Doctor's Wife (9 page)

    “All right.” He was looking up at the façade of the
Welcome. “Which is your room, by the way?”

    “It’s on the fourth floor. I think it’s the third
from the left over there.”

    “You have a balcony?”

    “Yes.”

    He walked her up to the front entrance. “I think
I’ll go for a stroll,” he said. “I don’t feel like sitting in my
cell.”

    “It’s that bad, is it?”

    “It’s no hell. Listen, do you have anything to
read?”

    “I have some paperbacks.”

    “What kind?”

    “Some mysteries, and a Muriel Spark and a Doris
Lessing. Look, I’ll bring them down and you can take your
pick.”

    “Good.”

    When they entered the hotel lobby, there was no
clerk at the desk, so she took her own key down from the rack. Tom
had already pressed the lift button.

    “Should I go up with you?” he asked, and she saw he
was embarrassed as soon as he’d said it.

    “No, it’s all right, I won’t be a moment.” She heard
the lift coming. The hotel seemed empty: most of the guests were
probably still out at the beach. I could let him come up to my
floor, at least. Nobody’s seen us together. I could bring out the
books and let him pick one. It would save having to make two trips
up and down.

    The lift came, but she said nothing. He opened the
door. “Should I ride up in the elevator with you?” he asked.

    And what could she say? She nodded and they went
into the small lift, facing each other, going up. When the lift
stopped on the fourth floor, the corridor was empty. She began to
go toward her room, he walking a step or two behind her. As she
unlocked the room door, she thought of the mess she had left that
morning. “I don’t want you to see how untidy I am,” she said
apologetically. He smiled and remained in the corridor while she
went inside. But the maid had been, the bed was made, things had
been put away, the shutters were open to the view. She took out her
half dozen paperbacks, Penguins and Panthers, and turned around to
see that the door had swung open. He stood, waiting, in the
corridor.

    “Terrific view,” he said.

    “Yes, it is, you can see the whole port.” And
suddenly it seemed silly to make a thing of keeping him out of the
room, so she said, “Come in and have a look. The place is tidy,
thank goodness.”

    So he came in and stepped out onto the little
balcony to look down at the Gare Maritime and the chapel. “That
chapel,” she said, “was a fishermen’s chapel. Then it was done over
by Jean Cocteau.”

    He looked at it, then turned to her. “Terrific
view,” he said again. He went back into the room and picked a book
off the bed. “This looks good. Kingsley Amis. Is it a sort of
thriller?”

    “I haven’t read it yet,” she told him. So it was all
right. She was glad she had asked him in.

    “All right, then, I’ll see you at five,” he said,
and walked past her, going toward the open door to the corridor. In
that moment their bodies touched briefly and she put her hand on
his arm, detaining him. “I had a lovely day, Tom. Really.”

    As she said it, she was not quite sure what
happened, but, clumsily, as though he had bumped into her, he put
his cheek against hers and then, still holding the Penguin, put his
arm around her waist, drawing her toward him. She felt herself
tremble. She let him hold her, his cheek touching hers. As though
this were a dream she was dreaming, she drew back, looked at him,
then kissed him on the lips, her mouth partly open, a slow, soft
kiss which filled her with a sensation as though she were about to
faint.

    They drew apart. She turned and pushed the room door
shut. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he sat beside her,
kissing her awkwardly, his hand moving down on her thigh, his
fingers touching the bare skin inside her sundress. She turned her
head away.

    “Close the shutters,” she told him.

    He rose to obey. She stood, went quickly into the
bathroom, unbuttoning the yellow sundress, quickly unhooking her
bra, pulling her pants down over her hips. She faced the mirror,
saw the white vertical line of her Caesarian scar, and, for a
moment, put her hand protectively over it. Then, hiding nothing,
turned and walked back naked into the bedroom.

    When he saw her come in like that, he seemed
startled, but, at once, as though he must instantly put himself in
the same condition, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, unbuckled
his belt, and dropped his trousers. He wore white jockey shorts and
as he lowered them and kicked his leg free of them, she saw his
penis. He had a huge erection. As he came toward her, his penis
dangled in front of him, bobbing up and down with each step. He put
his hands on her shoulders and kissed her in the hollow of her
neck, and, as he did, she took hold of that huge penis and felt its
stiffness. Then, slowly, she knelt on the floor and put the length
of it against her cheek. She kissed its tip. He watched her kiss
his penis and then, gently, took her head in his hands and, bending
down, kissed her brow. He knelt, facing her on the floor, kissed
the hollow of her neck, laid her down on the rug, and lay down
beside her. They kissed on the lips, a slow, gentle, open-mouthed
kiss, and again she felt faint. As he had that morning he began to
massage her, his hands kneading her back, moving around to caress
her belly, his fingers searching between her legs. They kissed
again and, in unspoken agreement, stood up, and she pulled down the
bedspread, revealing white sheets. He lay beside her on the bed,
facing her, his hands stroking her breasts, the tip of his
throbbing penis beating like a pulse against her belly, just below
her navel. Again, she took hold of it and squeezed it. He turned
her around, urgently, making her kneel on the bed. He was behind
her now, and when she looked around she saw it, red-tipped and
throbbing, waving in the air at her back. Then he took hold of her
hips and she felt him put his penis in the furrow between the
cheeks of her bottom. She had never done this before and for a
moment was afraid that he was trying to put it into her anus. But
then, slowly, massively, she felt it enter her vagina. She leaned
forward, pressing against the pillow, her face half buried, feeling
him bear down on her and in her. And then, driving, urgent, young,
he began to push it in and out, his hands reaching up her body to
take and caress her nipples. Her eyes shut, her mind’s eye filled
with that memory of his huge penis and his flat boy’s belly, that
penis now driving inside her, her hand reached down to touch
herself, exciting herself further. She had never done it this way,
never with the man behind her like this, and now with her breasts
tingling and his penis in her, she began to make small sounds of
pleasure. “Now,” his voice said, behind her, and as she began to
come, she felt him come too, his hands suddenly gripping her hips,
holding her, holding himself, thrusting in her.

    She cried out.

    Afterward, hot, yet shivering from her sunburn,
feeling the wetness inside her, she lay, holding him, hearing his
heart beat in his chest, a stranger with whom she had almost
fainted with pleasure as never with Kevin, a man whose penis she
now began to kiss and knead, feeling it come up, growing stiff in
her hands, sure that here, in this heat, behind closed shutters on
this bed, they were going to do it again, and that excited her; she
knelt now, leaning over him, kissing his eyes, his neck, kissing
his penis, kissing him with no shame, greedy; herself become
someone she did not know could feel this way. His hands gripped
her, lifting her up. She straddled him, looking down at him,
lowering herself until she felt him, again, enter her.

    •

    He left her at six to go back to his room. At seven
they met again at the sidewalk tables outside the Welcome. He held
her hand under the table, but they did not discuss what had
happened. “Do you want to go into Nice?” he asked.

    “No, let’s just stay here. Let’s eat here. We can
put it on my bill.”

    “That could be awkward for you. I’ll pay.”

    A young man in a black suit (she had seen him
earlier, upstairs in the main lobby) came through the bar and out
to the terrace, looking for someone. To her surprise, he came up to
her.

    “Mrs. Redden?”

    “Yes.”

    “Telephone for you. Iar-land. You can take it one
floor up, in the
cabine
.”

    “That will be my husband,” she said to Tom. “Wait
here. I won’t be long.”

    As she followed the hotel clerk to the lift, she
felt panic: it was kin to that feeling of blank fear that came on
her in her schooldays on the morning of an examination, when she
would enter the hall, see the invigilators come down the aisles,
handing out question books, and all answers would flee from her
mind. The clerk went to the switchboard, picked up his earphones,
then motioned her to go into the kiosk. The phone shrilled twice.
She picked up the receiver.

    “Hello?” I must try to sound normal.

    “Shee? Hello?” It meant he was in good form, calling
her Shee. Or that he wanted something.

    “Yes, Kevin, how are you?”

    “How are
you
? How’s the weather?”

    “Super, I’ve just had a lovely day on the
beach.”

    “Good. Listen, Shee, I know this is awful, but
Martin Dempsey, who was to stand in for me next week, is down with
the flu. Would you believe it?”

    “Oh, God.”

    “Now, listen. I’m trying to arrange with McSherry to
work things out. He’ll know by Friday. Could you believe so many
things would go wrong in one week?”

    She thought: he has no notion of coming.

    “Shee, did you hear me? Are you cross?”

    “Of course not. Look, would you rather I came
home?”

    There was a pause at the other end. She could
imagine him putting his head on one side and narrowing his eyes in
the way he did when he thought about a question. Finally, he said.
“Do you
want
to come home?”

    “Not particularly. As I said, I had a good time
today.”

    “Then why not stay? No sense spoiling both our
holidays, is there? And maybe I’ll manage to get away by
Saturday.”

    “All right then. How’s Danny doing?”

    “Oh, busy. Rugby, mostly.”

    “Well, make sure he eats proper meals, will
you?”

    “Yes, I will.”

    “I suppose I’d better ring off now.”

    “All right. Good night, Shee. I’ll let you know on
Friday.”

    “All right. Good night, Kevin.”

    When she came out of the kiosk, the desk clerk
smiled and waved to her. She waved back. “
Merci bien
.”

    “
De rien, Madame
.”

    She rang for the lift to take her downstairs again.
He’s not coming,
he’s not coming
, we’ll have all week
together. She came out through the bar, almost running, hurrying to
the table.

    “He’s not coming. He won’t be here before Saturday,
if he comes at all.”

    “You’re kidding!”

    “No, it’s true. Aren’t we lucky?”

    And then, like children who have played a joke, they
both began to laugh, laughter like a weeping spell, a release which
must run its course. They laughed, caught their breath, then
laughed again until, she sat silent, downed in an afterwave of
guilt.

    “I’m terrible.”

    “You’re not.” he said.

    “I never did anything like this before in my whole
life. I know you won’t believe that.”

    “I believe it.”

    “I mean, never.”

    He nodded. “I know. It’s the same with me. When I
followed you down here I was scared stiff you wouldn’t even speak
to me. I love you.”

    Suddenly she could not look at him. She lowered her
head. “You’re far too young for me.”

    “Nonsense. That doesn’t matter.”

    “Doesn’t it? How old are you?”

    “Twenty-six.”

    “I’m thirty-seven.” Tears came into her eyes.

    “Oh, darling, don’t think about it. We’re perfect
for each other.”

    She reached into her handbag, wadded a Kleenex into
her weeping eyes, and stood up. “Please. Let’s go up to my
room.”

    “Now?”

    “Yes.”

    The lift was waiting at the back of the bar. They
were alone in it, going up. In the fourth-floor corridor she
fumbled with her key, dropping it on the carpet. He picked it up
and, moving ahead of her, unlocked the room door, going in to the
unmade bed, the open shutters. Mrs. Redden, catching sight of
herself in the mirror, her eyes smudged from tears, began to cry
again. He put his arms around her and sat her down on the edge of
the bed and she turned to him as though in panic, kissed him
open-mouthed and urgent, slipping her fingers inside his shirt.
There, under the glare of her dressing-table lamp, he began to
undress her, she helping him until she was naked. He put his hand
out and ran the tips of his fingers over her nipples, which stood
up, hard. She began to undo his trousers, then pulled them down
over his hips, kneeling to pull down his shorts, taking his stiff
penis in her hands, watching it as he reared up over her. He lifted
her up, entering her, moving in her, she beginning to move with
him, so excited she felt she would come at once, she could hardly
stand it, it was so great, oh, God, she cried to herself, let this
go on, let it go on.

    Later, she lay on her back, the light out, looking
through the bedroom window at the night sky, hearing the hum of
talk from people dining at the sidewalk tables below on the quay.
We should go down and eat. My hair is a mess.

    “I’m hungry,” she said.

    He sat up. “Me too. Let’s eat.”

    “I’m a mess.”