Killing Violets Tanith Lee (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📖

semi-conscious, tucked into the luxurious bed. A hot stone water-bottle was being placed at her feet by a faceless female hotel attendant, and Raoul was wringing out a cloth in ice-water for her head.

Presently, when they were again alone, “I’m sorry,” said Anna, the first words she had been able to speak for some while. “How disgusting. How ungrateful.”

Raoul sat looking at her. As his splendid dark-browed face came back into focus, she saw only an amused sympathy on it. This gave her, and was to continue to give her for some time, an elevated idea of Raoul, his philosophies and wisdoms, his tolerance of life and of her.

“You should have told me,” said Raoul, “that you were actually in a starved condition.”

“I was only greedy, and stupid,” she murmured. And fell asleep.

If she had thought about it, which she had had no time to do, she would have imagined he would be going to bundle her out in the morning, perhaps with a few banknotes, maybe only with a disagreeable curse.

In fact, when she woke he was gone, leaving her a note. The note told her to do as she wished in the suite; he had ordered her a very light meal. She must relax. He would see her that evening.

Anna sat in the bed, eating the hot roll and drinking the milk. Then she got up and had a long, scented bath in the enormous marble tub.

When Raoul returned, she was lying asleep again in the bed. She was naked, and had been waiting, to make things up to him.

But cheerfully he only told her, if she was strong enough, to get up. He had hired a gown for her. They would dine downstairs.

A woman came and did Anna’s hair and nails. There was powder, lipstick, and more scent. Lingerie and stockings. The gown was beaded grey silk. More rain. It suited her.

At first, going into the dining-room, seeing all the guests, the straight-laced little orchestra, the palms, and candles burning, and again smelling the food, she felt faint.

But Raoul guided her to a table. She ate sensibly now, and only a little. She drank two glasses of the red wine to please him, because he insisted it would strengthen her. Then she felt like crying for a moment, because he had been so kind, because she had never thought she would ever sit in such a place again. Or rather, not for many years, perhaps not until she was middle-aged, or old.

At last, she diffidently touched his hand.

“Shall we go upstairs?” she timidly asked. She was becoming desperate to thank him, to pay him. To have it over and face grim reality once more. She had proved extremely costly.

“Yes, in a minute. But I want to ask you something, Anna.”

“Yes, Raoul.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Anna frowned. She had not expected this; it was like speaking of fairies or ghosts, probably speaking of them in the middle of a violent storm at sea or when hanging off a wire in mid-air.

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t either,” said Raoul. “I don’t even know if I do now. But something – something has happened.”

Abruptly, she realized he meant himself, and her. Before she could stop it she giggled. How awful. Quickly she said, “I’m sorry. The wine, it’s made me silly…”

“That’s all right, Anna. This must seem extraordinary. But there you are. I might have taken it more slowly, but I have to go back tonight. Start back. I mean, back to England.”

A wave of relief rushed over her and through her blood and heart. He must be one of those men who preferred to pretend love when they made it. But then, he had been so direct by the river. He had used, then, only the positive word, fuck.

“Anna,” he said, “I have to be at the station in an hour. And I want you to come with me.”

“Of course I will.” There was no time, evidently, even for sex. She would offer it, of course. A quick rough fling.

“You don’t understand,” he said calmly. “I want you to get on the train with me. To travel with me.”

“Where?” One of her first questions, repeated.

“To England, Anna. Oh, it sounds preposterous. But you’re lost here, aren’t you? You’ve no one and nothing. I don’t want to intrude. I won’t ask you anything. We know nothing about each other, do we? Isn’t that rather wonderful? Like two books bound with skin. We can read each other as we go. Or not. Frankly I don’t care if you never tell me anything. Just – be with me.”

He was not pleading. He didn’t sound desperate or unbalanced. It occurred to her he might lead her on to the phantasmal train, carry her away over the map of Europe, and in some dark forest, as the train roared on, slice her throat or hang her from a pine.

You met a wet girl in the rain. You took her to your hotel and fed her and heard her throwing up for hours, and from this you loved her? You wanted her? He looked self-possessed, beautiful, rich, and utterly certain.

“I don’t…” she said softly.

“I’m afraid it has to be yes or no. The trains are all over the place – I thought I had until midnight to talk you round. I’ve bought a ticket for you. I’ve got a sleeper. It won’t be uncomfortable. I’ll take care of you, Anna. Wouldn’t that be a relief, after what you’ve had to put up with?”

“Oh, it wasn’t much,” she said. She lowered her eyes. “You’ve been wonderfully kind. But…”

“Yes or no, Anna. Say it now.”

“But I can’t – I can’t – it isn’t…” she said wildly. “I may disappoint you…”

“Sexually, you mean?”

“Yes, and in all ways.”

He laughed. Like before.

Then he took her hand, and squeezed it. And his clasp was warm and strong.

To ourselves, we are the centre of the universe. How can it be otherwise? Dissemble to ourselves and others all we may, it