New York - The Novel

done.
    “Yes. Why?”
    “I feel like walking.”
    “All right.”
    The little streets were quite busy; the restaurants weren’t short of custom. Charlie wasn’t sure where the evening was going, or where he wanted it to go. He felt a little awkward. They passed a little place where the tables were set for playing chess. Several men were sitting there, looking very solemn. The waiters brought them drinks from time to time.
    “Want a game of chess?” Sarah asked.
    “Okay. Sure, why not?” They sat down, and each ordered a small cognac. They played quietly for half an hour, then Charlie looked at her suspiciously. “Are you letting me win?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    “Would I lie to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Trust me.”
    “Hmm. Checkmate.”
    “There.” She laughed. “I never saw it coming.”
    When they left, they went up the street. At the corner, there was acandy store still open. Telling him to wait, Sarah went inside, and emerged with two little bags of fudge. She gave him one. “A present for you,” she said.
    “Thank you.”
    “Do you want coffee? My apartment’s just around the corner, on Jane Street.”
    He hesitated a moment.
    “You don’t have to,” she said.
    “Coffee sounds good,” said Charlie.

    All through that midwinter and early spring they would meet, two or three times a week usually, sometimes spending the night at his apartment uptown, sometimes at hers in the Village. In part, for both of them, it was an adventure. Charlie knew she was hungry to possess the knowledge and experience he had to offer. And for his part, he enjoyed sharing the things he loved with such an intelligent mind, and watching her grow and develop. But that was only the half of it.
    By January, her slim, pale body had become an obsession with him. Often in the afternoons, while Sarah was busy at the gallery, he’d sit in the little office near Columbia, or in his apartment, and dream away an hour at a time thinking about her. Standing beside him, she only had to move her body sinuously close to his, and he would be overcome with a desire to possess her.
    Each time, before their lovemaking, she would slip off the little pendant that she wore around her neck, and for him this little gesture, which she did quite unself-consciously, became a moment of excitement and great tenderness. In their lovemaking, she could drive him wild with passion. But she was more than a young mistress; there was something else that he could not describe exactly, something ancient, something belonging to the East, he supposed. He’d discovered that first night that her narrow breasts were larger, fuller than he’d expected. When they made love, and when she lay beside him afterward, it seemed to him that Sarah was not just a girl, however interesting, but a timeless woman, full of richness and mystery.
    He spent so much time thinking about her that sometimes he cursed himself for not having enough to do.
    Every other weekend, he would see little Gorham as usual. He almostwanted to introduce the boy to her. But even if he just said she was a friend, Julie would soon get to hear of it, and guess the truth, and then there would have to be explanations, and trouble. Besides, on these occasions, Sarah was always home with her family.
    That was a small difficulty. He’d have liked to spend all his free weekends with her, but usually she insisted that she had to see her family.
    “They’d get very suspicious if I missed too many weekends,” she told him with a laugh.
    Some weekends she could get away, though. Late in January, he took her skiing in Vermont. She fell down quite a few times, with good humor, looked at her bruises ruefully, and agreed she’d give it another try, but maybe not for a while. Then, in February, he treated her to a weekend at a country hotel in Connecticut.
    It was a cold Friday afternoon when they drove out of New York. The roads were clear, though there was still snow on the banks beside them. Charlie owned a 1950 De Soto Custom Sportsman of which he was very proud.
    He’d booked the room in advance, in a charming place he knew, only an hour’s drive out of town. In the name of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Master. Hotels didn’t usually inquire too closely, so long as you signed in that way. It was dusk when they arrived. They had a couple of suitcases which he carried himself to the door of the white clapboard house. There was a log fire in the lobby, and while the manager greeted