Free Red Stefan by Patricia Wentworth Page B

a hundred times more difficult and dangerous than it was already. It was going to make getting Elizabeth out of the country something very near an impossibility. The answer to that was, “Hurry, hurry, hurry! Get a move on! Get her away and over the border before they can get their passports going.”
    Irina said, “You are very silent.”
    That wouldn’t do. No, by gum, it wouldn’t. He said the first thing that came into his head.
    â€œSometimes one doesn’t want to talk.”
    â€œWhen one is with a friend—yes, I have felt that too. In a true friendship like ours, where there is a common ideology, words are not necessary, yet sometimes they give one pleasure. You do not imagine—” She broke off without finishing her sentence.
    â€œWhat were you going to say?”
    â€œIt was about Anton. I do not wish you to think that I have a particular friendship for him. Physically, he repels me.”
    Stephen was not surprised to hear it, but he found the trend of the conversation a little alarming.
    â€œWhereas you,” said Irina in a clear ringing tone which she did not attempt to lower—“you, of course, have always attracted me.”
    This being one of those remarks to which it is difficult to think of a suitable answer, Stephen made no answer at all. If Irina meant to make love to him, it was going to be a damned difficult situation to handle—difficult, but neither so difficult nor so dangerous as an inquisition upon Elizabeth.
    Irina’s clear voice flowed on.
    â€œI would not accept a marriage relationship which was founded on physical attraction alone—you must not think that of me. There must be community of ideas and a common devotion to Soviet Socialist ideals. I should consider a union of these three elements necessary for happiness in marriage. In fact, they constitute love as I understand it.”
    â€œThat is very well put,” said Stephen.
    â€œYes,” said Irina. “We have that community of ideas—I have often noticed it. Why did you marry this girl Varvara, with whom you have not an idea in common? I do not mind telling you that it has lowered you very much in my esteem.”
    They had arrived at the schoolmaster’s house. Irina opened the door, walked in, and began to light the lamp. When the wick flared it threw her shadow upon the opposite wall. It hung there, very tall and black, like something that menaced them both. She slipped the chimney over the flame, straightened herself, and went on as calmly as if there had been no interruption.
    â€œIs your marriage a registered one?”
    Stephen shook his head. Lies were awkward things and apt to trip one up. He told no more of them than he could help. The fact that his marriage was unregistered would shock no one except a few of the older people in the village.
    â€œPerhaps we shall register it—I don’t know.”
    â€œWhy do you not come in and shut the door? Whether you register your marriage or not is nothing to me—you must understand that.”
    â€œHow could it be?”
    Irina looked at him with contempt.
    â€œNow you are not being honest. When two people are friends, the bad conduct of one must concern the other.”
    â€œI am sorry you should think my conduct bad,” said Stephen in his most matter-of-fact voice. He did not wish to have a scene with Irina, but he could see that she was heading that way. Perhaps it would be better to have it out with her and get it over.
    Her eyes flashed dark fire.
    â€œYou make a low animal marriage like that, and you do not expect me to think your conduct bad?”
    â€œA man must marry some time.”
    Irina lifted her head. The shadow moved behind her on the wall.
    â€œAnd you choose this Varvara for your life-companion. What a companion!”
    â€œI had better go,” said Stephen.
    He turned to the door, but she was there before him. She leaned against it with outspread