it. Neglect. Yes, that was the right word. There was a great amount of neglect. Noemí wondered if Catalina might have turned things around, had the circumstances been slightly different. She doubted it. Rot had set in in this place.
The thought was unpleasant. She closed her eyes.
The faucet dripped a little. She sank deeper under the water until her head was completely underwater and she held her breath. When was the last time she’d gone swimming? She’d have to make a point to visit Veracruz soon. Better yet, Acapulco. She couldn’t think of a place that would be more different than High Place. Sun, beaches, cocktails. She could telephone Hugo Duarte and see if he was available.
When she emerged, Noemí brushed the hair away from her eyes almost angrily. Hugo Duarte. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t thinking about him these days. That arrow of yearning that had struck her in Francis’s room was worrisome. It felt different from her other excursions into desire. Though a young woman of her social standing was not supposed to know anything about desire, Noemí had had the chance to experience kisses, embraces, and certain caresses. That she did not sleep with any of the men she dated had less to do with a fear of sin than with the concern that they’d tattle about it to their friends, or worse, entrap her. There was always this smidgen of fear in her heart, fear of so many things, but with Francis she forgot to fear.
You’re turning mawkish, she told herself. He’s not even handsome.
She slid a hand up and down her breastbone and contemplated the mold on the ceiling before sighing and turning her head away.
That’s when she saw it. The figure by the doorway. Noemí blinked, thinking for a moment it was an optical illusion. She’d brought the oil lamp into the bathroom and it provided enough light, but it wasn’t the stark illumination of a light bulb.
The figure stepped forward, and she realized that it was Virgil, in a navy pinstripe suit and a tie, looking nonchalant, as if he’d walked into his bathroom instead of her own.
“There you are, you pretty little thing,” he said. “No need to speak, no need to move.”
Shame and surprise and anger shot through her body. What the hell did he think he was doing? She was going to yell at him. She was going to yell at him and cover herself, and not only yell. She’d slap him. She’d slap him once she was in her bathrobe.
But she didn’t move at all. No sound escaped Noemí’s lips.
Virgil stepped forward, a thin smile on his face.
They can make you think things, a voice whispered. She’d heard that voice before, somewhere in this house. They make you do things.
Her left hand was resting on the edge of the tub, and she managed, with considerable effort, to curl it tighter. She was able to open her mouth a little, but not to speak. She wanted to tell him to get out and couldn’t, and it made her tremble with fright.
“You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” Virgil said.
He had reached the bathtub and knelt down to look at her, smiling. It was a cunning, crooked smile set in a perfectly sculpted face, and he was so close to her that she could see there were flecks of gold in his eyes.
He tugged at the tie around his neck and took it off, then he unbuttoned his shirt.
She was petrified, like the unwary character in an old myth. She was the victim of the gorgon.
“Such a good girl, I know it. Be good to me.”
Open your eyes, the voice said.
But her eyes were wide open, and he had woven his fingers into her hair, making her lift her head up. A rough gesture, devoid of any of the kindness he was asking of her. She wanted to shove him away, but she still couldn’t move, and his hand clenched in her hair and he was leaning down to kiss her.
Noemí tasted sweetness on his lips. The trace of wine, perhaps. It was pleasant and it made her relax her tense body. She let go of the edge of the bathtub, and the voice that had been whispering to her was gone now. There was the steam from the bath and the man’s mouth atop her own, the hands snaking around her body. He kissed down her long neck, pausing to bite at the top of her breast, which