Man, woman, and child(35)

"That's rather on the ball for them/' offered Margo. "He's certainly a rising star. But couldn't it have waited till the end of your holiday?"

"Not really. Gavin was only up in Cambridge for the day/'

124



"Gavin?*' Margo grinned. "We're already on a first-name basis, are we?"

"Come on, Margo—it's just work."

"Of course," she answered sarcastically. "Is he as handsome as his photographs?"

"I suppose so," Sheila answered noncommittally.

"Does he have an English accent?"

"Well, he does come from England."

"English accents are seductive, don't you think?"

"They can be."

Sheila would have preferred simply to chronicle the events. But Margo's radar was picking up the unspoken signals.

"Did he like you?"

Sheila paused.

"Well, he thinks I'm a good editor."

"Editor shmeditor. Where did he take you for dinner?"

"La Groceria in Central Square."

"Ah, candlelight—very romantic. And of course you only discussed revisions?"

"Certainly."

"Liar."

"Well, it's normal to chat about other things too."

"Of course," said Margo. "And when did he make his pass?"

"What?"

"Come on, Sheil. He's gorgeous, he's eligible, and he's notorious."

"But I'm-"

"And you're a very pretty lady."

"I was about to say I'm married."

Margo looked at her with eyebrow raised. "And the world is round," she stated, "none of which has anything to do with Gavin Wilson."



Sheila took another sip and said, *'This is good wine."

"Ah, so Fm right. Now tell me what he said and I'll tell you what he meant/'

"The whole evening?''

"No, you idiot. Just the postprandial pitch."

"There was none. He drove me to my car. That's aU."

"Silently? No dialogue?"

Sheila paused. Now she had misgivings about saying any more to Margo.

"Well, he did ask me for a drink. I don't think it was anything."

Margo's eyes widened. "A drink? Where?**

"At his hotel."

"I would say that was a pretty definitive pass, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," Sheila conceded, "I guess so."

^'Then what the hell are you doing here?**

^'That sort of thing is hardly my lifestyle," Sheila answered.

Margo got up and sat next to her on the couch.

"Listen lovey," she said quietly, taking Sheila's hand, "you've always been the perfect wife and you've just had your ego flattened with a steam roller. Doesn't it make you feel good to find out that a really super guy thinks you're terrific?"

"I ... I was sort of flattered, yes."

"Then I repeat my question—what on earth are you doing here?"

"Margo, I've been through enough humiliation. I don't have to be some English Casanova's little nocturnal distraction."

"Is that all you think he wants?"

"It doesn't matter, Margo. Because despite this wretched mess, I still love Bob and I don't want my marriage to suffer any more than it has."



"What makes you so sure your marriage would suffer?''

Sheila tried to read Margo's intention from her face. She seemed genuinely concerned. This was not the pseudo-sophisticate of Josselyn Hall, the advocate of Free Love who had remained a virgin till her wedding day. This was someone who was trying to tell a friend she really cared for that, sadly, nothing in life was perfect. A fact that Sheila evidently had been slow to learn.

"Look, Sheil," Margo continued, "this has nothing to do with revenge or getting back at Bob. He doesn't ever have to know. . . ."

"But he loves me," Sheila murmured, "and he's really been making such an effort."

Margo looked at her wounded friend. What more could she say without alienating her?

One more thing.

"What about the gorgeous French doctor?"

This really hurt.

"Damn," said Sheila. Her teeth were clenched in anger. She did not really wish to think about the beauty of the late Nicole Guerin.

The two women sat in silence for a moment. Finally Margo asked, "How exactly did you leave it with Gavin?"

"I just told him I was tired."

"Oh? So you didn't slam the door and bolt it, did you?"

"No is no."

"Weren't you the slightest bit tempted?"

What was the point of denying it now?

"Margo, where could it lead?"

"Nowhere, probably. But it might just make you a little less unhappy. Anyway, you'll never know unless you follow it up."



Sheila wanted to end—or at least postpone—further discussion.

''Look/' she said, "we'll be working on his books in the next couple of months. There'll be plenty of time to—'