Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. This way, Sir Rowland. Surely it was a dream. it’s open. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing.
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