“Why?” Suddenly her eyes widened and she turned to him. “Do I look so much more than ten years older?”
“Of course you don’t, darling. What are you, twenty-six?”
“Yes. Do I
He laughed. “Six-and-twenty! My God, what an age! Do you know how old I am? Thirty-nine. How do you imagine I get around without a cane?”
Amber made a face, sorting over the cherries. “But it’s different with men.”
“Only because women think so.”
But she preferred to discuss something more agreeable. “I hope we’re going to have something to eat. I didn’t have dinner today—Madame Rouvière was fitting my gown for his Majesty’s birthday.” It was the custom for the Court to dress up on that occasion. “Oh, wait till you see it!” She rolled her eyes, intimating that he would be thunder-struck at the spectacle.
He smiled. “Don’t tell me—I know. It’s transparent from the waist down.”
“Oh, you villain! It is not! It’s very discreet—as discreet as anything of Corinna’s, I’ll warrant you!”
But, as always, she knew that it had been a mistake to mention his wife. His face closed, the smile faded, and both of them fell silent.
Riding there beside him, jogging about uncomfortably on the hard springless seat, Amber wondered what he was thinking, and all her grievances against him rushed back. But she stole a glance at him from the corners of her eyes, saw his handsome profile, the nervous flickering of jaw muscles beneath the smooth brown skin, and she longed to reach out and touch him, to tell him how deeply, how hopelessly, how eternally she loved him. At that moment the coach turned into the courtyard of the lodging-house and as it stopped he got swiftly out and reached a hand in to help her.
Chickens, clucking and cackling, had rushed for cover as the horses came in and a cat streaked out of the way of the wheels. The sun lay warm on the brick-paved yard though the smell of recent rain was there, and pots of flowers against the wall had put out green leaves and dainty buds, tipped with colour. Overhead, hanging from lines or flung across balcony railings, was the stiff-dried wash, bed-sheets and shirts and towels and the billowing smocks of the women. A little boy sat in the sun, stroking his dog and singing an idle endless song to himself; he looked up curiously but did not move as the coach stopped short of him by only a few feet.
Amber put her hand into Bruce’s and jumped down, flipping off her hat to feel the sun on her hair and skin, smiling at the youngster and asking him if he wanted some cherries. He was on his feet in an instant and after taking out a handful she gave him the basket. As Bruce had now paid the driver they strolled into the side entrance which led up to their apartments, Amber eating the fruit and spitting out pits as she went.
He had ordered a meal sent up and when they arrived the waiters were just leaving. A heavy white-damask cloth was laid on a small table before the fireplace, with flat silver and napkins, a seven-branched lighted candelabrum and handsome Italian dishes of wrought silver. There were strawberries in thick cream, a crisp broiled carp caught that morning in the river, a plateful of hot buns with a spattering of caraway seeds on them, and a jelly-torte—a delicious achievement with moist cooked apples in the center and apple-jelly poured over the whole. And there was a pot of steaming black coffee.
“Oh!” cried Amber in delight, forgetting that they had been on the narrow edge of hostility. “Everything I love!” She turned joyously and kissed him. “You always remember what I like best, darling!”
And it was true that he did. Time after time he had brought her unexpected gifts, some of the greatest value, others of none at all. If a thing was beautiful or if it was amusing, if it reminded him of her or if he thought that it would make her laugh, he bought it—a length of some marvellous green-and-gold glinting material, a fabulous jewel, or a mischievous monkey.
She flung her hat aside and loosened the laces of her corselet so that she would be more comfortable, and they sat down to eat. All her resentment had gone. They talked and laughed, enjoying the good food, absorbed in each other, both of them happy and content.
They had come at only a few minutes past two and it had seemed then that there was a long afternoon before them. But the sun had moved from where it had been falling across their dining-table, around to the bedroom, onto the recessed seat below the square-paned windows, and finally out of the room altogether. Inside it was already cool shadowy dusk, though not dark enough yet to light the candles. Amber got up from where she had been lying on the bed with a pile of nutshells between her and Bruce, and went to look out the window.
She was only partly dressed, bare-footed and wearing her smock. Bruce, in his plain-cut breeches and wide-sleeved white shirt lay stretched out and resting on one elbow, cracking a nutshell in his right hand, watching her.
