travel books: Martini in his hand. He walked about for quite a time, smoking and thinking. He wondered exactly what Merys Vanner was doing. She had something on her mind. He smiled at the thought. And when a woman like Merys got something on her mind she made something happen. Something had to happen because she had a restless, impatient mind that could bear neither inactivity nor frustration. She had to do something about everything that perturbed her. She had lost the ability to relax. That, combined with her lovely figure, sense of dress, immense allure and not a great deal of breeding, spelt danger for anybody who got in her way. O'Day began to unpack his suitcase. He thought it was an odd idea that he should have put a suitcase in the back of the car when he went to Plumpton races. Just another habit-the sort of habit he'd developed through life of always being prepared for the odd things to turn up. He remembered the number of times he'd gone to some place intending to return to London that day, and a few hours later had found himself somewhere entirely different, when he had been glad of the suitcase. He undressed; took a hot and cold shower; shaved. He put on a double-breasted dinner jacket with a soft silk shirt and a watered silk tie. On his way down the stairs he looked at his watch. It was seven-thirty. He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking at the people who were sitting about the lounge. Nice, quiet people, O'Day thought. Business men and their wives-people who wanted to spend a quiet week-end to escape from the cares and worries of work, queues, rations, general depression and frustration. books

Books > Old Books > One Of Those Things (1950)

Page 16

MERYS

Martini in his hand. He walked about for quite a time, smoking and thinking. He wondered exactly what Merys Vanner was doing. She had something on her mind. He smiled at the thought. And when a woman like Merys got something on her mind she made something happen. Something had to happen because she had a restless, impatient mind that could bear neither inactivity nor frustration. She had to do something about everything that perturbed her. She had lost the ability to relax. That, combined with her lovely figure, sense of dress, immense allure and not a great deal of breeding, spelt danger for anybody who got in her way.
O'Day began to unpack his suitcase. He thought it was an odd idea that he should have put a suitcase in the back of the car when he went to Plumpton races. Just another habit-the sort of habit he'd developed through life of always being prepared for the odd things to turn up. He remembered the number of times he'd gone to some place intending to return to London that day, and a few hours later had found himself somewhere entirely different, when he had been glad of the suitcase.
He undressed; took a hot and cold shower; shaved. He put on a double-breasted dinner jacket with a soft silk shirt and a watered silk tie. On his way down the stairs he looked at his watch. It was seven-thirty. He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking at the people who were sitting about the lounge. Nice, quiet people, O'Day thought. Business men and their wives-people who wanted to spend a quiet week-end to escape from the cares and worries of work, queues, rations, general depression and frustration.