surgeon?’
Schultz knelt there staring at him. His saucer-like eyes were flecked with red.
SEVEN
I t was almost twenty minutes before Clare came out of the Ladies’ room.
Peter had begun to wonder if she had slipped out without him seeing her and had gone home.
The waiter had hovered around looking worried, seeing first Clare go and then Duke. Peter beckoned him and cancelled one of the dinners.
‘Will the lady be coming back, sir?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes. Just wait until you see her, then bring the order quickly. Don’t keep us hanging around, we may want to leave in a hurry.’
The waiter looked at him, considered he didn’t look crazy and went away.
Just then Peter saw Clare come out and look over. She wasn’t looking too happy, Peter thought uneasily. He didn’t like the way her lips compressed when she saw he was alone. Somehow, he felt the evening wasn’t going to be a success.
She came over and sat down.
‘Harry had to go. He remembered a date. That’s like Harry. Always forgetting something or other,’ Peter said, smiling at her anxiously.
‘Oh,’ she said, and looked past him at the four-piece band that was playing across the room.
The waiter came up just then with a loaded tray and began to serve their dinner.
‘What shall we drink, Clare?’ Peter said, picking up the wine list.
She hesitated, then she said, ‘No, nothing. I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
The waiter grimaced to himself. Women were always the same. They’d either ask for some brand of champagne he didn’t keep or else would go on the waggon.
‘Come on, Clare, it’ll cheer you up,’ Peter said. ‘Let’s have some white wine. It’ll take your headache away.’
‘I can recommend the 156,’ the waiter said, hopefully, pointing with his pencil.
Clare shook her head. An obstinate look came into her eyes. ‘No. I don’t want any, thank you. And I don’t want cheering up either.’
Peter took one quick look at her tired, unhappy face and he waved the waiter away. ‘Okay, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Let’s eat. I know how you feel.’
‘Do you?’ Clare said, sharply. ‘I don’t think you do, Peter.’
He put his knife and fork down and stared at her. ‘What’s the matter, Clare?’ he said. ‘Have I annoyed you?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Peter, I’m tired and I just don’t feel like all this. I’m sorry I’m such a bore.’ She looked as if she were going to cry.
‘But Clare. . .’ he began.
Her mouth twitched suddenly, then she jumped up and went quickly out of the restaurant.
Peter was so astonished that he sat gaping after her, unconscious of the curious looks that came from all parts of the room.
The waiter was at his elbow with the check. ‘Something wrong with the dinner?’ he asked in an injured voice.
Peter became aware of the people staring and the waiter. ‘Here, let me get out of this,’ he said, shoving some money into the waiter’s hand. ‘I guess my friend isn’t well.’
He went out and stood looking up and down the street, completely bewildered.
The commissionaire touched his cap. ‘Your car’s over the way, sir,’ he said. ‘The lady’s just gone over.’
Peter gave him some small change and then crossed the street.
He found Clare curled up in the far seat, crying. He stood hesitating, feeling that he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but scared that he might make things worse. He lit a cigarette and stood near the car, feeling low.
‘It’s all right, Peter,’ Clare said, trying to steady her voice. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ He opened the car door and got in beside her.
‘I feel so low I don’t know what to do.’
‘You’re tired. I’ll take you home. A good sleep’s what you want.’ He wanted to put his arm round her, but he still wasn’t sure.
She held her handkerchief to her eyes and shook her head. ‘Let’s drive somewhere, Peter,’ she said. ‘I want to feel the air on my face. It’s so hot. Let the
Schultz knelt there staring at him. His saucer-like eyes were flecked with red.
SEVEN
I t was almost twenty minutes before Clare came out of the Ladies’ room.
Peter had begun to wonder if she had slipped out without him seeing her and had gone home.
The waiter had hovered around looking worried, seeing first Clare go and then Duke. Peter beckoned him and cancelled one of the dinners.
‘Will the lady be coming back, sir?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes. Just wait until you see her, then bring the order quickly. Don’t keep us hanging around, we may want to leave in a hurry.’
The waiter looked at him, considered he didn’t look crazy and went away.
Just then Peter saw Clare come out and look over. She wasn’t looking too happy, Peter thought uneasily. He didn’t like the way her lips compressed when she saw he was alone. Somehow, he felt the evening wasn’t going to be a success.
She came over and sat down.
‘Harry had to go. He remembered a date. That’s like Harry. Always forgetting something or other,’ Peter said, smiling at her anxiously.
‘Oh,’ she said, and looked past him at the four-piece band that was playing across the room.
The waiter came up just then with a loaded tray and began to serve their dinner.
‘What shall we drink, Clare?’ Peter said, picking up the wine list.
She hesitated, then she said, ‘No, nothing. I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
The waiter grimaced to himself. Women were always the same. They’d either ask for some brand of champagne he didn’t keep or else would go on the waggon.
‘Come on, Clare, it’ll cheer you up,’ Peter said. ‘Let’s have some white wine. It’ll take your headache away.’
‘I can recommend the 156,’ the waiter said, hopefully, pointing with his pencil.
Clare shook her head. An obstinate look came into her eyes. ‘No. I don’t want any, thank you. And I don’t want cheering up either.’
Peter took one quick look at her tired, unhappy face and he waved the waiter away. ‘Okay, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Let’s eat. I know how you feel.’
‘Do you?’ Clare said, sharply. ‘I don’t think you do, Peter.’
He put his knife and fork down and stared at her. ‘What’s the matter, Clare?’ he said. ‘Have I annoyed you?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Peter, I’m tired and I just don’t feel like all this. I’m sorry I’m such a bore.’ She looked as if she were going to cry.
‘But Clare. . .’ he began.
Her mouth twitched suddenly, then she jumped up and went quickly out of the restaurant.
Peter was so astonished that he sat gaping after her, unconscious of the curious looks that came from all parts of the room.
The waiter was at his elbow with the check. ‘Something wrong with the dinner?’ he asked in an injured voice.
Peter became aware of the people staring and the waiter. ‘Here, let me get out of this,’ he said, shoving some money into the waiter’s hand. ‘I guess my friend isn’t well.’
He went out and stood looking up and down the street, completely bewildered.
The commissionaire touched his cap. ‘Your car’s over the way, sir,’ he said. ‘The lady’s just gone over.’
Peter gave him some small change and then crossed the street.
He found Clare curled up in the far seat, crying. He stood hesitating, feeling that he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but scared that he might make things worse. He lit a cigarette and stood near the car, feeling low.
‘It’s all right, Peter,’ Clare said, trying to steady her voice. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ He opened the car door and got in beside her.
‘I feel so low I don’t know what to do.’
‘You’re tired. I’ll take you home. A good sleep’s what you want.’ He wanted to put his arm round her, but he still wasn’t sure.
She held her handkerchief to her eyes and shook her head. ‘Let’s drive somewhere, Peter,’ she said. ‘I want to feel the air on my face. It’s so hot. Let the
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