He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them.
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