Free Night Without Stars by Winston Graham Page A

at her skirt. “I don’t think you understand me as well as you think you do.”
    â€œI don’t think I understand you at all.”
    â€œYou find me—unreasonable?”
    â€œRarely, if ever.”
    â€œâ€¦ If so I wonder you trouble to come out with me.”
    I said: “ You know why I come out with you. That’s not at issue.… If to-night for some reason you’d like to find something to quarrel about, go right ahead, but don’t expect me to help you.”
    â€œI think you’re helping me very well.”
    I thought it out “ Yes, I suppose I am.”
    We both laughed, but it was still half-hearted. She said: “ When you are angry the shell comes back—but much thicker. Truly aloof then.”
    â€œVery far from it, believe me. More than ever painfully involved.”
    â€œAnd when I’m angry …” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the world is rather a mess, don’t you?”
    â€œLet’s forget it.”
    â€œYes, let’s forget it.”
    We changed the subject then, and there were no more sparks; but there was something different about her all the rest of the evening.

Chapter 8
    We’d arranged to meet on the Monday, but she rang up making an excuse. We put it off till the following Monday, and I think she would have got out of that if it hadn’t been a long-promised date to go to Monte Carlo. I wondered how we should meet, if the mood of Sunday night would carry over the eight days between. But when we met there was no sign of it at all. She was a bit subdued but at her nicest—and that was saying something.
    We went by train in the afternoon—one of those diesel trains with the driver in a raised cabin in the roof. When we halted at Villefranche she said:
    â€œGiles, I think I must stop meeting you.”
    I’d been expecting it, but it was a jolt all the same.
    â€œThink so?”
    â€œIt isn’t fair to you.”
    â€œI’ll look out for that.”
    â€œNo. It’s not fair to any of us. I have told Pierre that I’m not seeing you any more. If he finds out there will be trouble.”
    â€œDon’t you want to go on seeing me?”
    â€œShould I have lied to Pierre if I hadn’t? But it can’t go on for ever. There must be a break, Giles. Perhaps in a—”
    She stopped.
    â€œWhat were you going to say?”
    â€œNothing. It’s for the best that we should give this up.”
    â€œI suppose nobody’s suggested that you should give Pierre up instead?”
    â€œI have had feelings that way.”
    â€œThen …” I swallowed. “If you can say that …”
    The diesel engine started with that sound like the tired battery of a motor car, and we moved slowly out of the station.
    I felt happy and miserable together. I said: “Listen, Alix.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI’m no use to you. I can’t expect any woman … But at least there’s no compulsion to throw yourself away. Pierre doesn’t make the grade. There are other men in the world—plenty of them. Don’t sacrifice yourself just to please your first husband’s friends—”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œIt’s pretty plain, isn’t it? You don’t really love the man. The marriage is tied up with the Delaisse family: they look on Pierre as an old comrade of Jacques, a rich man, a comfortable and seemly match for little Alix.
    She said after a minute: “ Well, aren’t those all good reasons?” It was as if by saying over their arguments I’d strengthened their case instead of my own.
    â€œNo, they aren’t if the man is a man like Pierre.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?”
    I shrugged. Facing it, what was there? A mild personal antipathy. “You loved Jacques Delaisse, you say?”
    â€œI still do.”
    â€œThen don’t spoil his memory by taking a man