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rather early.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she stammered, conscious of his gaze.
He took her arm and smiled at her mother. “Good night,
Mrs. Caulfield.”
As they drove away he said, “I thought we would dine at
the Black Swan. Do you know it?”
She did, but had never been there, since it was the most
expensive hotel for miles around. They drove for a quarter of
an hour before reaching the high gates. The hotel was set
back in its own grounds, the drive bordered by masses of
rhododendron bushes which, in summer, were a blaze of
colour. Now they were dimly visible, in the car headlights.
They pulled up in front of the hotel. He came round and
helped her out of the car and they walked round to the
brilliantly lit porch.
They were escorted to their table by an obsequious head
waiter who used her host’s name ostentatiously. Kate
guessed that even the Black Swan was not accustomed to the
patronage of such wealthy customers. Not many people in
Greyford came into the supertax bracket and there were no
local millionaires.
She found the punctilious attentions embarrassing.
Flushed and irritable, she avoided Marc Lillitos’s eyes. Was
this how he was always treated? With hovering waiters;
flattering, bowing and scraping; continual observation by the
other guests, curious whispers at each move he made? It
must be abominable.
But if it was, perhaps it went some way to explaining his
air of arrogant self-assurance. How often had someone said
no to him? How many times had he heard angry voices? Been
