The Open Window

Lavinia wanted her husband to go out, and spent twenty minutes inventing a nicer way to say it.

He was doing nothing wrong. That made the problem less convenient. He had come home from work, asked about her day, made tea and sat down to read. The flat contained no argument, no offence she could identify as a reasonable cause for wanting an evening in which nobody might speak to her.

They had been married three weeks. She loved seeing his jacket beside hers, waking with him near, the possibility of a kiss in the kitchen that might become a whole private afternoon. She also missed being the only person in a room without having to account for it.

“You could go and see somebody,” she said at last.

Hugo looked up from his book. “I could.”

“You haven’t seen your friends much.”

“I saw two of them on Monday.”

“Yes.”

He marked his page. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

She considered saying no. It was a particularly foolish moment to do so, after requiring him to guess his way towards the question.

“I want an evening alone.”

He was quiet for a second. She watched the sentence reach him and wished she could retrieve it, not because it was false but because it had affected him.

“Here?” he asked.

“Yes. I could go out, but then it wouldn’t be what I wanted.”

“All right.”

“Not because I’m unhappy.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“You looked—”

“Surprised. I was expecting to spend the evening with you.”

She sat forward. “I can change my mind.”

“You don’t need to rescue me from being surprised.”

That stopped her. He spoke gently, without concealing the fact that he would have enjoyed her company. She did not need him to want to leave in order to have asked fairly.

“I should have said earlier.”

“Perhaps next time. I can go out tonight.”

“Only if there’s something you want to do.”

He looked at her, smiling now. “Lavinia. You can’t request the flat and also arrange a sufficiently rewarding exile.”

She laughed despite herself. “It isn’t exile.”

“Then let me decide what to do.”

He thought, checked the time of a film and decided to go to the later showing after eating something in town. She offered to make supper first. He declined because the place he wanted to eat would close before the film finished, not because he was making a point.

They agreed he would be home around ten. He kissed her goodbye at the door when she reached for him. The kiss was affectionate and unhurried; he did not use it to ask whether she was certain she wanted him gone.

When the door closed, she stood in the hall for a minute feeling guilty. Then she opened the sitting-room window, put on comfortable clothes and ate toast over a plate in the chair where she would normally have sat properly with a meal.

The guilt did not deepen into revelation. It diminished as she began enjoying herself.

She read a whole chapter without being aware of another person’s page turning. She put on music and stopped it halfway through because she wanted quiet. She made no attempt to use the evening productively enough to justify asking for it. The laundry remained where it was. The blue notebook stayed on the shelf.

At nine she had a bath. At half past she found herself looking forward to Hugo’s return with a particularity that surprised her. She did not merely want company again. She wanted his voice, his considered account of a film she might dislike, the warmth of his hands and the way he looked at her when she told him plainly that she wanted to be kissed.

She put on a soft dark dress she liked wearing at home and went back to her book.

He came home a few minutes before ten carrying a small bag from the bakery.

“They were closing,” he said. “I acquired enough for two breakfasts.”

“Your bread problem persists.”

“This time it was pastry.”

She took the bag and set it on the counter. He began telling her about the film, then stopped when she put her hands on his chest.

“Hello,” he said, more softly.

“Hello. I had a lovely evening.”

“So did I.”

“I’m glad. I’d like you to kiss me now.”

He smiled, bent towards her and paused just before their mouths met. She closed the distance. The kiss was familiar enough to welcome and new enough to make her grip his shirt. His hands came to her waist, warm through the soft fabric. She moved closer, answering the question in his touch.

When she drew back, he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.

“You look pleased.”

“I am. Don’t make me explain it before I’ve had another kiss.”

He obliged. She laughed against him when the bakery bag slid noisily to the floor, and they had to separate to rescue tomorrow’s breakfast. One pastry had suffered an indignity. Hugo said he would take responsibility for it. Lavinia said she would require evidence in the morning.

They left the bag safely on the table and went into the sitting room. She closed the window; he switched off the overhead light, leaving the orange lamp. She had grown to like the light without revising her opinion of the shade.

He sat beside her on the sofa. She touched his cheek, feeling the faint roughness there, and kissed him at the corner of his mouth before meeting it fully. It pleased her to set the pace. It pleased her more that he did not treat her initiative as a temporary gift he must hurry to use.

“I want to go to bed with you,” she said.

His eyes held hers. “I want that too.”

She took his hand and led him through the hall. In the bedroom she turned towards him before either could become absorbed in practical things.

“Stay here a moment,” she said. “I like being kissed standing up.”

“A preference we can accommodate.”

“And less talking about accommodation.”

He laughed, then kissed her until the joke became an interruption neither wanted to resume. She felt the firm warmth of him close to her, the measured way he moved his hand along her back. She asked him to do it again, slower. He did, and her eyes closed with the pleasure of having been heard precisely.

This time the shyness of their wedding night had become a different vulnerability: she could tell him more because she knew how he would listen. She could ask for the kiss at her neck she liked without apologising for knowing she liked it. He could say that he wanted her closer, and she could choose the distance instead of guessing.

When they were in bed, she drew him towards her, then stopped to laugh at the serious concentration on his face.

“You look as if there’s a correct answer.”

“There is an answer I’d like to get right.”

“Then keep asking me.”

He smiled. “Here?”

She guided his hand and answered yes. The intimacy that followed had more laughter in it than their first night, more freedom to pause and try a different tenderness. They knew a little more of each other, enough to discover how much remained to be known. Her desire did not make her less articulate; his did not make him less patient.

She asked for a pause once, not because anything was wrong but because she wanted to look at him. He waited, his face close, and she felt the full, surprising ease of not being hurried towards an expected conclusion.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you.”

She kissed him and brought him close again. The evening belonged to both of them now because she had chosen to share this part of it, and he had chosen with her.

Later, lying side by side, they talked about the film. He had disliked it, which delighted her disproportionately. She said she was sorry she had missed the occasion. He said there would undoubtedly be others.

“Did you mind going out?” she asked.

“For a minute. Then I enjoyed myself.”

“You can tell me if another night doesn’t suit.”

“I will. Perhaps we can plan some separate evenings without treating them as exceptions.”

She nodded, tracing an idle line along his wrist. “I’d like that. You can have the flat sometimes too.”

“I’d like that as well.”

She rested her head against him. Independence had seemed, once, like a place she must leave in order to live with somebody. Tonight it had been an open window, four hours of her own and a request spoken without disguise. She had come back to him without going anywhere, and he had come home without being summoned.

“Stay close,” she said.

“Gladly.”

She no longer needed to add that he could move when he wanted. They had made enough room for the answer to be believed.