Bechamel had been moving toward a breaking point.
When he first started this escape with Jessie, he had imagined himself as the hero of a thrilling romance.
He enjoyed the feeling of doing something wicked and exciting.
He was genuinely in love with Jessie, or at least as much as a man ruled by his own romantic fantasies could be.
But Jessie had not responded the way he expected.
Either she was an incredibly clever flirt, or she simply had no romantic passion for him at all.
The second possibility was almost impossible for Bechamel to accept.
Everything he had read about women told him that a girl in Jessie’s situation should eventually fall for him.
Yet she remained cold.
Worse, she seemed to look down on him.
It drove him crazy.
He tried to convince himself that her resistance made the whole adventure more exciting.
But his pride had already been badly wounded.
Even a saint would have lost patience with her, he told himself.
Underneath all his sophisticated talk about art, romance, and human nature, something much more primitive was beginning to emerge.
For all his education and cultured friends in London, Bechamel was discovering that his basic instincts were far simpler.
He wanted to win.
And one thought kept pushing through his mind:
“I’ll get even with you.”
Then there was the detective.
That problem worried him too.
He had told his wife that he was going to Davos to visit a man named Carter.
He had assumed she would accept that explanation.
But what would she think if she discovered what he was really doing?
His wife had her own strange moral standards.
She could tolerate a certain amount of bad behavior from her husband, provided it happened far away from her and, more importantly, far away from the women she knew.
But running off with a young woman across the countryside was another matter entirely.
That was scandalous.
She would certainly make a terrible fuss.
And whenever his wife made a fuss, Bechamel’s money became much harder to get.
Still, he felt almost heroic for continuing.
If he was going to do something, he might as well do it properly.
In his imagination, his wife had become some enormous warrior woman coming after him with revenge in her eyes.
The whole situation felt like a grand romantic adventure.
At least the detective seemed to have lost their trail.
That gave Bechamel one night of relief.
But he knew the situation had to be settled soon.
By eight o’clock that evening, the crisis finally arrived.
They were sitting in a small dining room at the Vicuna Hotel in Bognor.
Jessie was red-faced with anger.
Her heart was sinking, but she was determined to make one last attempt to escape Bechamel.
This time he had completely outmaneuvered her.
Luck had been on his side.
At the hotel, she had been registered as Mrs. Beaumont.
Apart from refusing to enter their room and sometimes eating without washing her hands first, she had managed to keep up the appearance of being his wife.
But dinner had been miserable.
Now she tried once again to appeal to whatever goodness might still exist in him.
“I’ll go to the station,” she said. “I’ll go back.”
“The last train for anywhere leaves at seven forty-two.”
“I’ll go to the police.”
“You don’t know anyone there.”
“I’ll tell the people at this hotel.”
“They’ll throw you out.”
He leaned back calmly.
“You’re already in a very difficult position. People around here don’t understand your ideas about living outside convention.”
Jessie stamped her foot.
“If I have to spend the whole night walking around the streets, then I will.”
“You?”
Bechamel smiled coldly.
“You’ve never even been outside alone after dark. Do you know what the streets of a seaside resort are like at night?”
“I don’t care.”
“You could go to the local clergyman, perhaps.”
He paused.
“He’s a pleasant man. Unmarried, too. And men are really more alike than you think.”
Jessie stared at him.
“Well?”
“How are you going to explain the last two nights to anyone now?”
He shrugged.
“The damage is already done, Jessie.”
“You filthy coward!”
She suddenly pressed a hand against her chest.
For a moment Bechamel thought she was about to faint.
But she remained standing.
All the color had drained from her face.
“No,” he said quietly. “I love you.”
“Love?”
“Yes. Love.”
Jessie was silent for a moment.
“There are still ways out of this.”
“Not for you.”
He spoke almost gently.
“You’re too young. You still have too much life and hope ahead of you.”
He watched her carefully.
“Don’t think about doing anything foolish. When the moment actually comes, you wouldn’t have the courage. You’d turn the whole thing into some ridiculous drama.”
Jessie suddenly turned away from him.
She stood by the window and looked outside.
The sea was shining in the distance.
The last light of evening was fading, and the moon was beginning to rise.
She had told the waiter not to close the blinds, so the window remained open to the view.
For several moments, neither of them spoke.
Finally Bechamel tried again.
“Be sensible, Jessie.”
He kept his voice as calm and persuasive as possible.
“Why should two people who have so much in common turn this into some ridiculous tragedy?”
“I swear I love you.”
“You are everything I could want.”
He took a step closer.
“I’m older than you. I’m stronger than you. I’m a man, and you’re a woman.”
Then he added:
“And yet you’re being so terribly conventional.”
Jessie looked over her shoulder.
Bechamel noticed her small chin beneath the curve of her cheek.
“Man?” she said.
“Man to my woman?”
Her voice was full of contempt.
“Do men lie?”
“Would a man use thirty-five years of experience to trick a seventeen-year-old girl?”
She turned toward him.
“Man to my woman! That is probably the worst insult you’ve given me yet.”
Bechamel gave a thin smile.
“Your ability to answer back is impressive.”
He paused.
“But yes, men do lie. They do worse things too when they desperately want a girl like you.”
“Please stop being so difficult.”
He spread his hands.
“Why won’t you simply understand me?”
Then his voice became more serious.
“Look at me, Jessie.”
“My reputation, my career, everything I’ve built—I’m putting it all at your feet.”
He stared directly at her.
“On my honor, I will marry you.”
“God forbid!”
The answer came so quickly that Bechamel didn’t even get the chance to tell her he was already married.
Her reaction suddenly made him realize something important.
She didn’t know.
Jessie had no idea that he already had a wife.
He quickly tried to cover the mistake.
“It’s only a matter of arranging the marriage properly,” he said.
He hesitated.
“Now, be sensible.”
He changed the subject.
“Come outside with me. We can walk along the beach. It’s beautiful here, and the moon will soon be high.”
“I won’t.”
She stamped her foot.
“Come on.”
“No!”
“Oh, leave me alone.”
She turned away again.
“Let me think.”
“Think?”
He laughed softly.
“That’s always your answer.”
“You think you can save yourself by thinking.”
He shook his head.
“You can’t save yourself now, Jessie.”
“There is no way out of this.”
She looked exhausted.
“Please. Just go.”
“Very well.”
He picked up his coat.
“I’ll go and have a cigar.”
He smiled.
“And I’ll think about you, dear.”
He paused at the door.
“But tell me something.”
“Do you really think I’d go through all this if I didn’t care about you?”
“Go.”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
She didn’t turn around.
She continued staring out at the sea.
Bechamel watched her for a moment.
There was a strange light in his eyes.
He took a step toward her.
“I have you,” he said.
She remained silent.
“You belong to me.”
His voice became quieter.
“You’re trapped.”
He wanted to walk over and put his hand on her, but even he wasn’t quite brave enough to do that yet.
“I have you in my hands,” he continued.
“I have the power.”
He emphasized the last word.
“Power. Do you understand?”
Jessie didn’t move.
She didn’t even answer.
Bechamel stared at her for another half minute.
Then he turned dramatically toward the door.
He imagined that she was finally beginning to understand his strength.
In his mind, the battle was already won.
He reached the door.
The handle turned.
The latch clicked.
Then the door closed behind him.
Jessie remained alone by the window, staring silently out at the moonlit sea.