with a smile. “It's not exactly the image we have of motherhood over here.” But on the other hand she didn't look like a motherly type, and maybe she wanted some freedom before she was any older.
“I think as a nation we're a bit more cold-blooded than you are. Americans seem to get terribly wound up about what they ought to be doing, and what's expected of them, and what they should be feeling. Britons just do it. It's rather simple.”
“And a little self-centered.” He liked talking to her, very much in fact. She was smart and honest and totally open about who she was and what she wanted.
“It's terribly simple, you go after what you want, when you want it, without apologizing, or pretending that you're doing anything other than what you are. I rather like it. Things seem a bit more exaggerated here. Everyone's always apologizing for what they're doing, or not doing, or not feeling.” She laughed, and Sam liked the sound of it. It was an unbridled sound of almost sensual amusement, and he could imagine her easily with her clothes off and totally unembarrassed. “Have you ever been divorced?” she asked bluntly, and he laughed at the question.
“No, I haven't.”
“Most Americans have, or at least that's the impression they give me.”
“Was your divorce very traumatic?” It was an oddly personal conversation between two strangers, but he was enjoying it. There was something totally open and abandoned about her.
“Not at all. It was a great relief. He was a complete bastard. For the life of me, I can't imagine how we stayed married for so long, seven years. It was quite dreadful, I assure you.”
“Who did he run off with?” He liked being somewhat forward with her. It was fun playing the game of discovering things about her.
“A barmaid, naturally. Quite a pretty one though. He's already left her. And he's living in Paris with some girl who says she's an artist. He's quite mad, but fortunately he takes good care of Andrew, our son, so I don't need to panic.” She seemed anything but panicked, she seemed completely in control of any situation. And more than one of the Englishmen were eyeing her with interest. She looked as though she could have had anyone she wanted.
“Were you in love with him?” Sam asked her, feeling brazen.
“Probably. For a while anyway. At twenty-one, it's awfully difficult to tell the difference between love and good sex. I'm not sure I ever figured out which one it was.” She smiled cheekily at him, and as he looked at her, he wished suddenly that he were young enough to have her. She was terrific. But then he thought of Alex. And it was as though Daphne saw that.
“And what about you? Are you in love with your wife? I hear she's very pretty.” She was, for forty-two, for any age. But she was not quite as outrageous or even as striking as Daphne and he knew it.
“Yes, I love her,” he answered firmly, as Daphne watched him intently.
“That's not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you were in love with her. There's a difference,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Is there? We've been married for more than seventeen years. That's a long time, you get very attached to someone by then. I love her very much,” he said, as though trying to convince himself, but he still hadn't answered Daphne's question.
“Are you telling me you don't know if you're still in love with her? Were you ever?” she persisted, playing cat and mouse with him, but he didn't mind it.
“Of course I was.” He sounded shocked at the question, and Simon was amused by the intense look on their faces from across the table. They were huddled together, as though solving all of life's greatest problems.
“Then when did it change? When did you stop loving her?” Daphne accused, sounding like a lawyer, and Sam wagged a finger at her.
“I never said that. That's a terrible thing to say.” Especially now. But all he could think about as he looked at her was Daphne.
“I didn't say it. You did. You said you were in love with her, but you don't seem to be able to tell me if you are now,” she said, looking incredibly sexy as she persisted.
“Sometimes marriage is like that. There are dead spots in the water sometimes, when you kind of run dry and get stale, and none of the right things seem to