlooking the courtyard. She stayed here so often that it was regarded as her room; indeed some of her clothes were in the wardrobe and the drawers. She sat on the edge of the single bed and took off her shoes. Dickstein stood in the doorway, watching. She looked up at him and smiled. 'Undress,' she said. He turned out the light. She was intrigued: it ran through her like the first tingle of a cannabis high. What was he really like? He was a Cockney, but an Israeli; he was a middle-aged schoolboy; a thin rnsin as strong as a horse; a little, gauche and nervous superficially, but confident and oddly powerful underneath. What did a man like that do in bed? She got in beneath the sheet, curiously touched that he wanted to make love in the dark. He got in beside her and kissed her, gently this time. She. ran her hands over his hard, bony body, and opened her mouth to his kisses. After a moInentarY hesitation, he responded; and she guessed he had not kissed like that befom or at least not for a long time. He touched her tenderly now, with his fingertips, exploring, and he said 'Ohl' with a sense of wonder in his voice when he found her nipple taut. His caresses had none of the facile expertise so familiar to her from previous affairs: be, was like - - - well, he was -like a virgin. The thought made her smile in the darkness. 'Your breasts am beautiful,' he said. 'So are yours,' she said, touching them. The magic began to work, and she became immersed in sensation: the roughness of his skin, the hair on his legs, the faint masculine smell Of him. Then, suddenly, she sensed a change in him. There was no apparent reason for it, and for a Moment she wondered if she might be imagining it, for he continued to caress her; but she knew that now it was mechanical. he was thinking of something else, she had lost him. She was about to speak of it when he withdrew
