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354 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 15, 1985

This is somewhat similar to getting back onto a horse after a fall as the last book in this otherwise solid series was a dut-doh.'I'll tell you something I was scared to tell you at the time. I thought you might do something violent.'
'Sure, he said. 'I've always been so wild and free with my fists. What are you on about?'
'He made a pass at Sylvia.'
She said it defiantly. Standing there in the long red dress holding the sherry glass, her eyes suddenly wide and wary, she looked astonishingly young.
'So?' His elder daughter was thirty, married twelve years, and the mother of two tall sons. 'She's an attractive woman. I daresay men do make passes at her and no doubt she can take care of herself.'
Dora gave him a sidelong look. 'I said I was scared to tell you. She was fifteen at the time.'
It was his wife who had dissuaded him on the grounds that if the police were called the conclusion they would reach would be that Wheatley had first made some sort of assault on the girl.
'Don't let him give you drugs.'
'It's a woman.'
She wanted to scream with laughter. The irony of it! She was a teacher and this other woman was a psychiatrist and Mike's daughter Pat was very nearly qualified as a dentist, yet here she was reacting like a no-account junior wife in a harem. Because the baby was a girl.
In vain he had asked why this prejudice against girls, she who was a feminist, a supporter of the women's movement, who expressed a preference for her friends' small girls over their small sons, who got on better with her stepdaughter than her stepson, who pofessed to prefer teaching girls to boys.
She didn't know why, only that it was so. Her preganancy, so long desired, at first so ecstatically accepted, had driven her mad. The worst of it was that he was coming to hate the unborn child himself and to wish it had never been conceived.
'It's not that she's anti-girls usually,' Burden said. 'For God's sake, she's a feminist. I mean, it's not some stupid I-must-have-an-heir thing or every-woman's-got-to-have-a-son-to-prove-herself. In fact I think she secretly thinks women are better than men - I mean cleverer and more versatile, all that. She says she doesn't understand it herself. She says she had no feelings about the child's sex one way or the other, but when they told her, when she knew, she was - well, dismayed. That was at first. It's got worst. It's not just dismay now, it's hatred.'...
'...She says that ever since the world began sons have been preferred over daughters and now it's become part of race memory, what she calls the collective unconscious.'
'What Jung called it.'
'I was at work. Thursday's our late night. I didn't tell you, did I? I'm manageress of the fashion floor at Jickie's.'
He was surprised. Somehow he had taken it for granted she didn't work...
Wexfor thought how easy it was to imagine Rodney Williams - or his idea of Rodney Williams - in his other home but next to impossible to imagine him here. Seated at that glass-topped dining table, for instance, with its bowl of pink and red roses or in one of those pink chintz armchairs. He had been a big coarse man and everything here ahd a daintiness like a pink shell or the inside of a rose.
In this house Williams had had no desk, only a drawer in the gilt-handed white melamine chest of drawers. This had been Wendy's house, no doubt about it, the sanctim where Wendy held sway. Girlish, fragile, soft-voiced though she might be, she had made this place her own, feminine and exclusive - exclusive in a way of Rodney Williams. He had been there or sufferance, Wexford sensed, his presence depending on his good behaviour...So Wendy had made a home full of flowers and colours and silk cushions inw hich he was allotted small corners as if - unconsciously, he was sure it was unconsciously - she knew the day would come when it would be for herself and her daughter alone.
'...She gave that bitter laugh of hers. If I'd had to live with that laugh it would have got horribly on my nerves.'
'What would you think if you saw two middle-aged women watching young men playing squash?'
Burden looked sideways at him.
'Well, nothing, would I? I mean, I'd think they were their mothers or just women who liked watching sport.'
'Exactly. Doesn't that tell you something? Two things? One is that, whatever the women's movement says, there is a fundamental difference between men and women in their attitude to sex, and the other that this is an area in which women might claim - if it's occurred to them - to be superior to us.'
'Why girls?' he said. 'Haldon Finch is co-ed. Don't any boys belong?'...
'Well, it's all women, isn't it? It's for women. They're - what d'you call it? - feminists, militant feminists.'
'Then I hope you'll keep clear of it, Veronica,' Wendy said very quickly and sharply for her. 'I hope you'll have nothing to do with it. If there's anything I really hate it's women's lib. Liberation! I'm liberated and look where it's got me. I just hope you'll do better than I have when the time comes and find a man who'll really support you and look after you, a nice good man who'll - who'll cherish you.' Her lips trembled with emotion. She laid down her sewing. 'I wasn't enough of a woman for Rodney,' she said as if the girl wasn't there. 'I wasn't enough of a girl. I got too hard and independent and - and mature, I know i did.' A heroic effort was made to keep the tears in, the break out of the voice, and a victory was won. 'You just remember that, Veronica, when your turn comes.'
...Wendy Williams came down the spiral staircase, walking slowly, giving him a voyeur's look if he had wanted it of shapely legs in very fine pale tights all the way up to a glimpsed border of cream lace. He wasn't looking, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her hold her skirt down as if he had been.
...Wendy had a pretty cotton dress on, the kind that needs a lot of ironing, a wide black patent belt to show she still had an adolescent waist and red wedge-heeled shoes that pinched where they touched.
He lay down beside her and the last thing he remembered before sleeping was laying his hand on her still-slender waist.
women were at last taking steps to defend themselves against the muggings and rapes which in the past few years had so disproportionately increased.
'...Rule 10: Women wishing to reproduce should select the potential father for his physique, health, height, etc., and ensure impregnation in a rape or near-rape construct.'
'It's tempting,' he said to Burden, 'to think of a group of those ARRIA girls grabbing hold of poor old Williams like the Maenads with Orpheus and doing him in on the Lesbian shore.'
'Not that there's anything wrong with being a prostitute. That's OK, that's fine if that's where youu're at. It's just the way men assume...'
'Only some men.'
'A lot[...]'
'Why did you ask him for a lift? To provoke exactly the sort of situation that arose?'
'I didn't do that. I didn't do anything but go for a walk in the wood. I wasn't provocatively dressed.'...The only thing I did to provoke anyone was be there and be a woman.'
