“What a gal!” Little Ernie said, sitting down. “See what I mean? It’s work all the time with ’er.”
The door opened and a thin sad-faced woman in black came in pushing a small trolley. She manoeuvred the trolley near the table, and went out without even a glance at any of them.
“There you are. Just ’elp yourself,” Little Ernie said, beaming on them. “Eat as much as you like.”
There were bowls of jellied soup and lobster salad, a pile of chicken sandwiches, and a plate of finely cut, lean ham. A silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne on ice completed the meal.
While they ate, Little Ernie took charge of the champagne.
“Only the best,” he said, smirking at George. “That’s Eva all over. Beats me ’ow she picks everything up. Must be ’er posh friends. You wouldn’t believe it, but I found ’er in a smelly little restaurant in Pimlico washing dishes. I took one look at ’er shape and took a chance on ’er. Like a monkey, she is. Picks up everything. Talks posh even. Best day’s work I ever done.”
He kept up a ceaseless chatter during the meal, and when the woman had taken the trolley and table away, he poured fresh drinks and sat down.
“Well,” he said, stretching out his short legs, “don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but you two certainly were in a state when you came in.”
Cora looked at him mockingly. Now that she had eaten and rested, she was once more her old self.
“That’s our secret,” she said, with a short, hard laugh. “If you really want to know, Ernie, we had a fire.”