It did not take them long to reach Old Burlington Street.
'Shall I tell him to wait?' Max asked.
'We'll be some time,' Emily said, 'better not.'
They watched the taxi drive away, and then they walked into the building and up the stairs.
George went first, then Nick, then Emily, then Max, clutching his umbrella, and finally Poncho. They were quiet. The soft scraping of their shoes on the coconut matting sounded like the scamper of rats.
George paused outside the flat door.
'This is it,' he said. 'Shall I ring the bell?'
Nick pushed him aside, looked at the lock, took something from his pocket, and a moment later there was a soft click as the door opened. The light was on in the lobby, and a door opposite was ajar. There was a light on in the room.
Emily touched George's arm and motioned him forward. He shook his head, but again she pushed him. So he went into the room, leaving the others outside in the lobby.
The room was large and well furnished. Cora was sitting in an armchair A cigarette dangled from her thin mouth. She was still wearing the white silk-and-wool sweater and wine-coloured slacks. There was a scraped-bone look on her face, but her lips were twisted in a humourless smile. She was holding a packet of pound notes in her hand, counting them with rapt concentration.
George stopped just inside the doorway, looking at her. Her fingers ceased moving and she raised her head, fear jumping into her eyes. When she saw who it was, her mouth tightened.
'Get out!' she said, folding the notes quickly and slipping them into her pocket.
George continued to stare at her.
'Get out!' she repeated, her eyes wary. 'We're quits, aren't we? Don't stand there looking at me. I'm not frightened of you.'
What's the matter with me? George asked himself. Why am I feeling like this? I'm not still in love with her. I hate her.
'I wouldn't have done this if you'd let Leo alone,' he said in a small voice. 'Animals are so helpless. I suppose that's why I like them.'
She got to her feet, an ugly expression in her slate-grey eyes. 'What are you drivelling about?'
'I want you to know why I've done this.'
'Done what?' she asked sharply.
'You see, you might do an awful lot of harm if you were allowed to go on and on. It's got to stop, Cora. I can't trust you any more,' and he turned to the door and threw it open. 'Will you come in, please?'
Emily and Max walked in. The two Greeks followed them. Nick slid across the room to the window, while Poncho closed the door and set his back against it.
Cora's hand flew to her mouth. 'No!' she screamed, and her eyes rolled up, so that only the whites showed.
Emily marched over to the armchair and sat down. She opened her coat and fluffed up her untidy hair.
'Before we get down to business,' she said, ignoring Cora, 'I'd like a cup of tea. Can you make tea?' She looked at George.
'Oh yes,' he said blankly, 'but don't you think . . .?'
'I don't,' Emily snapped. 'Get me a cup of tea, there's a good fellow.'
George turned and looked helplessly at Poncho, who stared hack at him with menacingly dark eyes.
'Let him make some tea,' Emily said, watching them.
'He'll run away,' Poncho argued, a little angrily.
'I don't think he will,' Emily returned, taking out a packet of Woodbines from her hag and lighting one. 'If he does, it won't matter.' Poncho shrugged and stood away from the door. George went out through the lobby into the little kitchen across the way. Not quite knowing what he was doing, he put on the kettle and laid a tray. He was glad to have something to do. Every now and then a tiny spark of horror flared up in his mind, but instantly it sparked out. He knew now that Emily was going to let him go free. By telling him to make the tea, she had shown that she had believed his story and she wasn't holding him responsible. It was justice. He had no pity for Cora. There would he nothing to worry about, not the way Emily would do it. Although he did not know how she would do it, he was sure that it would he as efficient and undetectable as Sydney's death.
He made the tea and carried the tray into the sitting-room.
Max had sat down. His bowler hat and umbrella lay at his feet. He was glancing through a notebook, absorbed.
Emily sat in a heap, her fat little feet stretched out before her, the cigarette dangling limply from her lips. She was looking round the room with a blank look in her eyes, her mind far away.
Cora still stood against the wall, her face twisted in a mask of frozen terror. She did not look up as George entered. The room was silent, and he distinctly heard the rumbling of her insides. She coughed nervously, as if to hide the sound, but George knew how frightened she was.
Poncho closed the door after George. He seemed startled to see him again.
George put the tray on the table. He was surprised to find how indifferent he was to all this. He felt cold, pitiless, and he realized then what real hatred meant. The discovery shocked him.
