“Yes, Mrs Stevanson, you remember we met last year and....”
“Of course we did. How is your father?”
“Fine, just fine.” His father hated her.
“I’m so glad to hear that. I think you look more like your mother, you know. She was such a lovely woman.”
He mumbled thank you.
“Your mother was one of the most charming women I ever knew. She had such a wonderful way of doing things, so original.” Like marrying my father, thought Holton. “She was always full of surprises. I used to enjoy her so much.”
There was an awkward silence. Robert Holton never found it easy to talk about his mother and Mrs Stevanson had decided, obviously, that it was the only thing she could discuss with him.
“It was very nice of you...” began Holton.
“Think nothing of it, my dear. I don’t know if there are many younger people here. You might look round, though. I suppose you’ll know everybody. There’s Laura Whitner over there.... You know her of course.” He looked and saw a dark little woman wearing a skull cap.
“I’ve seen her act,” he said accurately.