George didn't need to be reminded of this unpleasant fact, but he assured himself that once he had seen Cora he would be able to settle down to work again. Selling hooks demanded all your attention. How could he concentrate when he was longing so much to hear Cora's voice?
As soon as he was sure that Sydney had taken himself off to Wembley, he left his room and hurried to the call-box at the end of his street. At first the line was engaged, then he dialled a wrong number, then he found he hadn't any more pennies, and he had to go to the newspaper shop across the street to change a shilling. When he got back there was a woman in the box, and she kept him waiting nearly ten minutes. He had ceased to be impatient. He was now obstinately dogged: determined, whatever happened, to speak to Cora. If it took him a hundred years to speak to her, he wouldn't mind, so long as he succeeded.
At last the woman left the call-box, and George took her place. There was a ghastly smell of cheap scent and stale perspiration in the box: it was like an oven, too. But George didn't care. He dialled the greengrocer's number and waited.
' 'Ullo?' asked the irritatingly familiar voice.
They went through the same dreary performance: the greengrocer wanting to know ' 'ow I can leave the bloomin' shop?' and George coldly determined that the greengrocer should call Cora to the telephone.
'She's in 'er bawth,' the greengrocer said after a wait of nearly a quarter of an hour, and he hung up before George could leave a message.
There were three people waiting outside the telephone box by now. They were all glaring at George, and when he came out one of the women muttered, 'And about time, too. Some people think public telephones are private property!'
George didn't care what they said or thought. He walked over to the King's Arins, had a pint, avoided conversation with Gladys— by this time he was almost hysterical with frustrated temper—and returned to the telephone box half an hour later.
Again he had to wait while a man finished his conversation. Watching him through the glass, George guessed he was talking to his girl. There was a fatuous, smug expression on his face, and he talked for a good ten minutes.
When George finally got through to the greengrocer's again, the rough voice nearly snapped his head off.
'Look 'ere,' he said violently. 'I got better things to do than answer bloomin' telephones like this. I'll 'ave to complain if this goes on much more. You've been ringing up every day this week!'
Complain! That'd mean Sydney would hear about it! He might even guess that it was George making the call. It might give him a clue that it was George who had spent the night with Cora. The memory of the gleaming razor blade became vividly unpleasant.
'But I haven't even spoken to her,' George protested. 'I can't help it if she's always out, can I?'
''Ere, miss, 'ere,' the greengrocer suddenly bawled. 'This 'ere bloke's on the blower again. Every day 'e's been oil . . . it's got to stop.'
'Hullo,' Cora said. 'Yes?'
George knew she was in a temper all right, but it was so marvellous to hear her voice—even if it did sound snappy—that he didn't care.
'This is George,' he said, aware that he had begun to tremble violently.
'Have you been ringing every day?' she harked at him.
'I'm afraid I have,' he returned in studiedly gentle tones, quite sick with fear that she was going to be unkind.
'Well, couldn't you have been a hit brighter?' she demanded. 'You've caused a lot of bother as it is.'
'I'm terribly sorry,' George said, 'but I did want to speak to you.'
'What do you want?'
In that kind of temper it was quite likely she would refuse to go out with him. But it had to be now or never. Now he had at last caught her. He couldn't just fawn and cringe and go away.
'I—I was wondering . . . if you haven't anything to do tomorrow . . . I mean, would you like to come out with me? . . . that is, if you're not busy or something.'
'What do you mean . . . or something?' The waspish note was still in her voice.
'Well, you know . . . if you're not going out with anyone else.'
'Oh, I see.'
There was a long pause while he waited for her to add anything to this, but she didn't, so he screwed up his courage, and, knowing that he was inviting a direct snub and refusal, said, 'Well, do you think you could?'
She still tried to make him pay for causing a bother on the telephone by appearing to be dense. 'Could I . . . what?'
'Could you come out with me? I—I thought we might do a movie and have dinner somewhere.'
'I can't waste my money on movies,' she said shortly. 'But this is my treat. I—I'm inviting you . . .'
'Oh.'
There was another long pause, then he said, 'What would you like to see? There's a good movie at the Empire . . . Spencer Tracy.'
'I don't think I can go to a movie,' she said, a gentler note in her voice. 'I'm busy tomorrow.'
It was his turn to say 'Oh' now.
