He had finished his second whisky and was pouring a third when Eve came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a lilac-coloured silk wrap that suited her and emphasised the gold in her hair and the blue in her eyes. She went over to the dressing-table and sat down.
‘Is that your third or fourth?’ she asked, beginning to brush her hair.
He was immediately furious with her. What right had she to say such a thing to him?
‘Oh, be quiet!’ he shouted, banging his fist on the table. ‘God damn it! I won’t be questioned like this! I’l drink as much as I like!’
She went on brushing her hair, her face thoughtful, her eyes serious.
‘We’re going to talk to Rico tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s important that you shouldn’t be drunk, Preston.’
Kile set down his glass, took hold of Eve by her arms and pulled her to her feet. He gave her a hard, little shake. His face was red and congested, and his bloodshot eyes gleamed furiously.
‘I won’t be spoken to like this!’ he said in a loud bul ying voice. ‘I’m master here, and you’d better remember it! I’m not seeing Rico tonight. And if I want to get drunk, I’l get drunk!’
‘You’re hurting me, Preston,’ she said, and her steady, quiet look was like a douche of cold water in his face.
He released her with an impatient exclamation, turned and walked heavily across the room to stand with his back to her, his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets.