“Lady of the Press VALERIE did not sleep well Monday night. The apartment was dark and cold and full of whispering voices. She tossed open-eyed on her bed until the first grilles formed through the Venetian blinds; then she dozed. Pink pounded at the door at seven, and she crept out of bed to let him in. When she reappeared later in an old tweed sports outfit he had breakfast ready. They ate together in silence. She washed the dishes and Pink, whose broad shoulders seemed to have acquired a perm...anent droop, went out for the morning papers. It occurred to Val, scrubbing the pots with aluminium wool, that she had spoken her last word aloud the night before. It had been “Goodbye,” and in retrospect it seemed darkly prophetic. She said to the dripping pan: “Hello,” and was so startled at the sound of her voice that she almost dropped the pan. When Pink got back with the papers he found her powdering her nose, which had a suspiciously pink tinge. And there it was in cold print. The coarse-screen halftone of Rhys made him look like Public Enemy Number 1.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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