Fanchon's Book(28)

Leaping to serve her like that. Like the day we met. Exactly. A carbon copy. But with our roles reversed and I had performed my ashtray stint just as swiftly and impulsively as she had done it for me.

Fact. Conclusive and categorical. I had no choice but to accept it, the caustic reality: in my own house, I had become a satellite. Perhaps even a puppet, although no one had jerked any strings to spur my spontaneous act of servitude. The name went with the game. I had played my part only too well, too consummately, and now the greasepaint was indelible.

That first day-butterfly? angel?-how incongruous it all seemed in retrospect; I knew now that my glittering golden girl was a creature of dark desires. But no vampire had ever found a more willing victim, and I loved her for it. Loved her beyond reason. Beyond self. Loved her enough to surrender the reins of my destiny.

"Aren't you going to get the chair?"

"Uh, no, I'll stay right here."

"Yes. I like that. You won't ever leave me, will you, Fanchon? I need you. Don't ever stop loving me." Then, childlike, almost as a plaintive afterthought, "You do love me, don't you?"

"Do I have to say it? I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'll always love you."

"Oh, you darling! It's wonderful the way we're so good for each other. I've never been so happy. Except for… well… you know… " She made a little aggrieved gesture in the general direction of Oliver's room. "You'll forgive me if I get jealous sometimes?"

"I'm glad you're jealous-even though there's nothing to be jealous about. Anyway, you won't have much chance to brood about it. We'll be together every night."

"That's a comfort. Fanchon dear, were you really angry when I asked if we could go away for a vacation?"

"Umm, I suppose so. But more troubled than angry, probably. Because it's something I want just as much as you do. And I simply can't afford it; isn't that awful? My husband controls a whole treasury, practically, and I don't have enough money for a little holiday. Please believe me, Kristi, if there was some way… " I kissed her hand abjectly, hiding my shame; I wanted to lay the world at her feet, and even this one small gift wasn't within my power.

"It's all right. I understand." Her fingers fondled my lips tenderly. "Still… uh, maybe there is a way."

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Well, I know some people who-" She shook her head abruptly. "No. It wouldn't be quite honest. Forget it."

But I couldn't forget it and I said so. And she started to tell me, haltingly, lamely, about the way that wasn't quite honest. About the people who could take a gram of inside information and turn it into a bonanza. People who dabbled in stocks and bonds and government securities and knew how to make a quick profit on almost any kind of advance tip concerning the dealings of officialdom. No, it wasn't honest. Nor was it seemly that I should conspire against my own husband; and yet no actual harm could befall him, not the slightest loss of prestige in his political position-and hadn't I given him the best years of my life? Wasn't It time I got something in return?

Still-as Kristi had already so scrupulously stated-it wouldn't be quite honest. But she didn't sound the same now and I just couldn't cut her effusive prattle short: she seemed so enthused, so spirited, so unabashedly embroiled in her own naughtiness-as if the entire messy business was just one big hilarious prank, a whimsically conceived tally in her personal vendetta with Oliver. What inspired her most, obviously, was the two-pronged thrill of hoodwinking my poor unsuspecting husband both financially and connubially at a single stroke. Such a mischief-maker!