“Yes, Naps.” A shy, uncertain voice that was. She was afraid. “You must thank Mrs. Storm for that....”
Napier did not call on Iris’s name. Hugo chattered to cover the silence. I thought I heard Guy mutter something between his teeth. During the next few minutes Hugo’s dexterity with the champagne was a great relief. Dear Hugo.
“Venice!” said Guy beside me, chill, queerly harsh. “Your health, Venice! You’ll need a good deal, if you go playing any more tricks like that.”
Shirley was saying: “Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm. Do have my stockings, please....”
“Oh ... no, it’s quite all right, really. Please, really. But would you mind seeing if my shoes are anywhere there, by the steering-wheel thing?”
Formal, like the voices of women in a drawing-room.
Iris called to me for a cigarette. It was her right hand to which I gave it. It seemed very naked, that right hand. “Your ring, Iris?”
“In the Thames,” she whispered. “Fallen for ever! Not a word....”
Venice was explaining to the darkness, gulping lavishly at her champagne: “Thought I’d go for a swim and not just paddle about. Thought I’d be clever. Thought you were fools. Thought I’d thought right. Thought I’d—anyhow, I caught my head crack (a) on that bridge. And then I didn’t want to let out a yell about nothing and look a silly ass. Heard you calling me, but thought I’d better keep my breath for swimming. Began swimming, and got a weed like a wrestler’s torso round me. Head hurt, like hell it did. Thinks I, now for a yell, but began kicking instead——”
“You would!”