“Cora! It’s George. Let me in.”
Almost instantly, as if she had been waiting for this assurance, she jerked the door open.
“You frightened me,” she said. “Come in quickly.”
The sound of her voice, the smell of the sandalwood and the nearness of her presence had an overpowering effect on him. He stumbled forward into the darkness, and the front door closed behind him. He heard her shoot a bolt home.
“Can you find your way up?” she asked. “I don’t want to show a light. They’re watching this place.” Her small, warm hand took his, and she drew him up a steep flight of stairs.
A moment later a light sprang up. He blinked round. The room was large and poorly furnished. A big divan bed stood in one corner. A table and armchair and a cupboard made up the rest of the furniture. A worn carpet covered only the centre of the floor.
He turned and looked at her.
She was still wearing the blue sweater and slacks. They looked as if they could have done with another wash. Her hair was untidy, and her lipstick put on anyhow. The blue smudges under her eyes had now turned to purple. She somehow looked older, more worn, more shop soiled.
“Good old George,” she said in a low voice. “I was beginning to wonder what I was going to do.”
“Do?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”