“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Corinna, but are we never going to have tea?”
Corinna apologised. Tea was prepared. Miss Banditch talked on the One and Only Topic. Martin listened politely. During a pause, while he stood offering a cup for Corinna to fill for the second time, she remarked casually:
“By the way, you met Miss Merriton, didn’t you?”
The question was like a knock on the head. He nearly dropped the cup.
“Miss Merriton?”
“She’s a friend of mine. I had a note from her at Christmas to say that she had been to Brantôme and made your acquaintance, and had carried off Félise to the south of France. Why haven’t you told me about her?”
Under her calm, smiling gaze he felt himself grow hot and red and angry. He fenced.
“You must remember my position in Brantôme.”
She poured the milk into his cup. “She said she was going to Egypt. Sugar?”
Miss Banditch resumed her argument. The remainder of the visit was intolerable. As soon as he could swallow his tea, he took his leave. Corinna followed him into the tiny passage by the flat-door.