These chapters investigate the dynamics involved in Masculinity as a Defense against Powerlessness, as István’s character is shaped by a constant negotiation between his assumed masculine authority and his lack of actual status. His profession as a security driver and his military background are markers of traditional masculinity, yet in the Nyman household, he remains a subordinate. The affair with Helen offers a temporary inversion of this dynamic, for whenever they dally in his apartment, he holds a degree of sexual power over his employer’s wife. However, this power is fragile and context-dependent, for in the presence of Karl—and more significantly, Thomas—István’s authority evaporates. After Karl’s death and István’s marriage to Helen, his attempt to bond with Thomas through the masculine ritual of tennis utterly fails, as Thomas undermines the game’s value with a deliberate show of indifference, rejecting István’s attempt to establish patriarchal legitimacy. Faced with the limitations of his performative masculinity, István realizes that his habit of using masculine codes to navigate his environment is an ineffective defense against the entrenched power of class and inheritance, which ultimately define his precarious position.

As a result, the relationship between István and Helen—from the beginning of their affair and during their later marriage—is defined by a series of implicit and explicit exchanges that reflect The Transactional Nature of Human Relationships. Their affair begins with Helen’s deliberate power play as she commands István into the back of the car and propositions him. Her subsequent gifts—an expensive tie, an Audemars Piguet watch—likewise function as transactions that blur the line between payment and affection, reinforcing his subordinate status even within their intimacy. The affair is a commodity exchange: He provides sex, companionship, and a validation that she lacks in her marriage, while she offers him access to a world of luxury. This dynamic is further crystallized when Karl’s illness intensifies, for Helen’s reaction is to summon István to Munich, effectively purchasing his emotional support. István is acutely aware of the terms of this arrangement, for he confronts Helen about their dynamics, saying that she only comes to his room “when [she] feel[s] like sex” and then “go[es] back downstairs and get[s] on with [her] life” (163). The bald depiction of their interactions shows that this emotional and sexual intimacy is an extension of Helen’s economic power over István.

Even the physical spaces that István inhabits symbolize the rigid class hierarchy that he now must navigate. His small apartment at the top of the Cheyne Walk house, which is accessible only via the “tradesmen’s entrance” (133), physically manifests his position as an outsider within the Nyman family structure. It is a space of service that remains pointedly separate from the more opulent family areas, and Helen’s decision to confine the affair to this room underscores the illicit, subordinate role that István plays in her life. This framework briefly shifts in Munich, where the liminal space of the hotel suite temporarily dissolves these boundaries, allowing István to experience a semblance of equality. 

However, this impression proves to be merely an instance of The Illusion of Social Mobility, as the moment that Thomas arrives, Helen relegates István to his role as the driver, and his brief cohabitation is exposed as a temporary privilege, not a permanent change in status. Even after Karl dies and István marries Helen, gaining full access to the country estate, he still remains something of an interloper in the opulent setting of Ayot St. Peter, which represents a level of inherited wealth that he can never achieve. This tension is underscored by Thomas’s resentment and by the observations that István’s mother makes about Thomas’s eventual inheritance of the Nyman trust. These simmering conflicts demonstrate that although István can physically occupy spaces of wealth, true ownership and acceptance remain beyond his grasp, as these domains are defined by lineage and capital that he simply does not possess.

The recurring motif of observation and surveillance reinforces the atmosphere of social precarity and judgment that permeates István’s life. His job as a security driver is fundamentally one of observation, positioning him as a perpetual outsider looking in on the lives of the wealthy. Initially, he watches the Nymans from his attic apartment as they entertain in the garden, his physical perspective mirroring his social distance. Yet ironically, this dynamic is inverted when his own actions come under scrutiny. For example, his fear that Thomas witnessed him and Helen in the pool introduces a sense of imminent exposure, highlighting the danger that his transgression could be revealed to the patriarch of the family. Likewise, when Karl’s sister, Mathilde, discovers István’s belongings in Helen’s suite, her suspicion threatens to reveal the illegitimacy of his presence in Helen’s life. As István’s every move becomes subject to external judgment, he can never forget that his access to this world can be revoked at any moment.

The narrative structure continues to rely heavily on a detached, observational style and sparse, repetitive dialogue to convey István’s emotional alienation and the superficiality of his relationships. Conversations, particularly between István and Helen, often devolve into clipped, echoing questions and non-answers, with István and other character’s frequent go-to responses being “Okay,” “All right,” and “Not really.” The almost aggressive repetition of these banal conversational patterns illustrates the utter failure of communication that pervades the characters’ lives, for their interactions are nothing but empty performances. Although most of the novel maintains a close third-person perspective on István, the author rarely delves into the protagonist’s emotions, preferring instead to catalogue his actions, thoughts, and surrounding environments. This stylistic choice creates a sense of detachment that mirrors István’s own guarded interiority. By presenting the novel’s events with a cool, clinical precision, the author ultimately creates an emotional void that reflects the dehumanizing effect of a life lived on the periphery of power.