The Scarlet Thread by Evelyn Anthony Page B

would have to win Steven, and the way to do it was to give him a son as quickly as she could.
    Paris enchanted Clara. She visited every art gallery, and to please her, Steven bought several expensive modern paintings for their new home.
    They also explored the world of fashion. Clara fell in love with Dior’s designs, which suited her svelte body admirably. Steven felt proud to see heads turn when they entered a restaurant. And Clara shopped for him. There were lavish presents of ties and shirts from Charvet and a magnificent Boucheron platinum watch. She stood beside him, watching his reaction, demanding over and over if he liked this or that. She was a child at heart, he thought: extravagant, impulsive, and demanding too, but it was all part of being in love. No half measures were possible. The extremes of her nature were a surprise to him. The Sicilian courtship, albeit American style, had left them little time to get to know each other in any depth. When they had managed to be alone, every moment was taken up in hungry sexual exploration, which was quickly stopped before it went too far.
    Underneath the facade of culture and education there lurked a primitive Sicilian woman, single-minded in her love, black-hearted in her hatred. And clever. She had a brain, and its keenness surprised him. The more he understood her, the less he dismissed her quick intelligence. But she was still the adoring bride, willing to be guided, erotically submissive to whatever he asked.
    They were happy together in Paris; so happy she begged to stay an extra week. The week lengthened into a fortnight.
    She said to him one day as they walked arm in arm up the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, “You love it here as much as I do, caro , don’t you?”
    â€œI guess I do,” Steven agreed.
    â€œThen why don’t we buy an apartment here?” she said triumphantly. “I could use part of Papa’s settlement. We could come in the spring maybe, when you weren’t too busy. Why don’t we, Steven?”
    He stopped, taken by surprise. Her eyes were bright with excitement.
    â€œI’ve even asked around,” she admitted. “There’s a lovely apartment for sale close by the Invalides. Couldn’t we see it?”
    Steven hesitated. This was a honeymoon. Time taken off from the important things in life. Their home was in the States. A place in Florida was realistic. An apartment halfway across the world was not. She saw the refusal coming, and the brightness changed to a sullen, tearful look full of reproach.
    â€œClara, sweetheart, it’s a crazy idea. We’d never spend any time in it. How could we? We’re going to have a place in Palm Beach. We’ll have kids—we won’t want to leave them behind.”
    Kids. She bit her lip. That very morning, she’d learned she wasn’t pregnant yet. The idea of a romantic rendezvous in Paris was some kind of compensation for that disappointment. Every year, she had imagined, they could slip away and have a secret honeymoon in the place where they had started to be really happy.
    â€œWe could just look at it,” she said. “What’s the harm? We’re not doing anything else this afternoon.”
    â€œIf you look at it, you’ll like it,” he answered. “And we’ll have an argument.”
    â€œIf we don’t like it,” she countered, “there won’t be an argument. Steven darling, it was just a silly idea, I guess, but it sounded like fun. I was going to surprise you. See it this afternoon and buy it for us. Maybe I should have done it.”
    â€œMaybe you shouldn’t have,” he countered. “I don’t like surprises, sweetheart. If you’re bored, we’ll go see the place. But not to buy it or anything.”
    It was a mistake to have indulged her, and as soon as the concierge let them in, Steven knew it. There was a magnificent reception room, over thirty feet long, with a