We argued about the wisdom of the coming telecast: was it really necessary to confront the enemy explicitly? and in his own country, so to speak? Iris was not sure, but she felt Cave’s instinct was right even though he had, perhaps, been goaded into action sooner than we’d anticipated by the harsh letters of Christian zealots. And then by slow degrees, by careful circling, the conversation grew personal. “I’ve never told anyone else,” said Iris, looking at me speculatively. “Don’t worry; I haven’t repeated any of it.” And, as always at such times, I felt a warm flood of guilt: any direct statement of personal innocence has always made me feel completely criminal. “But since I’ve told you, I ... it’s a relief to have someone I can talk to about John. I don’t dare mention his name to my family, to my old friends ... I don’t think they even know yet that I’ve met him.” “I thought it has all been in the papers.” “I haven’t been mentioned but, after Friday, everyone will know. Paul says there’s no way for us to duck inquiries. After the directors’ meeting he’ll issue a statement naming directors, stockholders and so on.” “But even then, why should anyone suspect you were interested in Cave or he in you? It’s possible merely to be a director, isn’t it?” Iris shrugged. “You know how people are. Clarissa keeps wanting to have what she calls a comfy chat about _everything_ and I keep putting her off. Stokharin now takes it for granted that John and I sleep together, that he is the father-image to me and I the mother to him.” It had an odd ring to it and I laughed. “Do you think that’s a sound post-Jungian analysis?” Iris smiled faintly. “Whatever it is, the feeling, such as it is, is all on my side.” “And he shows no sign of returning your affection?” “None at all. He’s devoted to me, I think. He relies on my judgment. He trusts me, which is more than he does anyone else I know of....” “Even me?” Always the “I” coming between me and what I wished to know: that insatiable, distressing “I.” “Yes, even you, dear, and Paul too. He’s on guard against everyone, but not in a nasty or suspicious way. He ... what is the phrase? he keeps his own counsel.” “And you are the counsel?” “In a sense, and nothing more.” “Perhaps you should give up. It would seem that ... love was not possible for him. If so, it’s unwise for you to put yourself in such a position ... harmful, too.” “But there’s still the other Cave. I love him as well and the two are, finally, the same.” “A _metaphysique_?” “No, or at least I don’t see a paradox. It’s something else; it’s like coming out of an illness with no past at all, only a memory of pain and dullness which soon goes in the wonderful present.” “It?”