“Show me the moon,” she said in a brittle hard voice, and pushed past the spectators to the gangway.
I followed her out, accompanied by a storm of cheering. I guessed Gomez had taken the final tan to, and I’d launched Miss Spence just in time.
The dignified doorman signalled for her car as soon as he saw her coining. By the time we had reached the revolving doors the black and chromium Cadillac was lined up, waiting.
The doorman gave me a hard look as he handed Miss Spence into the car. She left the driving
seat vacant, and I slid under the wheel. We drifted away with the smoothness of a falling leaf, and with less noise.
I drove fast to Lancing Avenue. She didn’t say anything during the drive, and she sat stiff and straight, looking at the road ahead, her big white teeth gnawing her underlip.
I stopped outside the big apartment block, opened the door and got out. She got out too. We walked across the lobby, and as I passed the hall porter I winked at him. He stared back as if he was seeing a mirage.
We rode up to the fourth floor in an automatic elevator, and walked along the broad corridor to apartment 466. We didn’t speak or look at each other. The atmosphere was loaded with an off-key excitement.
She unlocked the door and we went into a big room full of apricot and chromium furniture. I shut the door, tossed my hat on a chair and faced her.
She looked at me from the fireplace. Her disdainful expression was still hooked to her face, but her eyes were expectant, bright.