10
Cora, with George tagging along a step behind, turned off the main road into a narrow street, lined on one side by hacks of shops, and on the other side by a brick wall, along the top of which bristled pieces of broken glass, set in cement. At the end of this street she turned the corner and walked down an even more sordid street of small, shabby shops. A group of dark-skinned, hare-headed men stood at the corner; they glanced at George, and then concentrated on Cora. They stopped talking and eyed her, their faces expressionless, their eyes hot and intent. Cora went on her way, her small head held high, unaware of their interest.
They came to a double-fronted shop, the big windows hung with yellow muslin curtains. The glass panel of the door was painted green. Gilt letters, “Restaurant", crawled diagonally across the green expanse.
Without pausing, Cora pushed open the door and went in. George followed her.
The room in which they found themselves was long and narrow. Tables lined each side of it, and vast mirrors, flyblown and yellowing with age, hung from the walls. Red- shaded lamps stood on each table.
A big woman, her hair straggling and untidy, as if someone had upset custard over her head, sat at the cash desk. Behind the bar near the door was a tall, elderly Hebrew in a dirty white coat. Two waiters stood idly at the end of the room. There were only a few people at the tables: bright-eyed women, hatless and bold; darkskinned men, immaculately dressed, middle-aged and wooden.
Cora sat down at a table with her hack to the wall. George, following her, felt the woman in the cash desk examining him closely. Somehow, he didn’t quite know why, the atmosphere in this dimly lit, gaudy room made him uneasy.
He was aware, too, that the men at the tables paused in their eating and watched Cora furtively, under lowered eyelids: their eyes on her slim hips and the shameless movement under her woollen sweater.
She was wearing the same outfit, and the red bone bangle, as she had worn when they first met. Their meeting tonight wasn’t at all how George had planned it to be. He had arrived at the pub at a few minutes to eight to find Cora already there. She was drinking a whisky and water, and she seemed peevish. Of course, he hadn’t kissed her. Even if they had been in the bar on their own, he wouldn’t have had the courage, now that he was once more face to face with her. He really marvelled that he had kissed her the other night. That had, of course, only happened because it had been dark.
As soon as Cora saw him she finished her whisky and came to meet him.