Sydney wandered into the room and regarded him sharply.
“I say, what a state you’re in!” he said in his sneering voice.
George turned away. He caught a cold, jeering look from Cora that sent a stab into his heart. He was sick with disappointment and frustration.
“What have you been up to, Cora?” Sydney went on, flopping into the armchair “What’s this?” he continued, picking up the whip. “Oh, something for Crispin, eh? That’s wonderful.” A quick, cautious note crept into his voice. “Did George buy it?”
“He bought it,” Cora said, wandering across the room and opening a cupboard. “He didn’t want to at first, but I persuaded him; didn’t I, George?” She took from the cupboard a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
George sat down limply and wiped his face and hands on his handkerchief. He didn’t say anything He had a feeling that they had, between them, tricked him in some way. He felt that ever since Sydney had telephoned him, asking him to take the message to Joe’s Club, a series of carefully planned manoeuvres had taken place to trap him.
Cora came over to him with a glass half full of whisky.
“Have a drink, George,” she said, putting the glass in his hand. “You look as if you needed it.”
Then she sat on his lap and slipped an arm round his neck. His suspicions were immediately lulled, and in their place came an overwhelming tenderness and love for her.
She rested her head against his shoulder and gently swung her legs. She, too, had a stiff whisky in her hand.