I parked behind the limousine and went in too.
The lobby was no smaller than an ice-skating rink, but cosier. There was a reception desk, an enquiry desk, a flower-stall, a cigarette kiosk, and a hall porter’s cubby hole. It was class; the
carpet tickled my ankles.
I looked around.
The three dizzy dames had gone over to the elevators. One of them pulled down her gridle with both hands and gave me the eye. She had too much on the ball for me to be more than mildly interested. She was the kind of dame who’d pick out your good inlays without an anaesthetic. I took myself over to the hall porter. He was a sad old man dressed up in a bottlegreen uniform. He didn’t look as if he had much joy in his life.
I draped myself over the counter of his cubby-hole.
“Hi, dad,” I said.
He looked up and nodded. “Yes, sir?” he said.
“Miss Spence. Miss Lois Spence. Right?”
He nodded again. “Apartment 466, sir. Take the right-hand elevator.”