‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. Lucy followed. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter.
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