‘It isn’t mine, it’s got no hood, it always breaks down and it’s hellishly uncomfortable, so I don’t advise it really.’
It sounded as if he were suddenly regretting his offer, trying to withdraw it. She looked at him, all her confidence collapsing in a moment. His face had become a mask.
She said swiftly:
‘If you would take me I should be very grateful.’ Her voice sounded to herself strained, beseeching, horrible.
It took ten minutes to get the car started, with Martin and Roddy madly swinging her by turns.
‘Good night, Martin. Thank you for my lovely tea party. I’ll see you again soon, won’t I?’
He nodded, looking gravely down at her in the lamp-light.
‘Don’t catch cold,’ he said. There was something dejected about his attitude, a flatness in his voice.... Things had gone wrong for him.... Ever since that panic-stricken voice had broken in on the laughter and talk, the game for three, with its vibrating cry: “If you would take me home ...” from that moment all had been faintly blown upon by a ruffle of uneasy wind. They were no longer three persons, but two men and one woman.
She knew it and loathed herself because Martin knew it too.