The barman came over and stood admiring her.
“Something that would resurrect a corpse, please,” Myra said, smiling at him. “Nothing small. Serve it in a brandy glass.”
The barman blinked. “Yes, madam,” he said, and went away.
“I’m going to get tight,” she went on to me in a confidential undertone. “I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I haven’t been tight for years. I am pandering to my whims tonight.”
By this time, Juden began making croaking noises. “Twins,” he said feebly. “Twins.”
Myra looked at him with interest. “No wonder you look like such a sad man,” she said.
“Should I congratulate you or buy you a wreath?”
Before I could stop him, he gave her the photograph. There was a long electric silence while she looked at it. Then she turned to me. “Who’s this delightful little blonde trollop?” she asked, pointing with a trembling finger at the girl in the photograph.
“To all intents and purposes,” I said as gently as possible, “it’s you.”
Myra drew a deep breath. “Have you ever seen me wear such an expression on my face as this over-dressed, sex-ridden, over-ripe, two-face hag is wearing?” she demanded, furiously rattling the photograph under my nose.