“There were probably a lot of others for you in Europe. You know, I haven’t really wanted any man since then.”
This had to surprise; she wanted this to be her strongest weapon. She looked at him now. He had put down his drink and he was looking at her.
“Is that true?”
She nodded. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you. I couldn’t keep from telling you.” She tried not to look at him.
“You mean what happened to us in Italy was the only time...?” He was confused.
She turned then and looked at him, at the troubled eyes and the boy’s mouth. “My dear, when something means a lot to you I think it’s hard to take a substitute. You see, I made an object for myself. I was upset when you left, naturally, because you’d become my object. I never heard from you and so I married Bankton in London. I never lost my object, though. It never changed.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Carla smiled. “I understand it now. You had so many women and I was only one. I think that’s all right, I think that’s natural. I hoped you might have felt the way I did. One always wants to be loved and it’s not easy to find a lover. I never had another man—not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want to. I was waiting all that time, hoping to see you again.” She had said everything now. He had listened and there was nothing else she could do.
He ran his hand through his hair. “I was very close to you,” he said.
“I thought you were.” She was waiting.