Free The Rendezvous by Evelyn Anthony

did affect her – slow her down a little?’ Now she did turn and she smiled up at him.
    â€˜No,’ Joe Kaplan said, ‘it didn’t.’ He hadn’t meant to rise, but he had had a long day and it came out in spite of the futility and, above all, the repetition of this particular argument.
    â€˜Vera, why don’t you get off Terese’s back? What’s she ever done to you?’
    â€˜That’s just it,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure. Anyway, I’m not the one who’s on her back – or ever has been. How about you?’
    It always made him furious, though she’d been accusing him for years, and he became violently angry yet again.
    â€˜I have never had an affair with that woman. I have never touched her. She was my patient and she still enjoys that kind of immunity as far as I’m concerned.’ He breathed loudly and deeply to control himself and said the next thing very calmly. ‘I’m not a violent person, Vera, but the next time you make any kind of a crack about me and Terese I’ll slap the bitchery right out of you. Now I suggest we might get a move on or we’ll be late. As a doctor I appreciate punctuality, and as a Jew I like to be polite. I’ll be outside in the car.’
    He walked out of the room, closing the door quietly as if nothing had happened. His wife sprayed herself with Casaque, put a sachet into her bag and checked that she had her lipstick, vanity case and kleenex; she wore a black dress by Jakes and her figure was like a girl’s. She was an immaculately groomed woman and it was all part of a routine she had learnt long ago and never relaxed. The result was what she saw as she took a last look at herself, sables over the left arm, dress, bag, shoes, everything in perfect harmony, with the right amount of jewellery. ‘As a Jew I like to be polite.’
    He knew what was wrong with her, and she was suddenly very sorry that she hadn’t been able to deceive him. He ran a Volvo 28, and in spite of her protests that it was vulgar and unsuitable, he had ordered it painted bright red. He loved the car, and he drove it at high speeds. She got in beside him and they began moving downtown through Park Avenue towards the Bradfords’ apartment on the corner of 56th Street. At the last traffic lights Vera said, ‘Did you really mean that? You’ve never slapped me in ten years, and God knows you should have done.’
    â€˜I guess not,’ Joe Kaplan said. ‘I spend all day trying to sort out other people’s problems and then I come home and threaten to sock my own wife.’ He put out a hand and squeezed hers. ‘I’m sorry honey. Forget it.’
    â€˜I just don’t like her,’ Vera said. ‘He’s sweet, poor Bob, and he could have married anyone – I suppose it annoys me to see another woman being fussed over all the time.’
    â€˜She’s earned it,’ her husband said: he slipped the gears with unnecessary force and left the standing traffic twenty yards behind. ‘Believe me, Vera, you’d never understand what Terese suffered unless you’d been there to see it for yourself.’
    She didn’t answer, because she would only say that she was sick of hearing about it, and the only difference between Terese Bradford and thousands of other people was the lucky way her life had turned out. Europe was full of camps where Nazi victims rotted away what was left of their lives, scarred in mind and body, unacceptable anywhere because they were casualties of a war which nobody was interested in any more.
    â€˜You don’t need to be jealous of her,’ Joe Kaplan said. ‘I wish you’d see that. I admire her, I like her. To me she’s a kind of symbol, one of my biggest successes. There’s nothing personal in it for me, darling, and there never has been. If you can’t like her, be neutral. For tonight anyway, and see how it