As for me, I'd had enough.

No more humiliation for me, thanks very much. No more swallowing my anger. Honestly, I couldn't manage another mouthful. But it was deli- cious. Did you make it yourself?

"Fine," I said.

"Fine?" he said quizzically.

"Yes, fine," I agreed.

"That's good," he said, sounding paternal and smug, "but is it really? I don't want you bringing this up every couple of months or so and throwing it in my face."

"I won't," I said shortly.

I started to gather up my bag and newspaper with a lot more rustling and fuss than was necessary. I got to my feet and started to put on my jacket.

"What are you doing?" asked James, confusion written on his face.

365

I affected a startled and innocent face. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I'm not sure," he said.

"I'd better tell you then, hadn't I?" I said smoothly.

"Er...well, yes," said James. It gave me a cold thrill to hear him sounding a bit anxious.

"I'm leaving," I said.

"Leaving?" he hooted. "What the hell are you leaving for? We've just worked everything out."

Then he started to laugh in relief. "Oh God, sorry," he said, "for a minute there..." He shook his head at his own silliness. "But of course, you've got to go back. You've got to get your things and bring back Kate. But I must admit that I was kind of hoping that you'd stay the night and we might get...um...reacquainted. Never mind. We can wait a few more days. So what time on Tuesday should I expect you?"

"Oh James," I said with a mock-sympathetic little laugh, "you haven't realized, have you?"

"Realized what?" he asked carefully.

"I won't be here on Tuesday. Or any other day, for that matter," I ex- plained nicely.

"For God's sake, what is it now?" he bellowed. "We've just worked it all out and now you--"

"No, James," I cut in icily. "We've worked nothing out. Nothing at all. You may have worked something out--your image of yourself as a nice guy is good and intact--but I've sorted nothing out."

"But what have we been talking about for the past hour?" he asked bel- ligerently.

"Exactly," I said.

"What?" he barked, looking at me as if I'd gone a bit crazy.

"I said `Exactly.' Just what the hell have we been talking about?" I asked him. "Because for all the good it's done me, I might as well have been talking to the wall."

"Oh, we're back to you again, are we?" asked James nastily. "It's all you care about, you and your feelings and--"

That was it!

"Shut up!" I commanded, my voice coming out much louder than I had expected.

James was so shocked that he actually did shut up.

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"I'm not listening to any more of your crap about what a terrible person I am," I shouted. "I didn't fuck someone else. You did. And you're so im- mature and selfish that you just can't own up to it and take the blame."

"I'm immature and selfish?" said James in astonishment. "Me?" he said, dramatically pointing in disbelief to his chest. "Me?" I think you're slightly confused here."

"No, I'm bloody well not," I shouted. "I know I'm not perfect. But at least I can admit it."

"So why won't you own up to being selfish and inconsiderate in our marriage?" he asked, with an air of triumph.

"Because it's not true!" I said. "I knew it wasn't true, but I loved you and wanted to please you so I convinced myself that it had to be true. I thought if I could fix myself that I could fix our marriage. But there was nothing wrong with me. You were just manipulating me."

"How dare you?" he said, his face red with rage. "After all I've done for you. I've been a perfect husband!"

"James," I said with icy calm, "there is no doubt that you have been very good to me over the years. I think if you look back you'll find that it was mutual. We loved each other, it was part of the deal. But you seem to have started to believe your own publicity. Having an affair with another woman is not being good to me. You cannot justify it." There was a pause. For once James didn't have an indignant answer ready. "But," I continued, "you're not the first person to behave badly, to step out of line. It's not the end of the bloody world. We could have gotten over it. But you're too interested in looking squeaky clean and whiter than white. That's the choice that you've made."

I started toward the door.

"I can't understand why you're leaving," he said.

"I know," I said.

"Tell me why," he said.

"No."

"Why the hell not?" he demanded.

"Because I've tried. And I've tried. Why should you listen now when you haven't any of the other times? I'm not wasting any more time. I'm not trying any more."

"I love you," he said quietly.

367

The bastard.

He sounded as if he really meant it.

I bit my lip. This was not the time to weaken.

"No, you don't," I said firmly.

"I do," he protested loudly.

"No, you don't," I told him. "If you had loved me you wouldn't have had an affair--"

"But--" he interrupted.

"And," I continued loudly, before he started his speech again, "if you loved me, you wouldn't have wanted me to change into some wimpy wo- man who was afraid of you. If you loved me you wouldn't have tried to manipulate me or to control me. And most of all, if you loved me, you wouldn't be afraid to admit that you're in the wrong. If you loved me you could rise above yourself and your ego and apologize to me."

"But I do love you," he said, trying to hold my hand, "you've got to be- lieve me!"

"I don't believe you," I told him, shrugging his hand away with disgust. "I don't know who or what it is that you love, but it certainly isn't me."

"It is!"

"No, James, it isn't," I replied, ultracalmly. "You just want some kind of moron you can control. Why don't you go back to Denise?"