The woman gave Fenner a quick look. He didn’t quite like the smirk in her eyes, and she went away again.
Glorie opened a door on the left of the lobby. “Go in there and rest yourself. I want to change.”
Fenner said, “Sure,” and wandered into the room. It was comfortable: cushions, divans and more cushions. The open windows led out to the piazza, and the room was dim with subdued sunlight.
The Spanish woman came in and laid a table for lunch on the piazza. Fenner sat on one of the divans and smoked. He said, “When you’re through, you might get me a drink.” She took no notice of him, and he didn’t bother to speak again. He sat quite still.
Glorie came in after a while. She wore a black silk dress, ankle length, and red doeskin sandals. Her beautiful golden hair cascaded down around her shoulders. Her mouth was very red, and the sparkling light in her eyes was complemented by the translucent glow of numerous strings of pearls which wound around her neck and fell across the low cut bosom of her gown.
She said, “Like me?” and pivoted slowly.
“Yeah,” he said, getting up. “You’re all right.”
She made a little grimace at him and went over to fix drinks. The dress clung to her body.
Fenner’s mouth twisted. He told himself she was going to put on an act pretty soon.
The ice-cold cocktails had a bite. When they sat down to the meal, Fenner felt fine. They got through the meal without saying much. Fenner was conscious of Glorie’s eyes. She kept looking at him and then, when he glanced she’d look hurriedly away. They talked about the bungalow and the Spanish woman and things that didn’t matter.