Simon gave instructions and did as he was bid. Almost immediately they were speeding down the gradients towards the West End.
She talked quickly and vividly of the party and the people whom they had just left The car had reached Baker Street before Simon had a chance to get in the question which he’d been meaning to ask; he said quickly: “What about a little lunch one day?”
Her shoulders moved slightly under her ermine cloak. “My frien’, it would be nice — but it is impossible. Tomorrow I ’ave a ’undred things to do, an’ the next day I go back to Russia.”
The car slid through Grosvenor Square, and into Carlos Place. Simon considered for a moment, then he said, seriously: “Are you doing anything for lunch this week?”
She put her head back, and her magnificent laughter filled the car. “Foolish one, I shall be in Moskawa — you are an absurd.”
“Ner.” Simon shook his head quickly. “Tell me — are you booked for lunch next Thursday?”
The car sped through the eastern side of Berkeley Square, and up Berkeley Street. She pressed his hand. “Silly boy — of course not, but I ’ave told you — I shall be in Moskawa once more!”
“All right,” said Simon, decisively. “Then you will meet me for lunch at one o’clock at the Hotel Metropole in Moscow — Thursday, a week today.”
The car had stopped before the entrance to the hotel, the commissionaire stepped forward and opened the door.
“You make a joke! You do not mean this?” she asked, in her melodious, husky voice, leaning forward to peer into his face.