Is it rounder? No, there's no difference and yet ...
And yet there is a vast difference, like B.c. and A.d. and at least once a day I wonder, would it be a boy or girl? Or devil, taking after the rapist father. No, no child of mine could be devil!
Devil. That reminds me today's Friday and in two days I have to go to church and confess again. The words get no easier. How I hate confession now and loathe Father Leo, such a fat, uncouth, tobacco-smelling and lecherous old man. He reminds me of Aunt Emma's confessor in Paris--the ancient Scot, smelling of whisky, whose French was as vile as his cassock. Lucky for me that neither she nor Uncle Michel were fanatic, just ordinary Sunday Catholics. I wonder how she is, and poor Uncle Michel.
Tomorrow I will speak to Malcolm...
Dear dear Malcolm, he was so nice tonight, so strong and wise and oh how I wanted him. So glad I can talk to him, so lucky for me that Aunt Emma refused to learn French so I had to learn English. How could she possibly survive in Paris all those years speaking only English, and what possessed Uncle Michel to marry her and endure such hardship? Though I love her and him, she so dowdy, he so ordinary.
Love! That's what he would always say and she would say and that they had met when he was in Normandy one summer vacation, she an actress with a travelling Shakespearean troupe, he a junior official. It was love at first glance, they would always say, and tell how beautiful she was and handsome he was. Then running away together, married within the week, so romantic but not so happy ever after.
But we will be, Malcolm and I. Ah yes, and I will love Malcolm as a modern wife should, we'll have lots of children, they'll be brought up Catholic, it won't matter to him, he's not fanatic either: "I'm really not, Angelique.
Of course we'll be married according to Protestant traditions, Mother will not have it otherwise, of that I'm certain. Afterwards we can have a Catholic ceremony, privately, if you wish..."
Never mind even if it's secret, it's the real marriage--not like the other--the children will be accepted into Mother Church, we will all live in Paris most of the year, he will love me and I will love him and we'll make love marvelously, she thought, her heart beginning to thump pleasantly as she let her mind roam. Deeper and deeper.
Then, because the evening had been wonderful and she felt wonderful and quite safe, she allowed the pleasing parts of that night's dream to return.
She could remember none of it exactly. The outrage dissolved pictures within erotic pictures within erotic pictures. A little burning that became a pervading warmth. Knowing but not knowing. Feeling but not feeling strong arms embracing, and being possessed by a never-before-experienced sensuality and openness, head, body, life, gloriously free to abandon all restraint, to relish everything because it was... just a dream.
But did I awake, or almost awake, and only pretend that I didn't, she asked herself again and again, always with a shudder. I could not have responded that wantonly awake--surely not--but the dream was so strong and, in its grasp, I was driven by a tempest to want more and again more and...
She heard the outer door open and close and then the bedroom door latch moving and whirled to see Andr`e open the door silently and close it silently, bolt it, and lean against it, a mocking smile on his lips.
Suddenly she was afraid. "What do you want, Andr`e?"
For a long time he did not answer, then came over to the bed and stared down at her. "To... to talk, eh?" he said softly. "We should, eh?
Talk, or, or what?"
"I don't understand," she said, understanding too well, painfully aware of the disturbing glitter in his eyes where only a few minutes before there had been only compassion. But she kept her voice reasonable, cursing herself that she had not barred the door--never a need here, always servants or Legation staff about and no one would dare enter without permission. "Please, don't y--"
"We should talk, about tomorrow and be, be friends."
"Dear Andr`e, please, it's late, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, sorry but you've no right to come in here without knock--" In momentary panic she retreated to the other side of the bed as he sat on the edge and reached for her. "Stop or I'll scream!"
His laugh was soft and barbed. "If you scream, dear Angelique, that will bring the servants and I will unlock the door and tell them you invited me here--you wanted privacy to discuss your need for money, cash money, for your abortion." Again the mocking twisted smile. "Eh?"
"Oh Andr`e, don't be like that, please leave, please--if someone were to see you, please."
"First... first a kiss."
She flushed. "Get out, how dare you!"
"Shut up and listen," he whispered harshly and his hand caught her wrist and held it in a vise, "I can dare anything, if I want more than a kiss you'll give it to me happily or else.
Without me you'll be found out, without me--"
"Andr`e... please let me go." As much as she tried she could not break his grip. With a twisted smile he released her. "You hurt me," she said, near tears.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said throatily, his voice sounding strange to him and he knew he was insane to be here and doing this, but he had been caught up in such sudden horror that it had overpowered his reason, his feet carrying him here of their own volition, to force her to--to what?
To share his degradation. Why not? his brain was shrieking, It's her fault, flaunting her tits and blatant sexuality, reminding me! She's no better than a street slut, maybe she wasn't raped, isn't she out to trap Struan and his millions by any means? "I'm, I'm your friend, aren't I helping you? Come over here, a, a kiss isn't much payment."
"No!"
"By Christ, do it happily or I'll stop helping you and, in a day or two, I'll inform Struan and Babcott, anonymously. You want that? Eh?"
"Andr`e, please..." She looked around, desperate for a way to escape. There was none.
He moved closer to her on the bed and reached for her breast but she pushed his hand away and began to resist and to fight and hacked with her nails for his eyes but he held her helpless as she struggled, afraid to call out, knowing she was snared and lost and would have to submit. Abruptly, there was a violent pounding on the shutter.
The suddenness ripped Andr`e out of his madness and she screamed in fright. Aghast, he leapt off the bed, rushed for the door, unlocked it and the one to the corridor, then whirled and ran to the windows, pulling them open. In seconds he had unbarred the shutters and shoved them outwards.
Nothing. No one there. Nothing but bushes waving in the wind, the sound of the sea, the promenade beyond the fence empty of people.
A sentry hurried into view. "What's going on?"
"I should ask you that, soldier," Andr`e said, his heart grinding, his words tumbling over. "Did you see anyone, anything? I was passing Mademoiselle's door and heard, or thought I heard someone pounding on her shutters. Quick, look around!"
Behind him, Pierre Vervene, the Charg`e d'Affairs, a flickering candle in his hand, hurried anxiously into the room, dressing gown over his nightshirt, nightcap askew. Others began crowding the doorway, "What's going on-- oh, Andr`e! What the devil... what's going on? Mademoiselle, you screamed?"
"Yes, I, he--" she stammered, "Andr`e was, he, someone banged on the shutters and Andr`e, well, he--"
"I was just passing her door," Andr`e said, "and rushed in--isn't that true, Angelique?"
She dropped her eyes, holding the bedclothes closer around her. "Yes, yes that's true," she said, afraid and hating him but attempting to hide it.
Vervene joined Andr`e at the window and peered out. "Perhaps it was the wind, we have sudden squalls here and the shutters aren't exactly new." He shook one of them. Indeed it was loose and rattled noisily. Then he leaned out and shouted after the sentry. "Make a very good search and come back and report to me." Then he closed and barred the shutters, and re-bolted the windows. "There!
Nothing to worry about."
"Yes, yes, but..." Tears of relief began to well.
"Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, nothing to worry about, don't cry, you're perfectly safe, no need to worry, of course not."
Vervene took off his nightcap and scratched his bald pate, at a loss. Then, thankfully, he saw Ah Soh amongst the others at the doorway and motioned at her importantly.
"Ah Soh, you-ah sleep here, with Miss'ee, heya?"
"Yes Mass'er." Ah Soh hurried off to get some bedding and everyone else began to drift away.
"I'll wait with you, More'selle Angelique, until she returns." The older man yawned. "Probably you were both mistaken, and it was the wind. Who would want to bang on the shutters, eh? There aren't any rotten little street urchins and guttersnipes in the Settlement to play pranks or be pickpockets, thank God! Must have been the wind, eh?"
"I'm sure you're right," Andr`e said, over his scare now, dreading that someone had been outside, watching--he had seen the crack but no other signs. "Don't you agree Angelique?"