Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ROBIN WINIFRED WAS ON ONE SIDE OF THE GRAND HALLWAY, with a tarpaulin kite occupying her arms, and Gatsby at her heel, nudging her calf with his nose. The string hanging from the lowest vertex of the kite was bandaged safely around her fist, along with the chord that was used to fly it with. Declaring abruptly that he was wearing the wrong pair of socks just as they were about to leave, Cyril had hurried off back upstairs, and she was left alone in her thin plum-coloured duffel coat and neat beret of the same colour.
There was only a minute or so of silence as the rotary telephone soon began to plink aggressively, and as the noise broke against the brunette, it caused her to shudder. Millicent raced down the stairs with her hair still wound up in pins at a break-neck speed, sliding across the floorboards in her nylons to pick up the receiver. "Hello? Hello, Wayne! Yes ... yes of course I can, that would be lovely ... yes, blimey, are you Houdini? You must have just read my mind, I was actually going to suggest that myself! Yes, alright, I look forward to it ... OK, see you at six. Goodbye!"
There wasn't a telephone back at Robin's house. Golly, she sometimes wished there was, but there simply was just no need to spend so much money on a landline, especially after Harold Hamilton was sympathetic enough to allow her to use the rotary twice a week to call her sister over in the Cotswolds, to check that everything was fine and dandy. Robin's sister Hermia and her fiancé John lived a life of secrecy in a desolate house beside a quiet country road. That way, they could live their lives in peace, away from the judgement towards interracial couples in the more central areas. After all, the church had declined their request to be wed, which was hard enough on Hermia already, let alone her sweetheart being relentlessly bashed in public anyway.
Nevertheless, Millicent's pink-lipped grin was almost maniacal and as wide as the horizon, as she slammed the telephone back down onto the receiver. She wasn't just pretty; she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening (can looks kill?). Thankfully, she seemed to have forgotten all about what Robin had done the previous night and no grudge seemed to be held. As it happened, there was another bench opposite Robin, as they lined either side of the hallway for a portion between the colossal flowerpots. It was the given that Millicent sat down there so eagerly; and she stared at Robin with a Cheshire Cat smile until it was borderline uncomfortable: the implication that she had a date was predominant, now. Presumably, Private Sisk was taking her out to dinner by means of apology (actually, she'd been the first one to ask him, but it would he improper to say that she was the one taking him out).
The flaxen-haired girl leaned forward so far that it looked a bit like she had a hunch. She propped her chin on the heel of her hand and her elbows on her bare knees. Truthfully, Robin had no idea why Millicent was acting so sly, but she looked like she knew something that the younger girl didn't, and it set her on edge. She said, "Alton did me a favour and told me that James was the one to take you home."
