“Are you ready, then, at last?” she asked.
“Buster says if we don’t hurry we’ll miss the tide.”
“Burt, this is Buster Walker,” Frances said, turning to look at Pete. “You’ve already met Bunty, haven’t you?”
Pete’s eyes moved over the big fellow who pushed out his hand, grinning. There was no disgust, no surprise in the big fellow’s eyes, just a desire to be friendly.
“Glad to know you,” Buster said. “Sorry we couldn’t give you longer notice. I don’t know what I should have done if I had to have these two on my hands without support. It’s as much as I can do to manage Bunty.”
Pete muttered something as he shook hands.
“Would you like to leave those magazines and pick them up when we get back?” Frances asked, and held out her hand for them.
Pete let her take them. He watched her return to the apartment, lay them on the hall table, then shut the front door on the catch lock.
“Now, let’s go,” she said, and took his arm.
He allowed her to lead him down the stairs. He didn’t know what to do. His mind was confused. He knew he couldn’t turn on her now, not in cold blood, not a girl who hadn’t flinched away from him and who was actually holding his arm. If only it had been the other girl, the job would have been over by now.