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oth. The truth is that I was attracted to Rose’s sorrow. Her fragility, her delicacy…even her
weeping. All of these things served to make her somehow finer in my foolish, mawkish eyes.”
“It strikes me as the great mystery of all time,’ Geraldine said, “why a man will ruin
himself in the pursuit of a certain kind of woman.” Her voice held a trace of bitterness, an emotion
she rarely indulged. But even after so many years, the advantages that the Roses of the world held
over the Geraldines of the world still smarted. An intelligent and passionate woman with an
unfortunate face might be packed off to England, and thus obscurity, on the order of a selfish shrew
who chance had blessed with a symmetrical profile and slender waist.
Weaver was looking at her sharply, as if intrigued by this sudden display of anger. “And
I suppose you are suggesting that no woman has ever dashed herself on the rocks out of love for an
unworthy man? I think we need not indulge that fantasy, my dearest, not when we sit here in this
charming little parlor with the truth all around us. Life is never fair, and romantic love is the least
fair of all.”
“So you became her lover in England,” Geraldine said, making no comment on this last
observation. There was no comment to make, for she knew that he was right. “No doubt the very
night she turned to you in tears over her doctors’ damning diagnosis.”
He nodded. “Quite true. And the fact I knew she would not conceive even managed to
alleviate my guilt in taking Roland’s wife into my bed. For this is a man’s greatest fear, you know.
That he will be cuckolded in this most primal way. That he will raise another man’s child, believing
it to be his own.” Weaver reached for his cup of tea. “Upon our return to Bombay, Rose told her
husband quite honestly what her doctors had said, that it was unlikely she would ever become
pregnant. The situation twisted only later, after the uprisings began. Roland wanted to send her back
to England until the danger had passed.”
“As you sent me.”
“As I sent you.”
“To be rid of me.”
In the corner, Tom frowned. Neither of the older people seemed to notice. They had a
score to settle, and not much time to do it.
“My motives were mixed,” Weaver said. “I cared for you, Geraldine, very deeply. You
know the circumstances of our engagement, as well as I do.” He gave another bark of a laugh. “It
was hardly moonlight and lilies, was it, my darling? But once we found ourselves socially yoked, I
found much merit in the idea.”
“Much merit in the idea? You are a sweet talker, Anthony, even now.”
“You have guessed half of the rest already, no doubt,” he said, “but let me tell you just
the same. Yes, you and I may have stumbled into physical intimacy based on my miscalculation, and
then we stumbled into a betrothal based a miscalculation of your own. One might say our entire
relationship was accidental. And yet….once I got used to the idea, I began to see that it might be my
salvation. Rather I should say that I hoped you might be my salvation.”
Geraldine appeared to be absorbed in the trifling task of selecting a biscuit from the tray.
“But you were all youth and strength and charm. Whatever could you have needed saving from?”
“Come now, Gerry, don’t be a fool. I needed what every other man needs. To be pulled
from my smallness, my fear, my tendency to always take the easy downhill road. I needed to be saved
from the darkness in my heart. And you might have done that – been more of an angel of fortune than a
mistake – had it not been for Rose.”
“She did not wish to return to London.”