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"I suspected you of being unfaithful," she said. She held up the condom. "And I was right."
"Damn you for a sneak."
"Damn you for an adulterer."
He raised his hand. "I should beat you like a Victorian husband."
She snatched a heavy candlestick from the mantelpiece. "Try it, and I'll bop you like a twentieth-century wife."
"This is ridiculous." He sat down heavily on a chair by the door, looking defeated.
His evident unhappiness deflated Daisy's rage, and she just felt sad. She sat on the bed. But she had not lost her curiosity. "Who is she?"
He shook his head. "Never mind."
"I want to know!"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Does it matter?"
"It sure does." She knew she would get it out of him eventually.
He would not meet her eye. "Nobody you know, or would ever know."
"A prostitute?"
He was stung by this suggestion. "No!"
She goaded him further. "Do you pay her?"
"No. Yes." He was clearly ashamed enough to wish to deny it. "Well, an allowance. It's not the same thing."
"Why do you pay, if she's not a prostitute?"
"So they don't have to see anyone else."
"They? You have several mistresses?"
"No! Only two. They live in Aldgate. Mother and daughter."
"What? You can't be serious."
"Well, one day Joanie was . . . the French say elle avait les fleurs."
"American girls call it the curse."
"So Pearl offered to . . ."
"Act as a substitute? This is the most sordid arrangement imaginable! So you go to bed with them both?"
"Yes."
She thought of the book of photographs, and an outrageous possibility occurred to her. She had to ask. "Not at the same time?"
"Occasionally."
"How utterly foul."
"You don't need to worry about disease." He pointed to the condom in her hand. "Those things prevent infection."
