With his hair down, his warm brown eyes looking at me intently, he did seem very attractive. If we wanted each other, why should a difference in intelligence rule out our making love? If I told him to go because of that, would it not be another unfair rejection, as wrong as Peter's barring him from serving us in the dining room? Twice I opened my mouth to speak but my thoughts were so muddled I could not formulate any words; when I tried a third time I said in a voice that seemed almost not to be mine, 'Stay. Sit down.'
He sat on the bed and looked at me with a hunger that was unmistakable. I reached out to touch him, we embraced, began to discover each other physically, and made love. Afterwards for a little while we lay with our arms around each other, but when he sensed that he was in danger of falling asleep he got up. As he dressed I asked him, 'What have you got in those pockets?'
He unbuttoned them and pulled out two plastic water bottles, the type that cyclists carry on long distance rides. 'A cyclist was here, he gave me these. Every day I fill two up for him, this one with water, this one zumo de naranja.'
'Zumo de-?'
'Zumo de naranja, orange juice, he was a Spanish man.''Oh I see, of course, Spanish. He was your friend, when he was here?'
'Yes, he was very good friend to me.' He folded his arms around himself and made kissing noises, rocking his shoulders. 'Five nights.'
We smiled at each other, embraced briefly and said good night. Satisfaction and self- assurance had replaced the unhappiness and worry Peter had caused during the meal. I finished the remains of the beer and settled down to sleep, not sure whether the happiness over purging myself of collusion in Peter's nastiness was justified, or whether I ought to feel guilty for having taken advantage of Georges.
The next day I went down for breakfast loathing the prospect of the week to come. An empty cup and crumpled serviette at the table where Peter and Caroline sat told me Marie had already eaten and returned to her room. Peter was on to me almost before I sat down: 'Look as though you haven't slept. Had a less than perfect night ourselves as it happens. Some bloody couple upstairs thrashing about half the night. You know what the bloody French are like.'
'Bit of tummy trouble in my case,' I lied, hoping to divert any suspicion that I might have been the cause of the noise.