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I felt her wilt in my arms. I turned the light out and held her while she cried.Minutes passed before she spoke. "He doesn't love me."I was pretty sure Charlie could hear us. He was probably straining his ears to make out what we were saying. I knew he wasn't asleep. How could he be?" Sure he does," I said, stroking her back, feeling her breasts press against my bare chest."He wanted a younger wife, someone he could show off at dinner parties. I could count the times we've had sex on one hand. Am I that bad in bed?"She was talking about her new husband, not Charlie as I first thought. "You're not bad in bed at all. If fact, you're not bad in the kitchen either."Why did I say that? I expected her to pull away, furious with me, but she didn't. I felt her shake in my arms. "You're disgraceful," she said, giggling.Despite Loretta testing my endurance the night before, I was getting hard. I told myself to politely ease away from Sheila, make some excuse, go for a run, what was I doing. Not one of these glances, nor one sigh, was lost on her; they might have been said to fall on the shield of Minerva, which some philosophers assert protected sometimes the breast of Sappho. Eugenie bowed coldly to the count, and availed herself of the first moment when the conversation became earnest to escape to her study, whence very soon two cheerful and noisy voices being heard in connection with occasional notes of the piano assured Monte Cristo that Mademoiselle Danglars preferred to his society and to that of M. Cavalcanti the company of Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, her singing teacher.It was then, especially while conversing with Madame Danglars, and apparently absorbed by the charm of the conversation, that the count noticed M. Andrea Cavalcanti's solicitude, his manner of listening to the music at the door he dared not pass, and of manifesting his admiration. The banker soon returned. His first look was certainly directed towards Monte Cristo, but the second was for.
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Ha and I entered the dining room and were seated, Ha ordering as she said she would, while I opted for an omelette and coffee. We talked about Yen, about my job a little and I asked what business interests she had here – she was a southern Vietnamese, and had never particularly cared for the north; after all, her mother had needed to hide under the kitchen table when the bombs fell, when pregnant with Ha, as the north began their final assault and soon-to-be victory. She said she had invested some money – mine? I wondered – in the fledgling stock market, both here and more lucratively in the southern bourse in HCMC, and she was here to just check on things with her broker. She had always been a canny businesswoman, even with only schooling to end of primary level, before having to leave and help her mother to earn a meagre living for them both – her father having run off when she was born – and, had we still been married and had I still had my old job and salary, I had no doubt we.

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