“I’m bad tempered,” she said, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “I’ll be all right in a moment.”
That’s better, George thought. As if I didn’t know she was in a temper. Well, so long as she admits it, she may get over it soon.
Feeling that he must add something to the meal—Cora ordering everything had rather deflated him—he beckoned a waiter and ordered two large dry martinis.
“Nothing like a cocktail to cheer you up,” he said, smiling. “I’ve been in the dumps myself today.”
She didn’t say anything. He noticed she was staring across the room at a table in the far corner. There was an intent look of spite in her eyes.
Puzzled, George glanced at the man sitting at the table. He was a slender blond with a complexion like peaches and cream, and big, soft eyes like a deer. He was wearing apple- green trousers, very neat, with pleats at the waist; and his coat was fawn colour.
George turned to Cora. She wasn’t looking at the blond man in the corner any longer, but at him. There was that odd expression in her eyes that made George feel like a strange exhibit in a zoo.
The waiter brought the two martinis.
“Here’s how,” George said. “I’ve been looking forward to this no end.”
She glanced at him, and her lips smiled, but her eyes still remained sulky. They drank. George was surprised at the “kick” the martini had.