Since he had been in California they had been sleeping in the same bed, but he never reached for her and she didn’t know how she would respond if he did. It was difficult to talk to Joe about things that mattered, and she sensed they were both trying to avoid being alone together. She was still in love with Krishnaji. But something, some need, had led her to the end of the garden to sit with Joe on the seawall, though not quite beside him. A few feet away. “I am thinking we ought to sell this house, Iseult,” he told her. He had lost his city pallor by then and was quite dark. A man who’d go to any lengths — he’d always somehow given that impression. The horsepower in his hands, forearms, shoulders, and neck. The Pacific was its usual easygoing blue, the Channel islands barely visible through a sheen of mist. “California’s awfully far, and as the children get older it’ll be harder to persuade them away from their friends.
