Read Online Daniel Martin by John Fowles - Free Book Online
Authors: John Fowles
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Psychological fiction, Classics, British, California, Motion picture industry, Hollywood (Los Angeles; Calif.), Screenwriters, Motion Picture Industry - Fiction, British - California - Fiction, Screenwriters - Fiction, Hollywood (Los Angeles; Calif.) - Fiction
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problem. If that really is all.
I put my hands down on his and said, I didn’t want you to go.
He began to unbutton my shirt, undressed me, without kissing me again after that first touch. Then himself, and I was still half perverse, I just stood there waiting, looking out at the lights all the long way to the ocean, hearing the freeway traffic down below: all those funny, streaky, wobbling thoughts when you know it’s this, a new thing, a new man, where is this room, who am I, who cares, why.
He came and put his arms round my shoulders and led me to the couch. We lay down side by side and he ran his hand down my body, watching me. Almost as if he thought I might flinch. As if I’d never had sex before.
He said, I’ve been wanting to ring you all week.
I said, I wish you had.
We kissed then. I was simple, passive, no games, I let him do what he wanted, responded just enough to show him I wanted him to do what he wanted there was still something uncertain, I wasn’t sure I wanted him for this, though I didn’t mind. Anyway, it never is natural the first time, one’s taking notes, comparing, remembering, waiting. In the end we went on the floor and I thought of tomorrow. Seeing him again, after this. Then his body. How lucky men are to have it so simple.
He didn’t say anything. Neither of us said anything for some time. We just lay there, the way you come out of a film sometimes and you don’t want to talk about it. I thought how little I knew about him. Wondered how much he did this sort of thing. There was very little unit gossip about him. Wondered what he really thought about me. His age, his past, my age, my past. He broke the silence. First he reached out and traced the line of my mouth.
Jenny, in the argot of this barbarous province what I’ve just done is lay a broad. The only way to kill that argot is to break the rules of the ritual that accompanies it. By the rules I should thank you for a nice fuck, dress and drive home. But I’m going to take you to bed and sleep, just sleep, beside you. Kiss you in the morning. Make your coffee when your call comes. You understand, if tomorrow you feel it’s all a mistake, fine. I just want to be sure that for now we behave like European humans. Not movie-land apes.
He was leaning on his elbow, watching me in the darkness.
I said, It already is tomorrow. I’m still here.
He kissed my hand.
Okay, then just one more speech. I’ve been in love often enough in my life to know the symptoms. As opposed to the lay-the-broad ones. But love is a sickness of my generation. Not yours. I don’t expect you at any point to catch it from me.
Is that a request or a prediction?
Both.
And that was it. We went to bed. We didn’t sleep. There’s something about one’s own bed, most belonging there. And the way he held me. And thinking about what he’d said, and how it hadn’t needed saying, it was almost insulting because it really meant I might just be a broad who went in for one-night stands and then that I was too young and shallow and Irish to understand love. It was square, anyway. But it also said he was less cool, or more vulnerable, than I believed. And something wicked: Daddyo wants me. All his years, his women. Till suddenly I wanted, and truly to say yes, and turned to tell him.
(To be continued. It’s 1.30, I’m mad.)
The Door
‘Daniel? It’s Nell.’
‘Who?’
‘Your onetime wife.’
His arm drops from Jenny’s shoulders.
‘Caro?’
‘She’s fine.’ A hesitation. ‘I’m sorry for this god-awful hour. We can’t work out the time-change.’
‘I’m still up. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m ringing about Anthony, Dan.’
‘Oh God. Is it all over?’
‘No, it’s… as a matter of fact I’m with Jane. In Oxford. She wants to speak to you.’ He says nothing. ‘Are you there?’
‘Just temporarily speechless.’
‘She’ll explain. Here she is.’
He glances at Jenny, then puts his free hand to his head like a
I put my hands down on his and said, I didn’t want you to go.
He began to unbutton my shirt, undressed me, without kissing me again after that first touch. Then himself, and I was still half perverse, I just stood there waiting, looking out at the lights all the long way to the ocean, hearing the freeway traffic down below: all those funny, streaky, wobbling thoughts when you know it’s this, a new thing, a new man, where is this room, who am I, who cares, why.
He came and put his arms round my shoulders and led me to the couch. We lay down side by side and he ran his hand down my body, watching me. Almost as if he thought I might flinch. As if I’d never had sex before.
He said, I’ve been wanting to ring you all week.
I said, I wish you had.
We kissed then. I was simple, passive, no games, I let him do what he wanted, responded just enough to show him I wanted him to do what he wanted there was still something uncertain, I wasn’t sure I wanted him for this, though I didn’t mind. Anyway, it never is natural the first time, one’s taking notes, comparing, remembering, waiting. In the end we went on the floor and I thought of tomorrow. Seeing him again, after this. Then his body. How lucky men are to have it so simple.
He didn’t say anything. Neither of us said anything for some time. We just lay there, the way you come out of a film sometimes and you don’t want to talk about it. I thought how little I knew about him. Wondered how much he did this sort of thing. There was very little unit gossip about him. Wondered what he really thought about me. His age, his past, my age, my past. He broke the silence. First he reached out and traced the line of my mouth.
Jenny, in the argot of this barbarous province what I’ve just done is lay a broad. The only way to kill that argot is to break the rules of the ritual that accompanies it. By the rules I should thank you for a nice fuck, dress and drive home. But I’m going to take you to bed and sleep, just sleep, beside you. Kiss you in the morning. Make your coffee when your call comes. You understand, if tomorrow you feel it’s all a mistake, fine. I just want to be sure that for now we behave like European humans. Not movie-land apes.
He was leaning on his elbow, watching me in the darkness.
I said, It already is tomorrow. I’m still here.
He kissed my hand.
Okay, then just one more speech. I’ve been in love often enough in my life to know the symptoms. As opposed to the lay-the-broad ones. But love is a sickness of my generation. Not yours. I don’t expect you at any point to catch it from me.
Is that a request or a prediction?
Both.
And that was it. We went to bed. We didn’t sleep. There’s something about one’s own bed, most belonging there. And the way he held me. And thinking about what he’d said, and how it hadn’t needed saying, it was almost insulting because it really meant I might just be a broad who went in for one-night stands and then that I was too young and shallow and Irish to understand love. It was square, anyway. But it also said he was less cool, or more vulnerable, than I believed. And something wicked: Daddyo wants me. All his years, his women. Till suddenly I wanted, and truly to say yes, and turned to tell him.
(To be continued. It’s 1.30, I’m mad.)
The Door
‘Daniel? It’s Nell.’
‘Who?’
‘Your onetime wife.’
His arm drops from Jenny’s shoulders.
‘Caro?’
‘She’s fine.’ A hesitation. ‘I’m sorry for this god-awful hour. We can’t work out the time-change.’
‘I’m still up. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m ringing about Anthony, Dan.’
‘Oh God. Is it all over?’
‘No, it’s… as a matter of fact I’m with Jane. In Oxford. She wants to speak to you.’ He says nothing. ‘Are you there?’
‘Just temporarily speechless.’
‘She’ll explain. Here she is.’
He glances at Jenny, then puts his free hand to his head like a
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