Birdsong

by Sebastian Faulks

Isabelle was aware that beneath Stephen’s expressionless manner there was some powerful urge or desire. He said, ‘Isabelle, I’m glad of all these things you’ve told me. I don’t wish to see you again now. This was all I needed to know. I wish you well with your German friend.’ Isabelle felt unforeseen tears welling up in her eyes. Surely he would not leave on this note of downcast generosity. She had not wanted to see him so broken. He leaned forward across the table. He said with a slight catch in his voice, ‘May I touch you?’ She looked into his dark eyes. ‘You mean …?’ ‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly. He held out his right hand. She took it in hers, feeling the large, roughened fingers. Slowly, with a little tremor in her own grip, she guided it across her face and laid it on her jaw, just below the ear.