The hard white light of the moon showed me she was wearing lemon-coloured slacks and a bottlegreen sweater. She had a shape on her under that sweater that made me catch my breath.
‘My name is Lucille,’ she said. ‘Will you remember that?’
I said I would remember it.
She smiled at me.
‘Then we meet tomorrow. Good night.’
She waved to me and then started to walk up the long drive towards the house.
I watched her go, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I sat there, breathing unevenly and quickly, watching her until I lost sight of her.
She was now in my blood like a virus: as deadly and as dangerous as that.
I didn’t remember the drive back to the bungalow. I didn’t remember getting into bed.
All I know of that night was I didn’t sleep.
How could I sleep when my mind was on fire and the hours that separated our next meeting seemed like a hundred years?
CHAPTER THREE
I
The next three days followed a systematic pattern. I reached the office at nine o’clock every morning, left at seven, had a snack supper at an Italian restaurant on the highway that led past the Gables, and arrived at the big house at eight o’clock. I remained with Aitken for an hour and a half, discussing the business of the day and going through any letters that usually he would have dealt with, then I went down to the Cadillac, where Lucille waited for me.
It was this moment I lived for. The rest of the hours were just a chore to get through somehow and as quickly as possible. After I had said good night to Watkins and had heard him shut the front door, then, and only then, did I come really alive.
From nine-thirty until eleven o’clock, Lucille and I cruised the secondary roads. We didn’t talk a great deal. For one thing she had to concentrate on her driving. I found her concentration failed and she was inclined to let the car wander about the road if I talked to her. Also she so obviously enjoyed handling the Cadillac that I could see she didn’t really welcome any interruption to the sensation in which she revelled. It was only when we pulled up outside the big wrought-iron gates of the Gables that we spent five or so minutes talking.
During those three evenings with her, my love for her grew to a degree that I had to exert a great deal of control not to show my feelings.
She did nothing to encourage me. She treated me as a friend whom she liked, and I knew she did like me. I could tell that by the way she spoke and the way she looked at me, but that was as far as it went.
It was my attitude towards her that bothered me. I knew if she gave me the slightest encouragement I could not have resisted making love to her.
I knew I was playing with fire. If ever Aitken found out what was going on, I was sure he would throw me out of the firm. She had said he was possessive, and by now I knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t for one moment tolerate me fooling around with his wife, no matter how platonic her feelings towards me were.
I kept telling myself that I should stop this before it got out of hand, then I tried to convince myself that, so long as Lucille wasn’t falling in love with me, there surely could be no harm to continue the driving lessons.
As we were saying good night on the third evening, I reminded her I wouldn’t be at the house the following night.
‘Mr. Aitken has given me the weekend off,’ I explained. ‘So I won’t be up.’
‘Does that mean I’m not going to have a lesson?’ she asked twisting around in the car seat to look at me.
‘Not until Monday night.’
‘Are you going away, then?’
‘No, I’m not going away.’
‘Then why can’t you come up as usual? You can meet me down here and not up at the house or perhaps you don’t want to?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to, but I must admit this worries me sometimes,’ I said, looking at her. ‘I’m sure if your husband found out he would be furious.’
She laughed. She had the most infectious laugh I had ever heard. She put both her hands on my arm and rocked me a little.
‘He would be absolutely livid, but we don’t mind, do we? Besides, he will never find out’
‘Watkins or Mrs. Hepple might see us…’
‘They never go out at night, but I tell you what we will do. I’ll meet you at your place. I’ll come down on my bicycle. May I do that? I’d like to see your bungalow.’
My heart began to beat fast.
‘You’d better not. No, you mustn’t come down there. If you really want a lesson tomorrow, then I’ll be out here at nine o’clock but only if you really want it.’
She opened the car door and slid out, then she turned and looked in through the open window at me.
‘I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Ches, I still think you’re the nicest man I know. I am improving, aren’t I? I’ll soon be able to apply for a permit, won’t I?’
‘You’re doing fine,’ I said huskily. I would have given a lot to have taken her in my arms and felt her lips responding against mine. ‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Back in my big lounge, I lay in an easy chair, a double whisky and soda in my hand, while I considered my position.
I had known her now for five nights, and I knew I would never be more in love with any woman than I was with her. Was she aware of this or was she so naive that she really believed I would risk Aitken’s displeasure just to teach her to drive? That was something I just had to find out.
That suggestion of hers about coming to the bungalow bothered me. I had told her my house-boy left soon after seven, and I lived alone. Was this a hint that she was ready to return the love I felt for her?
I told myself reluctantly that this was unlikely. She had never encouraged me to think that she looked on me as anything more than a helpful friend who was teaching her to drive, and who was giving her a lot of pleasure with no expectation of favours in return.
I had to take this farther, I told myself. I had to find out if she realized the risk I was running. I was putting my whole future in balance. If Aitken found out about us the New York job would go up in smoke.
I spent a restless night brooding over the situation. I was pretty short-tempered in the office the following morning, and it was a relief when I finally cleared my desk and collected a few papers I wanted to examine over the weekend.
Pat, who had borne my irritability without protest, came in with a few more letters for me to sign.
‘For the love of Mike! I thought I had signed them all!’ I barked at her.
‘There are only six,’ she said and laid them on the desk.
I took out my fountain pen and hurriedly scrawled my signature on the letters, then straightening and putting my pen away, I said: ‘I’ll be in first thing on Monday. I’ll get off now. It’s after six, isn’t it?’
‘It’s nearly half past. Are you going away, Ches?’
I looked sharply at her, frowning.
I don’t know. I might. I’ll probably play some golf.’
‘I hope you get a little rest. You don’t have to worry so much, Ches, you’re doing fine.’
At any other time this would have encouraged me, but in my present mood it only irritated me.
