Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'But
Ewen
doesn't
see
you
that
way.
He
sees
you
as
you
are.
He
sees
you
as
we
all
see
you.
He
sees
a
beautiful
woman.’
It
wasn't
her
style
to
pay
extravagant
compliments
and
she
believed
this
description
to
be
true,
though
normally
she
would
never
have
dreamed
of
saying
so.
'How
can
you
have
any
idea,
married
to
Maitland,
what
a
man
like
Ewen
sees?
I
don't
know
how
Ewen
sees
me
anymore.
I
know
how
he
used
to.
When
the
business
started,
I
did
the
books,
I
answered
the
phone.
We'd
sit
at
night
and
talk
the
day
over
–
there
wasn't
anything
came
up
we
couldn't
solve
–
it
was
hard
going,
but
there
was
never
any
doubt
we
were
going
to
make
it.
Then
he
didn't
mind
me
playing
up
to
men.
Those
fat
old
swine
who
hand
out
the
contracts.’
She
smiled
bitterly.
'I
didn't
go
to
bed
with
any
of
them.
Not
that
I
wasn't
asked.
That's
one
way
for
a
young
ambitious
businessman
to
get
his
start,
did
you
know
that?
I
could
point
them
out
to
you –
you'd
be
surprised
at
the
names.
Big
men
now –
but
they
pimped
their
wives
to
get
there.
To
be
fair
the
wives
they
have
now
aren't
always
the
ones
they
pimped.
But
I
just
smiled
and
was
nice.
A
pretty
girl –
it
made
them
feel
how
important
they
were.
Anyway
they
weren't
all
fat
–
quite
dishy
sometimes.
Being
rich
suits
the
outdoor
type.
Ewen
got
his
contracts
–
so
many
it
didn't
matter
whether
I
was
there
or
not.
He's
quite
successful,
you
know.’
Lucy
hesitated
between
admiration
and
commiseration, not
sure
which
was
being
called
for.
'He
doesn't
talk
to
me
about
the
business
now,
or
about
anything
much.
He's
got
bigger –
I've
got
smaller.
There's
nothing
smaller
than
a
housewife
without
children.’
'I
don't
feel
that.’
'What?'
'I'm
a
housewife
–
it
doesn't
bother
me.
And
I've
got
used
to
the
idea
we're
not
going
to
have
a
family.
I
don't
feel
worthless.’
'Oh,'
vaguely,
'…but
you're
different.’
Before
Lucy could
decide
on
her
reaction
to
that,
she
continued,
'You
were
at
the
Sinclair’s'?'
'The
Sinclair’s?'
Lucy
began,
and
then
realising
the
potential
for
embarrassment
if
she
took
that
line,
went
on
firmly,
'Yes,
we
were
there.’
'When
I
was
dancing
with
Frank
–
it
didn't
mean anything.
Christ,
he's
not
even
my
type.’
'Oh,
type.’
I've never known quite what that meant
,
Lucy
thought.
'I
was
lonely.’
Ewen
had
been
there;
not
dancing
with
his
wife
or
anyone
else;
settled
morose
in
a
corner
brooding
over
his
drink
with
a
concentration
that
discouraged
interruption.
And
then
gradually
everyone
in
the
room
was
conscious
of
Janet
as
she
danced
with
Frank
Pritchard,
everyone
except
her
husband.
Her
body
swaying,
giving
off
the
need
and
desire
of
a
woman
neglected;
unselfconscious,
lost
and
dreamily
absorbed,
she
danced
and
Lucy
had
seen
the
faces
of
the
men
sweat
and
change
and
the
women
too
watching
her
with
a
kind
of
greed.
Then
there
was
an
inarticulate
grunting
and
Ewen
had
pulled
her
from
the
floor.
Everything
went
quiet,
and
as
he
realised
what
he
had
done
his
colour
changed
from
red
to
a
muddy
white.
But
she
had
left,
parting
the
silence,
and
at
the
door
turned
and
drawled,
‘
Good-night
all,
marvellous
evening.’
It
had
been
a
week
before
she
ventured
again
on
to
the
village
street
and
the
dark
glasses
only
drew
attention
to
the
bruise
around
her
eye.
'It's
not
as
if
he
was
interested
himself,'
Janet
said.
'That
little
swine
Scrope
said
to
me,
“you
did
the
women
a
good
turn.
Every
wife
in
the
village
got
screwed
that
night.”’
Lucy
glanced
away
from
her
look
of
enquiry.
'Except
yours
truly.’
While
she
had
been
indoors,
the
clouds
had
crept
across, chilling
the
air.
She
pitied
Janet.
The
grey
light
drained
everything
of
colour.
She
wondered
if
Ewen
was
as
successful
as
Janet
believed.
She
had
read
somewhere
that
more
marriages
break
up
over
money
than
sex.
That
seemed
likely;
but
then
it
occurred
to
her
that
Janet
might
have
done
more
than
smile
and
flatter
those
old
men
with
the
power
to
put
contracts
Ewen's
way.