The steel-gray sky seems oppressively low this morning, and the streets are slick from a recent rain. Veronica stands on the steps to her flat, surrounded by luggage, as a cab pulls up that will take her to Heathrow airport. Her husband has left her, and now she will leave the UK. She flies to America this morning. An administrative job awaits her at the University of Wisconsin.
In the cab, Veronica is still brooding about her divorce. She wishes she could think about something else. Her husband was attractive and powerfully built; he was a former rugby player who, after marrying Veronica, was employed in the lower echelons of the British Foreign Office, where he met someone else. Veronica doesn't know who it was, but she suspects it was a man. A
man
, which makes it seem somehow more insulting. Ruefully, she wishes that she had persuaded him to seek employment elsewhere, as if that would have made a difference.
It's raining again, and a blustery wind spatters raindrops against Veronica as she disembarks from her cab at Heathrow.
The Wisconsin air is clear, bright and shockingly cold. It stings Veronica's face, the only part of her that is exposed. Bundled up with her cap, scarf and gloves, she hurries down the street, which is lined with leafless trees. At the end of the street is a gray-green wooden house, where her flat occupies the second story. She goes bounding up the stairs and lets herself in, relishing the comfort of her heated rooms. She methodically removes her outer garments, her armor against the assault of the Wisconsin winter, and plops herself down in the armchair, from which she gazes thoughtfully out the window, looking down the hill at the smooth white surface of frozen Lake Mendota.
She is grateful for her job, which offers her many challenges and occupies her mind throughout the day. She often goes from the time when she wakes up in the morning, to this very moment when she returns in the early evening, without thinking of Avery, her ex-husband. Avery was not a tall man; he was perhaps half an inch shorter than Veronica. But he was very muscular, and looked impressive. Veronica thinks about making love with Avery. She admits to herself that it was not terribly gratifying to her, sexually, but she cherished it nonetheless, because that was the one thing that she shared with Avery that was theirs alone.
Avery spent so much of his time with his mates, many of whom were his former rugby teammates, watching BBC Sport on television and reminiscing. Veronica didn't discourage this or resent it; she was proud of Avery's achievements on the rugby field, and she wanted him to be happy. She had met him in college, and become an enthusiastic fan of his team.
In those days, Avery was lovely to look at naked, despite his frequent cuts and bruises. As a lover, he was strong, perhaps a little too strong, since he seemed to have only one gear: overdrive. If Veronica was sufficiently aroused, she could reach orgasm with him, but often it was simply too fast, too hard, too soon. Veronica didn't care. She wanted the intimacy that she felt with him in the bedroom.
And now, she thinks, it's all gone.
They are showing re-runs of "The Practice" on television, and it occurs to Veronica that she fancies Dylan McDermott. That night, before going to bed, she stops in front of the mirror to evaluate herself. Veronica is slim, and her blond hair is cut short; she thinks that her bosom is not heavy the way American men are said to like it. But her bum is nicely rounded. She still has the poised and gracious posture from the dance lessons of her youth. She concludes her inspection by thinking that the last thing that she needs right now is another man in her life.
It's that time of the week again, when "The Practice" comes on, but Veronica doesn't remember until it's suddenly on the screen. She's had a difficult day at work. She stopped at a liquor store on State Street on the way home, and picked up a bottle of white wine. And she has had two glasses of it, as the evening went on. When Dylan McDermott appears, she fancies him all over again. And later, when she is lying in bed, she imagines him naked. In her imagination, he looks rather like Avery. Her nipples grow taut, and she is embarrassed. She puts it out of her mind and goes to sleep.
Today one Professor Rafael Cervantes came into the office, seeking a permit to use a conference room. He smiled at Veronica, and there was a look of evaluation and approval in his eyes. Veronica recalls this, now that she is home, and it annoys her. Prof. Cervantes is not her type. He must be ten years her senior, too tall and lanky, his hair graying and a little too long.
Still, it was flattering to be looked at that way by a man.
A week has gone by, and suddenly Prof. Cervantes is back. He's got some big project to do lord knows what, and he needs all sorts of paperwork. He wears a mustache and, his green eyes peer out through fashionable glasses. He remembers her name and smiles at her; she is very cautious with him, and discreetly scrutinizes his glances to see if that look of appraisal is there again, but she doesn't see it. He's wearing a tweed sport coat; isn't that a bit of a cliché?
Tonight, Veronica remembers that "The Practice" is coming on, and she deliberately watches something else.
Prof. Cervantes is setting up some sort of academic task force, and he comes up Bascom Hill to the office every day now. And what is more, it seems clear that he wishes to court Veronica. Although he is polite and decorous, he has made his intentions known by asking her out to dinner. She politely declined, and went so far as to explain that she recently went through a somewhat painful divorce, and she wishes to avoid any romantic entanglements. Prof. Cervantes was very understanding and sympathetic. At home in her armchair, contemplating the lake, Veronica is relieved and appreciative of the fact that he took no for an answer.
Oh lord. Professor Cervantes is back, and he wants to know whether Veronica would care to catch a quick lunch with him at the Memorial Union. Not wishing to seem unfriendly, she says yes. After a quick walk down the hill to Lake Street, they are soon having sandwiches under the arched ceiling of the Rathskeller. Professor Cervantes - except that he's "Rafael" now, per his request - explains that he is an associate professor of architecture. His wife, Gretchen, passed away ten years ago. Veronica tries to nod sympathetically - she's really never sure how best to respond to reports of this kind. Rafael likes to go hiking and camping. Veronica knows that she is expected to reveal something about herself in turn, so she says she's from England, as if that were not obvious from her accent, and the fact that from time to time, she says that she "fancies" such-and-such. She does not speak of Avery, and Rafael does not ask.
Quick lunches with Rafael are becoming a regular event now, once or twice a week. Veronica is careful that the talk does not become any more familiar. It turns out that they both enjoy "Foyle's War," which is evidently re-broadcast on some U.S. channels. They both take their coffee black. The conversation does not stray from safe topics.
