Mapping the Edge by Sarah Dunant Read Free Book Online Page A

put her head in her hands; then, when that made her feel sicker, she did as she was told, leaning back against the seat rest and letting the darkness flow in. She closed her eyes. She might even have moaned. The last thing she heard was the click of his traffic indicator signaling their way right across the freeway toward the airport lane.

Away—Thursday P.M.
    T HE ROOM WAS generous, its proportions dating from a time when the wealthy saw fit to have a reminder of heaven above their heads. The ceiling would have been a fresco originally, baby-fat cherubim flitting around the Holy Trinity, rearranging their robes, punching exuberant little fist-holes into the cloud cover while a chariot of aspiring mortals—generals and nobles of the house—stood watching from the side. But fashion and time had long since wiped out such sensibilities; the ceiling was now a barreled expanse of grubby white, grubbier at the edges where decades of dust had coated the cornice gray.
    The floor looked original: worn yellow ocher tiles with a geometric border, chipped in places. In contrast, the rest of the decor was jarringly modern: a scarlet sofa like Warhol’s pouting lips, and across the room a table of white wood with a vase of wooden bird-of-paradise flowers from Peru. On the end wall two arched windows were taking the brunt of the late-afternoon sun, slatted blinds slicing prison bars of light across the tiled floor.
    They stood with the stripes between them, the distance significant, uneasy. They seemed the perfect transient occupants for a room where no one lived, or at least left little evidence of living. His suitcase, black, executive, leaned against the sofa; her tatty holdall sat by the door like an old dog patiently waiting for its owner to leave.
    â€œWhere have you been? You told me you’d be here on Tuesday.”
    He clicked his tongue. “No, Anna, I said I’d let you know. I always knew I might not be able to get away that soon. I rang you in London on Monday to tell you, but you weren’t there.”
    â€œI’d already left,” she said quickly. “You didn’t leave a message, did you?”
    â€œNo. We agreed I wouldn’t do that. But I left one at the hotel on Tuesday. Didn’t you get that?”
    â€œNo.” She thought of the reception desk and the stream of ripe young girls who always looked as if they had something better to do. “It wasn’t the world’s most efficient hotel.”
    â€œYou should have stayed somewhere better. I told you I’d pay.”
    â€œI thought we’d been through that one. I don’t accept your money,” she said quietly, glancing around. “What is this place, anyway?”
    â€œIt belongs to a friend. He works for one of the multinationals, but he travels most of the year. He doesn’t spend much time here.”
    â€œDoes he know?”
    â€œThat I use it occasionally? Yes. That I’m here with you now? No.”
    â€œWhere are you supposed to be?”
    â€œAway. Somewhere else. It’s not important where.
    â€œWhat about you?” he said after a while. “What did you say?”
    â€œOh, I made up some stuff about work. But I told them I’d be back tonight.”
    â€œTonight?”
    â€œYeah, I know. But that was the plan, remember. You said Tuesday.” And she gave a little shrug.
    â€œWell, you can call them later. Have you changed your flight?”
    She shook her head. “I can’t.”
    â€œThat’s what they always say. We’ll use my card. There won’t be any problem.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t hear me, Samuel. I said I can’t. I can’t do it. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m not staying; I’m going to go back tonight as I promised. I’d already decided that before you called.”
    He paused. “And is this decision about home or about us?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably