The Collector

 She stood there and watched me, right up close to me, then she turned as I picked up the stones and put them round her neck. I had a job fastening them, my hands were trembling, it was the first time I had touched her skin except her hand. She smelt so nice I could have stood like that all the evening. It was like being in one of those adverts come to life. At last she turned and there she was looking at me.

 "Are they nice?" I nodded, I couldn't speak. I wanted to say something nice, a compliment.

 "Would you like me to kiss you on the cheek?"

 I didn't say, but she put her hand on my shoulder and lifted up a bit and kissed my cheek. It must have seemed hot, I was red enough by that time to have started a bonfire.

 Well, we had cold chicken and things; I opened the champagne and it was very nice, I was surprised. I wished I'd bought another bottle, it seemed easy to drink, not very intoxicating. Though we laughed a lot, she was really witty, talking with other people that weren't there again and so on.

 After supper we made coffee together in the kitchen (I kept a sharp eye open, of course) and took it through to the lounge and she put on jazz records I'd bought her. We actually sat on the sofa together.

 Then we played charades; she acted things, syllables of words, and I had to guess what they were. I wasn't any good at it, either acting or guessing. I remember one word she did was "butterfly." She kept on doing it again and again and I couldn't guess. I said aeroplane and all the birds I could think of and in the end she collapsed in a chair and said I was hopeless. Then it was dancing. She tried to teach me to jive and samba, but it meant touching her, I got so confused and I never got the time right. She must have thought I was really slow.

 The next thing was she had to go away a minute. I didn't like it, but I knew I couldn't expect her to go downstairs. I had to let her go up and I stood on the stairs where I could see if she did any monkey business with the light (the planks weren't up, I slipped there). The window was high, I knew she couldn't get out without my hearing, and it was quite a drop. Anyhow she came right out, seeing me on the stairs.

 "Can't you trust me?" She was a bit sharp.

 I said, yes, it's not that.

 We went back into the lounge.

 "What is it, then?"

 If you escaped now, you could still say I imprisoned you. But if I take you home, I can say I released you. I know it's silly, I said. Of course I was acting it a bit. It was a very difficult situation.

 Well, she looked at me, and then she said, "Let's have a talk. Come and sit here beside me."

 I went and sat.

 "What are you going to do when I've gone?"

 I don't think about it, I said.

 "Will you want to go on seeing me?"

 Of course I will.

 "You're definitely going to come and live in London? We'll make you into someone really modern. Someone really interesting to meet."

 You'd be ashamed of me with all your friends.

 It was all unreal. I knew she was pretending just like I was. I had a headache. It was all going wrong.

 "I've got lots of friends. Do you know why? Because I'm never ashamed of them. All sorts of people. You aren't the strangest by a long way. There's one who's very immoral. But he's a beautiful painter so we forgive him. And he's not ashamed. You've got to be the same. Not be ashamed. I'll help you. It's easy if you try."

 It seemed the moment. Anyway, I couldn't stand it any longer.

 Please marry me, I said. I had the ring in my pocket all ready.

 There was a silence.

 Everything I've got is yours, I said.

 "Marriage means love," she said.

 I don't expect anything, I said. I don't expect you to do anything that you don't want. You can do what you like, study art, etcetera. I won't ask anything, anything of you, except to be my wife in name and live in the same house with me.

 She sat staring at the carpet.

 You can have your own bedroom and lock it every night, I said.

 "But that's horrible. It's inhuman! We'll never understand each other. We don't have the same sort of heart."

 I've got a heart, for all that, I said.

 "I just think of things as beautiful or not. Can't you understand? I don't think of good or bad. Just of beautiful or ugly. I think a lot of nice things are ugly and a lot of nasty things are beautiful."

 You're playing with words, I said. All she did was stare at me, then she smiled and got up and stood by the fire, really beautiful. But all withdrawn. Superior.

 I suppose you're in love with that Piers Broughton, I said. I wanted to give her a jolt. She was really surprised, too.

 "How do you know about him?"

 I told her it was in the papers. It said you and him were unofficially engaged, I said.

 I saw right off they weren't. She just laughed. "He's the last person I'd marry. I'd rather marry you."

 Then why can't it be me?

 "Because I can't marry a man to whom I don't feel I belong in all ways. My mind must be his, my heart must be his, my body must be his. Just as I must feel he belongs to me."

 I belong to you.