Fanchon's Book(57)

"Please, no, don't call her! I believe you." A mist of despair blurred my eyes. "Darling, what can I do? How can I convince you? If that girl stays another day I'll just die, I know I will."

"Come now, Fanchon, I'm sure you'll live. Don't be so morbid. Let's have no talk of dying." Then, in an oddly pensive murmur, "Unless it's about-" She shrugged abruptly. "Oh, forget it. So you want me to get rid of Rosalba, huh? I can't see any reason why I should. Still… "

"Darling?" I clasped her legs to my breasts. "For me?"

"And what will you do for me?"

"Anything. Everything. I swear it. Anything you ask." My voice cracked to the consistency of a leaky sob. "Just so you and I can be together."

"Hey, you're crying! Crocodile tears, maybe?" She smiled down at me. "But no, of course not, you're truly suffering, you poor darling. My sweet Fanchon… would you really do anything? Would you do something dangerous if I asked you to? Something bad? Because there is something-something so awful I can hardly say it-only it's not just for me, it's for both of us. Listen to me, dear, and try to understand; I know it's terrible but I can't stop thinking about it. It's been tormenting me ever since the day I was leafing through the books and stumbled across that paper "

I clung to her in desperation. I must have known what she was going to say, I should have expected it. But I heard her and felt the chill of dread and broke out in a cold sweat; and then I thought of all that money and how it would enable me to wrap her in luxury and keep her happy and hold on to her forever-and I nodded my head into the soft embrace of her thighs, brushing my damp cheeks dry upon the overheated skin, sensing only vaguely that I was making myself a party to murder. The murder of my own husband.




Chapter 17

A party to murder. Murder most foul. Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. Et cetera: oh, there was no end to the clichйs and quotations-and all of them reaffirmed what I already knew: a pretty sinister subject, murder.

Incredible, then, how easily I became inured to the enormity of the idea-incredible to me, at any rate; could my immorality indeed be so immoderate in scope? Did I dare dally with death? Ah, but I scarcely had time for introspective inquiry, not with my darling Kristi-devil in such an enlivened mood-she kept me too deliciously diverted. She even managed to inject a sybaritic tincture into the occasion of Rosalba's farewell.

"Let her do it to you, Fanchon. Just once, before she goes-a nice good-bye, kind of, huh? I'll bet you remember that crazy tongue of hers; wouldn't you like one last waltz with it?"

I laughed and blushed a little and allowed as how it might be interesting, a valedictory performance of Rosalba's tongue, why not? I felt no guilt about cheating, naturally, now that such an escapade was officially sanctioned. Moreover-simply for the sake of scientific research (and perhaps a touch of envy for so felicitous a knack?)-it seemed only fair to attempt another analysis of that "vibration" phenomenon. Provided the experiment could be accomplished discreetly and without undue embarrassment.

Trust resourceful Kristi to take care of that. She arranged everything. The boudoir lamps were low; I lay supine in suspenseful solitude, naked, a bit aroused in a sexual way, possibly, but nonetheless amused by the prankish nature of the coming event. Rosalba entered the room, a meek, somewhat pathetic figure in a dingy-dull robe; eyes downcast almost apprehensively, she shuffled to the foot of my bed.

"Madame?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I-I've come to say good-bye."