Adam, handing round cocktails, came to Nina.
“I thought we were never going to meet each other again.”
“We were obviously bound to, weren’t we?”
“Agatha’s looking better than I expected, isn’t she? What an amusing nursing home.”
“Nina, I must see you again. Come back to Lottie’s this evening and have dinner with me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No. Ginger wouldn’t like it.”
“Nina, you aren’t in love with him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Are you in love with me?”
“I don’t know … I was once.”
“Nina, I’m absolutely miserable not seeing you. Do come and dine with me tonight. What can be the harm in that?”
“My dear, I know exactly what it will mean.”
“Well, why not?”
“You see, Ginger’s not like us really about that sort of thing. He’d be furious.”
“Well, what about me? Surely I have first claim?”
“Darling, don’t bully. Besides, I used to play with Ginger as a child. His hair was a very pretty colour then.”
“ … Mr. ‘Johnny’ Hoop, whose memoirs are to be published next month, told me that he intends to devote his time to painting in future, and is going to Paris to study in the spring. He is to be taken into the studio of …
”
“For the last time, Nina …”
“Well, I suppose I must.”
“Angel!”
“I believe you knew I was going to.”
“ … Miss Nina Blount, whose engagement to Mr. ‘Ginger’ Littlejohn, the well-known polo player. … Mr. Schwert …
”
“If only you were as rich as Ginger, Adam, or only half as rich. Or if only you had any money at all.”
“Well,” said the Matron, appearing suddenly. “Whoever heard of cocktails and a gramophone in a concussion case? Sister Briggs, pull down those curtains at once. Out you go, the whole lot of you. Why, I’ve known cases die with less.”
Indeed, Miss Runcible was already showing signs of strain. She was sitting bolt upright in bed, smiling deliriously, and bowing her bandaged head to imaginary visitors.
“Darling,” she said. “How too divine … how are you? … and how are you? … how angelic of you all to come … only you must be careful not to fall out at the corners … ooh, just missed it. There goes that nasty Italian car … I wish I knew which thing was which in this car … darling, do try and drive more straight, my sweet, you were nearly into me then. … Faster …”
“That’s all right, Miss Runcible, that’s all right. You mustn’t get excited,” said the Matron. “Sister Briggs, run for the ice-pack quickly.”
“All friends here,” said Miss Runcible, smiling radiantly. “Faster. … Faster … it’ll stop all right when the time comes …”
That evening Miss Runcible’s temperature went rocketing up the chart in a way which aroused great interest throughout the nursing home. Sister Briggs, over her evening cup of cocoa, said she would be sorry to lose that case. Such a nice bright girl—but terribly excitable.
At Shepheard’s Hotel Lottie said to Adam:
“That chap’s been in here again after you.”
“What chap, Lottie?”
“How do I know what chap? Same chap as before.”
“You never told me about a chap.”
“Didn’t I dear? Well, I meant to.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know—something about money. Dun, I expect. Says he is coming back tomorrow.”
“Well, tell him I’ve gone to Manchester.”
“That’s right, dear. … What about a glass of wine?”
Later that evening Nina said: “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much tonight.”
“Sorry, am I being a bore?”
“I think I shall go home.”
“Yes.”
“Adam, darling, what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. … Nina, do you ever feel that things simply can’t go on much longer?”
“What d’you mean by things—us or everything?”
“Everything.”
“No—I wish I did.”
“I dare say you’re right … what are you looking for?”
“Clothes.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Adam, what do you want … you’re too impossible this evening.”
“Don’t let’s talk any more, Nina, d’you mind?”
Later he said: “I’d give anything in the world for something different.”
“Different from me or different from everything?”
“Different from everything … only I’ve got nothing … what’s the good of talking?”
“Oh, Adam, my dearest …”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
When Adam came down next morning Lottie was having her morning glass of champagne in the parlour.
“So your little bird’s flown, has she? Sit down and have a glass of wine. That dun’s been in again. I told him you was in Manchester.”
“Splendid.”
“Seemed rather shirty about it. Said he’d go and look for you.”
“Better still.”
Then something happened which Adam had been dreading or days. Lottie suddenly said:
“And that reminds me. What about my little bill?”
“Oh, yes,” said Adam, “I’ve been meaning to ask for it. Have it made out and sent up to me some time, will you?”
“I’ve got it here. Bless you, what a lot you seem to have drunk.”
“Yes, I do, don’t I? Are you sure some of this champagne wasn’t the Judge’s?”
“Well, it may have been,” admitted Lottie. “We get a bit muddled with the books now and then.”
“Well, thank you so much, I’ll send you down a cheque for this.”
“No, dear,” said Lottie. “Suppose you write it down here. Here’s the pen, here’s the ink, and here’s a blank cheque book.”
(Bills are delivered infrequently and irregularly at Lottie’s, but when they come, there is no getting away from them.) Adam wrote out a cheque for seventy-eight pounds sixteen shillings.
“And twopence for the cheque,” said Lottie.
And twopence, Adam added.
“There’s a dear,” said Lottie, blotting the cheque and locking it away in a drawer. “Why, look who’s turned up. If it isn’t Mr. Thingummy.”
It was Ginger.
“Good morning, Mrs. Crump,” he said rather stiffly.
“Come and sit down and have a glass of wine, dear. Why I knew you before you were born.”
“Hullo, Ginger,” said Adam.
“Look here, Symes,” said Ginger, looking in an embarrassed manner at the glass of champagne which had been put into his hand, “I want to speak to you. Perhaps we can go somewhere where we shan’t be disturbed.”
“Bless you, boys, I won’t disturb you,” said Lottie. “Just you have a nice talk. I’ve got lots to see to.”
She left the parlour, and soon her voice could be heard raised in anger against the Italian waiter.
“Well?” said Adam.
“Look here, Symes,” said Ginger, “what I mean to say is, what I’m going to say may sound damned unpleasant, you
