The bus took them along Piccadilly, and they got off at Old Bond Street. The passengers on the bus gaped at them in undisguised astonishment. George, embarrassed, kept his eyes fixed on his dusty, cut shoes. Cora looked round with arrogant indifference, staring with jeering contempt at anyone who looked at her.
They walked up Old Bond Street towards Burlington Street: an odd couple in one of the richest streets in the world. Four prostitutes waited at the corner of Old Bond Street and Burlington Street. Their harsh voices chattered excitedly in broken English. Their French accents reminded George somehow of the Parrot House at the Zoo.
Cora paused, gave them a quick glance, and said, “Eva about?”
The four women stopped talking and stared at her. One of them, tall, hideous, fox furs hanging from her gaunt frame, seemed to recognize her.
“What a mess you’re in, darling,” she said, with a harsh laugh. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Seen Eva?” Cora repeated, her hard little face tightening.
“She went hack with a client about ten minutes ago.”
Cora nodded and walked on.
George hadn’t stopped. He crossed the road and waited on the opposite corner.
“Come on,” Cora said impatiently. “I hope Ernie’s at home." They paused outside a tall building in Clifford Street.