Love in a Muddle

by Christine Jope-Slade

"Never! I was in her confidence, that was all. Clay Rendle's wife was a homicidal maniac. She died a week after mother. But, Pam—I'll go away, I'll go straight back to the Savoy now, if you'll just answer 'Yes' or 'No.' Pam, are you happily married?"

"No," I said.

He looked down at me, he was very white there was a queer look on his face, as if his feelings were bunched up inside him and he was sitting hard on the lid.

I wanted the lid up.

"I'm not married," I said.

The lid flew up.

I did not know a kiss could feel like that. The Embankment sort of slid away from under it and us. I think it lasted for hours.

We looked at each other blankly.

"Pam," he said shakily, queerly, "you kissed me—did you know you kissed me?"

I nodded. I felt as if half of me stood there and the other half was slowly unwrapping itself from the kiss.