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She trailed after him to the bedroom, picking up the shoes she’d abandoned in the corridor at the beginning of the evening. She placed them and her silver shoes in their respective boxes, emptied the contents of her evening bag, and removed her jewels. Then she turned with her back to her husband.

“Would you help me?” she asked.

After a moment, she felt his hands light on her back. She sucked in a little breath as he tugged down the zip of her dress. Her skin tingled with champagne and anticipation, wondering if he would slide his hands into the gap made by her zipper as he used to do.

“There you are,” he said, stepping away.

She swallowed her disappointment. “Thank you.”

She stripped off her dress and stepped out of her girdle and undergarments without turning around. Then she slipped on her light pink silk negligee and matching dressing gown before sitting down at her vanity to take off her makeup and pin up her hair.

Behind her, she could hear Hugo shedding his uniform and climbing into his pajamas. Then he retreated down the corridor to the loo.

When she finished with her cold cream and pins, Hugo returned, announcing, “It’s free.”

“Thank you,” she said.

In the loo she brushed her teeth. After she rinsed, she straightened and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Even in the harsh overhead light and with the greasy residue of cold cream on her face, she still looked beautiful. After all, thirty-two was not so very old, no matter what the ladies’ magazines seemed to imply.

Sylvia straightened as best she could in her tipsy state, admiring her trim figure exaggerated by the tightly cinched belt of her dressing gown. She was beautiful—Hugo had said so just that evening while standing in this very flat—and wasn’t that something?

With her chin lifted, she strode back to the bedroom, where Hugo’s attention was fixed on a book. He looked up as she stopped at the foot of their bed, untying her dressing gown.

“Is this any good?” he asked, showing her that the book he’d chosen was the copy of The Beautiful and Damned she’d just finished.

“Yes,” she said, letting her dressing gown slide down her arms. She tilted one hip to emphasize the drape of her silk negligee against the scoop of her waist.

“I never could get on with The Great Gatsby. What is this one about?”

“Two people who marry and proceed to destroy each other,” she said, sliding into bed. She could feel the comforting warmth of him that had been captured by the sheets.

“Sounds cheerful,” he said.

“Hugo,” she started, placing a hand on his leg.

“How do you think Claire and Rupert seemed?” he asked abruptly.

“Claire and Rupert?” she asked.

“Did they seem… off?”

She removed her hand and leaned back against her pillows. “Yes, they did. Something must have happened before we arrived.”

“I can’t imagine what,” he said.

She frowned. “I think Rupert is worried about how much Claire has been going out while he’s been away. He started to ask me about it while we were dancing, but then he started to talk about how he was far from perfect.” She paused. “Do you think he’s had an affair?”

He laughed. “Rupert? Claire would have his guts for garters if he ever tried.”

“Did she say anything to you?” she asked.

“She was drunk. It’s hard to get any sense out of a drunk woman,” he said, putting her book down on his bedside table.

“Do you know what I think?”

“What is that?” he asked.

She placed a hand on his leg once again and began to slide it upward.