Her Father's House by Belva Plain Page A

the floor there was a carpet printed in squares with a circle of flowers inside each square. When Donald looked down, he saw that his feet were neatly placed at the center of a square. When he looked up, he saw that Lillian, turned away from him, was staring out into the yellow afternoon. Then he looked back down at his feet.
    â€œThe man, this man, was impressed. We made love and were very happy. He took me to see his family, to meet his parents. They lived in a house, a small palace, that they'd owned for five generations. He gave me jewelry, heavy gold, beautiful pieces, the watch I always wear. He drove a Lamborghini.”
    â€œWhat about him? Him? Do you think I give a damn what he drove, what he owned?”
    â€œThere's nothing else. Somebody told him the truth about me—I don't know who did—and he was furious. So violently furious that I thought he was going to kill me. So I flew home, went to work for Howard Buzley. And that's the story.”
    Now they faced each other. There she sat waiting for him to say something while she smoothed her hands. He had always disliked the gesture, but now it roused an unreasonable anger that he fought to control.
    â€œThe whole story, except for the small matter of pregnancy and the abortion?”
    â€œI had no money. At least not enough. What was I to do? Answer me that.”
    â€œI don't know. . . . You had no right in the first place. . . .”
    â€œIt was a joke. The whole thing was a harmless joke.”
    â€œHarmless? You fool with people, you lie. . . . Don't you believe in anything?”
    â€œOh yes, I believe in beauty, and freedom, and pleasure. It's a short, short life.”
    â€œYou lie,” he repeated. “You conceal. God only knows what more I shall learn about you tomorrow, or next week, or next year. God knows.”
    â€œPerhaps there shouldn't be any next year.”
    â€œTalk sense, will you? And please stop caressing your hands. I hate it.”
    â€œI can't help doing it. I'm nervous when I'm with you.”
    â€œNervous with me? What have I ever done to you but love you?”
    â€œYou've been very, very good to me, Donald. That's what makes it so sad, don't you see? Because we started to go downhill after the first few months. We couldn't help it.”
    Downhill? he thought. Our summer days on the boat in Central Park? in Venice last week?
    But you're forgetting, Donald, because you want to forget. What of the night you were too despondent even to go home? And that awful party? You will never really know whether she was on her way to bed with that man. Very likely she was. And she has not let you touch her since we left home on this trip. Why, Donald? She is full of secrets. She has been from the start.
    Lillian continued, “The zest has gone out of it for us. Oh, don't look like that! I'm not impugning your manhood. Some passionate loves last longer than others, that's all, and ours hasn't.”
    â€œYou have someone else,” he said.
    â€œI could have very easily, but it happens that I do not. Oh, it's you, it's us! I wasn't going to say all this while we were here, I dreaded having to say it, but then things happened today and maybe it's all to the good that we're out in the open.”
    â€œYou told me once that it's easy to get along with anybody as long as he's truthful, so I'm asking you to tell me truthfully what's wrong with me.”
    â€œThere's nothing wrong with you, Donald. You're kind, you're honest, and you have a brilliant mind. But life is heavy for you, dead serious, while I want—”
    He interrupted. “You're telling me that I never laugh?”
    â€œOh, you do but—well, it's just that you and I laugh at different things. I say again, we're too different from each other. The atmosphere, the friends, the people we like to be with—all opposite. You're disgusted with what you think was a cheap affair, with my trick, with the abortion, with the whole