PRAGMATISM

Annaliese was trying not to cry. Her hands were wringing the napkin, twisting and knotting it, then unknotting it again, spreading it out and smoothing it flat on the table before beginning to twist it up again. All the while she was talking in a low voice, explaining, apologising, criticising herself, criticising Carriscant more mildly, blaming them both for mistakes made.

Carriscant took the napkin from her, gently. She was driving him mad with her fidgeting. They were sitting at the dining table, the meal cleared away. Carriscant had been pouring himself a large brandy when Annaliese came through and said she wanted to talk. They had sat down facing each other and she started to twist the napkin as he listened in some amazement to her apologies. She blamed herself, she said, she had been too unfeeling, too severe. She hated this coldness that existed between them; the lives they were living at the moment were no marriage-worse than no marriage.

'I want us to try again, Salvador, to try and make a go of it, to be man and wife again.'

'Annaliese, I don't think -'

'Look, just say we'll try. Surely we owe that to each other? I want things to be as they were. Don't you remember, when you first came back from Europe? It was my fault, I know. I turned from you. When Papa and Hannah left I felt so awful. And then when Papa died, I felt-And you were at work so much of the time. I drew in on myself, I know. I gave you no affection. I know I made the mistakes. But my nerves, you see…'

Carriscant tried to listen but his mind kept returning to the question of whether Delphine would tell Sieverance right away or wait a day or so. Now Annaliese stretched a hand across the table top. He took it dutifully, dutifully squeezed it, gently.

'Can we try, Salvador, can we try?'

'Of course, my dear. It's never too late.'

'Bless you. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry. Everything will change now for the better, you'll see.'

Her tears had exhausted her and she went to bed early. Carriscant stayed up late checking his accounts, running over the plan in his head, making refinements to the organisation, trying to establish if anything could go wrong. He retired to his study about midnight and was just drifting into sleep when there was a light tap on the door and it swung open.

' Salvador, it's me.'

The room was so dark all he could see of her was the ghostly pale rectangle of her nightdress.

'Annaliese,' he said, trying to keep the astonishment out of his voice. 'What's wrong?'

'I was waiting for you.' The rectangle enlarged as she moved closer to the bed.

'I didn't want to disturb you,' he said, deceitfully. 'You seemed so tired.'

Now the shape of the nightdress was changing again: it shrank to a square, disappeared, reappeared for a brief second, thinner and then disappeared completely. He heard the whisper of the mosquito netting being raised and the next sensation he was aware of was Annaliese's naked body sliding into the divan bed beside him.

'We must make a new start, my darling,' she said.

The absolute darkness of the room and her bed-warm small body squirming beside him were having an effect. He put out a hand and it struck one of her small breasts and he cupped it instinctively. He felt her breath on his cheek and at the same time her hand slid under the hem of his nightgown and travelled up his thigh. He flinched as she grasped him.

'See, Salvador, I knew. I'm so pleased, I-'

'No tears, my love, please.'

Her lips were on his face, dabbing, searching for his mouth. In the confusion of tactile messages that his body was receiving some portion of his mind counselled restraint, that this was wrong, that this was some kind of double betrayal. But she was pulling him round on top of her and without thinking he was kissing her breasts. In the darkness she was like a warm writhing anonymous girl, he thought, quite unlike the Annaliese he thought he had come to know and barely tolerate. Why, he thought, as she widened her legs to accommodate him, she might be anybody. And this was the sophistry with which he comforted himself as he lay with her later: a brief physical encounter in the night, and given what was about to ensue with Delphine it would not have been pragmatic to deny her. It had to be gone through with to allay suspicions. His conscience was clear.

VIENNA, PARIS, MOSCOW, ROME…

'I haven't told him yet,' Delphine said. She looked tired, under strain, her eyes dark. 'I just don't think I can face his huge smugness,' she went on with some vehemence. 'His self-satisfaction.'

'Have you had – ' Carriscant began, unreflectingly. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I shouldn't ask.' He knew he wanted to ease his own guilt.

'No,' she said bluntly. 'If you must know. He doesn't… It was part of the problem between us. He…' She squared her shoulders. 'He finds it difficult to stay hard.' She looked at him unflinchingly. 'Ejaculatio praecox, I believe is the correct term.'

'Oh.' Carriscant tried not to show how pleased he was at this news. 'I see what you mean about the smugness, then.'

'He'll go mad with joy, ecstatic.'

'Don't delay too long, that's all.' He reached out and cupped her face. 'I've spoken to Axel today. There was no problem; in fact he was positively unperturbed. Everything is ready.'

They were sitting, fully clothed, on the camp bed in the nipa barn. She reached out for him and pulled him to her and they hugged each other silently for a moment or two.

She was still tense. 'You understand now why I said the thing had to be finished once and for all. We can't just run away. You see, once I tell him about the child he'd never let me go. Follow me anywhere, for ever.' Her face darkened as if she were contemplating this prospect. 'Maybe I shouldn't tell him about the child.'

'It won't work otherwise. He'd suspect instantly. He'd know everything within hours. This is the only way we can be truly free. For always.'

'I know, I know. It's just difficult, I -'

'But look at it this way, now I know how he feels about being a father it'll work all the better.' He could see how she wanted to believe him. 'He'll never know. Trust me.'

'What about you?'

'I'll say I'm going to the country to see my mother for a week or so. When they come looking for me it'll be too late.'

She exhaled and slumped, her shoulders rounding, as she rubbed her face with her hands.

'My God,' she said. 'Can you believe it? Just think, Salvador, Vienna. We'll be in Vienna in a matter of weeks.'

'Or Paris, or Moscow, or Rome, or Athens…'

'And nobody will know who we are or where we came from.'

He laughed, the joy suddenly effervescent in him. 'No-body'll have heard of the Philippines.'

She was sober again. 'We're booked for Yokohama on the twenty-fifth.'

'That gives us plenty of time. Axel's waiting, ready. I just have to give him a few days' notice. He made absolutely no fuss about the conditions. A routine job for him, probably, all this clandestine stuff.'

'All right,' she said, making a decision. 'I'll tell him tonight.'

She rose to her feet and gathered up her pencils and sketch pad and looked around the barn. She left the grip with a change of clothes that he had asked her to bring.

'I won't see you here again, I suppose,' she said, a little sadly. 'Or this preposterous flying machine. Poor Pantaleon.'

'Well, it keeps him busy. And it was a good place for us.'

'Yes,' she said emphatically. 'Yes, it was.' Then she kissed him, hard, pushing her tongue into his mouth, feeding on him. They broke apart and looked at each other.

'We'll be free,' he said. 'Don't worry.'

'I love you, Salvador,' she said.

After she had gone he realised that it was the first time he could remember hearing the words from her lips.