Night Over Water - Ken Follett [130]
Diana slammed the door behind her and said: “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?”
It was a good question, she thought in the back of her mind. What was she so angry about? “Everyone will know that you’re spending the night with her!”
“I had no choice,” he protested. “There were no other seats left.”
“Don’t you know how people will laugh at us? It’s bad enough your following me like this!”
“Why would I care? Everyone laughs at a chap whose wife runs off with another fellow.”
“But this is making it worse! You should have accepted the situation and made the best of it.”
“You ought to know me better than that.”
“I do—that’s why I tried to prevent you following me.”
He shrugged. “Well, you failed. You’re not clever enough to outwit me.”
“And you’re not clever enough to know when to give in gracefully!”
“I’ve never pretended to be graceful.”
“And what kind of tramp is she? She’s married—I saw her ring!”
“She’s a widow. Anyway, what right have you got to be so damn superior? You’re married, and you’re spending the night with your fancy man.”
“At least we’ll be in separate bunks in a public compartment, not tucked away in a cozy little bridal suite,” she said, suppressing a guilty pang as she recalled how she had planned to share a bunk with Mark.
“But I’m not having an affair with Mrs. Lenehan,” he said in an exasperated tone, “whereas you’ve been dropping your drawers for that playboy all bloody summer, haven’t you?”
“Don’t be so vulgar,” she hissed; but she felt somehow he was right. That was exactly what she had been doing: whipping her panties off as quick as she could every time she got near Mark. He was right.
“If it’s vulgar to say it, it must be worse to do it,” he said.
“At least I was discreet—I didn’t flaunt it and humiliate you.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I’ll probably find I was the only person in Greater Manchester who didn’t know what you were up to. Adulterers are never as discreet as they think.”
“Don’t call me that!” she protested. It made her feel ashamed.
“Why not? It’s what you are.”
“It sounds vile,” she said, looking away.
“Be thankful we don’t stone adulteresses like they did in the Bible.”
“It’s a horrible word.”
“You should be ashamed of the deed, not the word.”
“You’re so bloody righteous,” she said wearily. “You’ve never done anything wrong, have you?”
“I’ve always done right by you!” he said angrily.
She became thoroughly exasperated with him. “Two wives have run away from you, but you’ve always been the innocent party. Will it ever occur to you to wonder where you might be going wrong?”
That got to him. He grabbed her, holding her arms above the elbow, and shook her. “I gave you everything you wanted,” he said angrily.
“But you don’t care how I feel about things,” she shouted. “You never did. That’s why I left you.” She put her hands on his chest to push him away—and at that moment the door opened and Mark came in.
He stood there in his pajamas, staring at the two of them, and said: “What the hell is this, Diana? Are you planning to spend the night in the honeymoon suite?”
She pushed Mervyn away and he let her go. “No, I’m not,” she said to Mark. “This is Mrs. Lenehan’s accommodation—Mervyn’s sharing it.”
Mark laughed scornfully. “That’s rich!” he said. “I have to put this in a script sometime!”
“It’s not funny!” she protested.
“But it is!” he said. “This guy comes chasing his wife like a lunatic. Then what does he do? He shacks up with a girl he meets on the way!”
Diana resented his attitude, and found herself unwillingly defending Mervyn. “They’re not shacked up,” she said impatiently. “These were the only seats left.”
“You should be glad,” Mark said. “If he falls for her, maybe he’ll stop chasing you.”
“Can’t you see I’m upset?”
“Sure, but I don’t understand why,” he said. “You don’t love Mervyn anymore. Sometimes you talk as if you hate him. You’ve left him. So why do you care who he sleeps with?”
“I don’t know, but I do! I feel humiliated!”