He laughed shortly.
"She has been your teacher, yes."
"Oh, Jacques," she said in a hurt voice. "Don't spoil everything now.
Why can't we go on like this?"
He looked at her. "Then you won't move in here?"
"I can't," she said.
"Don't you understand, I can't."
He got to his feet, and walked back to the dresser. He finished buttoning his shirt and picked up his tie.
"I don't see what difference it would make. After all, you're married.
How much time do you think you could spend here, anyway?"
He studied her. "That is different," he said coldly.
"Different?" she shouted in anger. "Why is it different for you and not for me?"
He stared at her. "A man may be unfaithful to his wife, as she may to him if she is so minded.
But a man is never unfaithful to his mistress, nor is a woman unfaithful to her lover."
"But Peggy is not a man!"
"No, she is not," he said grimly. "She is something worse than a man."
Rina looked at him for a moment. She drew her head up proudly.
"Those are your terms?" she asked quietly.
She sat there proudly, her back straight, her naked breasts magnificent over her deep chest. He could see the outlines of her ribs against her flesh as they rose and fell with her breath.
Never in my life have I known so much beauty, he thought.
Aloud he said, "If that's the way you put it, those are my terms."
She didn't answer.
"I just don't understand," she said. She looked up at him. "You had better hand me my dress."
That had been many months ago and oddly enough, they still remained friends.
She raised the Pernod to her lips and emptied her glass.
"And now I really must go," she said. "I promised Pavan I would be at his studio by three o'clock."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Pavan?
You have taken up sculpting?"
She shook her head.
"No, I'm modeling for him."
Jacques knew how Pavan worked.
He used many models for just one statue. He was always trying to create the ideal.
He would never succeed.
She felt his quizzical gaze sweep down to her breasts.
She laughed. "No, it's not what you think."
"No?" he asked. "Why not?"
"He says they're too large."
"He is mad," Jacques said quickly. "But then, all artists are mad.
What is it, then?"
She got to her feet. "My pubis," she said.
For the first time since she had known him, he was speechless.
She laughed.
He found his voice. "But why?"
"Because it's the highest mountain any man will ever climb, he says, and more men will die trying to climb it than ever fell from Mount Everest."
She smiled and bent over him. "But we won't tell him that you survived the ascent, will we, Jacques?"
She kissed his cheek quickly and turned and walked out onto the sidewalk.
He watched her until she was lost in the crowded street, then turned back to the waiter.
"Psst!" he said. "I think I will have another drink!"
11.