It is just for now. Marina is seven hundred miles away. Excuse me, so what difference does that make? What is the precise distance that makes betrayal OK? Seven hundred miles? Seventy miles? Seven miles? The point is that this cannot hurt Marina. There is no way that she will ever know. The thing with Julie has absolutely no bearing on Marina and me, or on our future, or on the way we are. I am committed to Marina. I can stop this whenever I want. It is just for now. * * * For three weeks, Martagon went to Julie’s flat every evening. He discovered, among other things, that she was writing stories in her free time. ‘You really have come a long way,’ he said, looking at the small pile of typescript on her table. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean you are in the driving seat. It’s like you aren’t wearing L-plates on yourself any more.’ ‘I guess I’ve passed my test,’ Julie replied drily. ‘What are you writing about?’ ‘That one there’s about a marriage.’ ‘Can I read it?’ ‘Certainly not.
