‘Could you tell me,’ said Dinny, ‘of any place close by where I could get something to eat?’
The woman addressed, she now saw, had a short face with high cheek-bones on which, and round the eyes, was a good deal of make-up. Her lips were good-natured, a little thick; her nose, too, rather thick; her eyes had the look which comes of having to be now stony and now luring, as if they had lost touch with her soul. Her dress was dark and fitted her curves, and she wore a large string of artificial pearls. Dinny could not help thinking she had seen people in Society not unlike her.
‘There’s a nice little place on the left.’
‘Would you care to come and have something with me?’ said Dinny, moved by impulse or by something hungry in the woman’s face.
‘Why! I would,’ said the woman. ‘Fact is, I came out without anything. It’s nice to have company, too.’ She turned up the King’s Road and Dinny turned alongside. It passed through her mind that if she met someone it would be quaint; but for all that she felt better.
‘For God’s sake,’ she thought, ‘be natural!’
The woman led her into a little restaurant, or rather public-house, for it had a bar. There was no one in the eating-room, which had a separate entrance, and they sat down at a small table with a cruet-stand, a handbell, a bottle of Worcester sauce, and in a vase some failing pyrethrums which had never been fresh. There was a slight smell of vinegar.
‘I could do with a cigarette,’ said the woman.
Dinny had none. She tinkled the bell.
‘Any particular sort?’
‘Oh! Gaspers.’
A waitress appeared, looked at the woman, looked at Dinny, and said: ‘Yes?’
‘A packet of Players, please. A large coffee for me, strong and fresh, and some cake or buns, or anything. What will you have?’
The woman looked at Dinny, as though measuring her capacity, looked at the waitress, and said, hesitating: ‘Well, to tell the truth, I’m hungry. Cold beef and a bottle of stout?’
‘Vegetables?’ said Dinny: ‘A salad?’
‘Well, a salad, thank you.’
‘Good! And pickled walnuts? Will you get it all as quickly as you can, please?’
The waitress passed her tongue over her lips, nodded, and went away.
‘I say,’ said the woman, suddenly, ‘it’s awful nice of you, you know.’
‘It was so friendly of you to come. I should have felt a bit lost without you.’
‘She can’t make it out,’ said the woman nodding her head towards the vanished waitress. ‘To tell you the truth, nor can I.’
‘Why? We’re both hungry.’
‘No doubt about that,’ said the woman; ‘you’re going to see me eat. I’m glad you ordered pickled walnuts, I never can resist a pickled onion, and it don’t do.’
‘I might have thought of cocktails,’ murmured Dinny, ‘but perhaps they don’t make them here.’
‘A sherry wouldn’t be amiss. I’ll get ’em.’ The woman rose and disappeared into the bar.
Dinny took the chance to powder her nose. She also dived her hand down to the pocket in her ‘boned body’ where the spoils of South Molton Street were stored, and extracted a five-pound note. She was feeling a sort of sad excitement.
The woman came back with two glasses. ‘I told ’em to charge it to our bill. The liquor’s good here.’
Dinny raised her glass and sipped. The woman tossed hers off at a draught.
‘I wanted that. Fancy a country where you couldn’t get a drink!’
‘But they can, of course, and do.’
‘You bet. But they say some of the liquor’s awful.’
Dinny saw that her gaze was travelling up and down her cloak and dress and face with insatiable curiosity.
‘Pardon me,’ said the woman, suddenly: ‘You got a date?’
‘No, I’m going home after this.’
The woman sighed. ‘Wish she’d bring those bl-inkin’ cigarettes.’
The waitress reappeared with a bottle of stout and the cigarettes. Staring at Dinny’s hair, she opened the bottle.
‘Coo!’ said the woman taking a long draw at her ‘Gasper’, ‘I wanted that.’
‘I’ll bring you the other things in a minute,’ said the waitress.
‘I haven’t seen you on the stage, have I?’ said the woman.
‘No, I’m not on the stage.’
The advent of food broke the ensuing hush. The coffee was better than Dinny had hoped and very hot. She had drunk most of it and eaten a large piece of plum cake before the woman, putting a pickled walnut in her mouth, spoke again.
‘D’you live in London?’