Click, click, click. Eva’s heels echoed behind her with increasing frequency as she ran for the train. Like a small boy’s cap gun, she thought, also wondering how there was space for that thought to have intruded into her overcrowded mind. Her anxiety was palpable; her hands shook, her teeth were clenched. She had to catch that train. David’s reaction at breakfast had been as expected. His egg was hard, his toast cold, his tea weak. He hated her going. Thought it unnecessary. A couple of nights away to visit an aged aunt, who had little, if nothing, now to offer. He always measured people on what they had to offer. And it was her second visit in a month. He resented the hold Aunt Millicent appeared to have over her. Thought she had lived an inappropriate life. Might be a bad influence. As if Eva wasn’t a grown woman able to make her own choices. She hummed silently, hoping that she could drown out the sound of his voice, peremptory and bad tempered. And there was no pretence at concern. No, his words and actions made it perfectly clear he hated losing control, even temporarily, over his wife. Didn’t think he should have to be bothered with domestic duties, even for a day or so. As she stepped aboard and walked down the carriage she suppressed the desire to speculate about how it would feel to be free of him. Why raise her own hopes?
She made her way to the sleeper carriage. Still physically tense, there’d been a subtle change in her anxiety. It had become more anticipatory. From childhood onwards she’d loved train journeys; found them romantic and exciting. She rubbed her left hand against the wool of her skirt, hoping it would absorb the dampness, not leave a mark. She had chosen her outfit with care this morning, once David had left the house. She’d laid a dark wool pencil skirt, a cream silk blouse, patent heels and her Sunday best coat on the bed. Once dressed she’d turned to the mirror. Her skirt clung to her hips; her blouse emphasised her breasts. Eva touched her cheek. Applied make-up. Lipstick, mascara, a slash of black eye-liner. She felt good. A rare emotion these days. Vampish, almost. A latter-day heroine. She’d smiled at her silly fantasies and had left the house.
The leather handles of the small overnight bag she carried in her left hand slipped a little as she made her way down the carriage. As the train pulled away from the platform she had to steady herself in the narrow corridor, unused to her heels. Third door down, he’d said. Eva was there now. She hesitated, knocked lightly then pushed the door open slowly. He was there before her, as he’d promised, standing at the window, his back to her.
‘Hello,’ she whispered.
‘You came, then,’ he replied, not turning towards her. Without the advantage of seeing his expression she was unsure of his welcome. His voice was deep but toneless. Was he relieved that she was there now? Excited like she was, maybe? She placed her bag by the door, threw her coat onto the narrow bed, then stepped towards him and laid her hand on his shoulder. Only then he turned towards her.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you would.’
She was surprised at how sad his lack of faith in her made her feel. They barely knew each other; had only met once before, weeks ago when she was making this same journey. How could he possibly have been certain of her?
He bent to kiss her. Lightly at first, then soon more insistent. She returned his kiss. His lips were soft, warm and dry. She imagined he was responding to her need, doing this for her. After a few moments they stopped and she laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his body against her cheek. His arms held her close. She breathed deeply, inhaling the light, subtle scent from his cologne. He pushed her away from him. Her heart pounded. This wasn’t to be a rejection, surely. She couldn’t bear the humiliation. But then he brushed his fingers over her cheek and slipped them under the collar of her blouse. She smiled as he struggled with the tiny buttons with his other hand. They were Mother of pearl, sewn tightly onto the silk. It took an age for him to undo them all and pull her blouse apart. She released her breath; unaware until that moment she had been holding it. Allowing her blouse to slip from her shoulders she willed him to touch her. But he didn’t, not right away. Instead his eyes appeared to feast on her, for what felt like an eternity. Then, still silent, he pushed her bra straps from her shoulders and caressed the top of her breasts. She wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from her skin.