She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. E. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. Surely it was a dream. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. ” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy.
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