I let out a huge, involuntary sigh, one of confusion and, almost, despair. She had defeated me. Every time I felt I knew her, the real woman slipped away, and put another phantom in her place. Now, there was this: cynical, cold, murderous. Vulnerable, childlike, innocent. Was this, finally, seeing into the depths of her soul and its real nature?
And then I knew. I glanced up and saw her face; it was a plastic face, an actor's face, able to show any emotion, any trait of character. But she did not see me looking and was not prepared. And I caught a glimpse of something I had seen once before, in a restaurant in Nancy, when I had called her a lady.
'You are lying to me again.'
'I am not. I did not kill Madame Stauffer.'
'I don't mean that. I mean, you are trying to push me away from you, to disgust me, and make me say how monstrous you are. You are trying to prove to yourself that all men are the same in the end. Why? So you can keep on living your life without changing, allowing no one near you?'
'Stop this, please.'
'And why would you want to do that?' I continued remorselessly. 'Let me see . . .'
'Shut up,' she said, more intently now.
'Not because of me, obviously,' I said. 'You like me, but so what? I have been around for long enough. It must be something else. Or someone else.'
'Shut up, I tell you! Just shut your mouth!' Her face was transformed; her voice was angry, furious, but her face was one of pure terror. For the first time, she looked what she was.
At that moment, I justified all her opinions about men. I was enjoying myself. I was reducing her to nothing, crying, raging, out of control – truly out of control, not with some fake passion that she sold by the yard to the highest bidder. This was the real Elizabeth, frightened, defenceless and totally alone. I had pushed through all her defences at last. I was not proud of myself, but I could not stop. I wanted to push her over the edge.
'Someone else? That must be it. Someone who does not fit into that ideal of cruelty. Who does not deserve the way you treat them, and you're frightened. Not a woman, obviously. So, a man. Oh, my God! That's it! It's obvious, really. You are in love. You have finally, really, fallen in love.'
She had collapsed off the settee, and was on her knees on the floor, head in her hands, her entire body shaking with sobs as she dissolved into tears of misery and hatred. Then a wave of compassion flowed over me and I regretted what I had said. But only a little. The feeling of triumph was too strong.
'I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!'
She attacked me, flailing at me with her fists, hitting me on the face and on my shoulders and chest. She meant it, and knew how to fight. I had to grab her by both hands to make her stop, and still she struggled to get free and renew the attack. So I bound her to me, by putting my arms around her so she could scarcely move, and then had to lie on top of her, squeezing the breath out of her body as she tried to squirm free.
'Listen to me,' I said into her ear when the struggling subsided enough for me to speak. 'You need to understand a few things here. I am your friend. I don't know why, but I am. You do not understand much about friendship, I know. It is time to learn. I do not judge you or criticise you. I never have. I never will. For as long as you have known me, you have hidden from me. That does not matter either. But it is time to stop. You have fallen in love with someone. Serve you right. You now know it is not merely a word in a book. Your life will change forever, and not before time. You will have to make more room for trust and generosity. And heartache and disappointment, perhaps. Don't be afraid of it. Now, can I risk letting you go without meeting the fate of Herr Wichmann?'
She sniffled, which I took to be a yes, so I cautiously let her go. She immediately came towards me again, and sobbed into my shoulder for a good ten minutes.
'I'm sorry. I have never behaved like that before.'
'And I, also, am sorry you have never behaved like that before,' I said with a smile. 'Who is this paragon of all the manly virtues who has stolen your heart where all others have failed?'
There was a long, long pause, before she finally lifted her face, sniffled – she even managed to make that attractive – and stared at me with defiance. 'Mr Stone.'
I just stopped myself from laughing. 'Are you . . . I mean, really?'
'Don't laugh.'
'I'm not,' I said, 'really I'm not,' although I was. 'It's just that I imagined . . . that Russian count, now. He's a handsome, rich fellow.'
'He's also married. Besides, I do not wish to live in Russia.'
'But Stone is . . . you know . . .'
'Middling height, a tendency to the plump, gruff, unforthcoming and old,' she replied with a watery smile.
'Yes. So . . .'
