‘Are you getting that luggage, Jones?’
‘Am getting.’
Prothero was waiting for Jones when he came down. He gave Jones a shilling, and he promptly spat on it, and put it in his pocket. ‘Thank you, Mr Prothero, sir, thank you.’
Prothero only looked disgusted as he shot out of the hotel.
‘Do hurry, Jones.’
‘Coming, Mrs Gandell,’ and when he reached the table discovered that she had already begun her breakfast.
‘Ah!’ he sighed, sat down, and began his own.
‘Only Vaughan left now,’ Mrs Gandell said, between sips.
‘Indeed! Is that news?’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she went on, suddenly paused, ‘yes, I have,’ tentatively, carefully watching her factotum. ‘I’ve been thinking it best to —’ when Jones cut in.
‘Indeed,’ he said, huffily. ‘What about?’
‘There’s something I’m not quite certain about this morning.’
Jones dropped knife and fork. ‘Oh yes!’
Staring at Jones, she was suddenly conscious of a certain disgust rising in her. Jones was now head down, wolfing his breakfast.
‘It could be confusing,’ he snapped, and did not look up.
She stabbed it out. ‘I was saying something, Jones.’
‘I gathered that,’ and he went on with his breakfast.
Mrs Gandell sipped again. ‘You were late again last night, Jones.’
Jones jumped up, gave a short mock bow, and said, ‘Sorry.’
‘You said that last time.’
He was on his feet in a flash. ‘And I’m saying it this time. God Almighty! I only ever go as far as The Lion. And why? Tell you. Because beyond it is just a desert. And you never saw such a collection of bent bones as sits in that pub, some of them almost figures of eight from rheumatics.’ He paused, his fork in the air. ‘I suppose it helps them to lighten an ache in the bone.’ There was another pause, he dropped his fork. ‘I do my duty, don’t I?’
‘Of course you do, Jones.’
‘Well then,’ he shouted.
‘Control yourself.’
Angry bursts from Jones often intrigued and frightened her.
‘I thought you liked reading to me, Jones,’ she said, and sighed.
‘That stuff.’
‘That stuff,’ Mrs Gandell said.
‘God!’ And Jones clapped hands to his head, and rocked it. He looked at her through spread fingers. ‘And after I’ve reached the last page?’ he said.
Her mood changed, she smiled. ‘You always think of something, Jones.’
‘I’m sick of reading,’ he said.
She gave him the sweetest smile. ‘Jones?’
‘Well?’
‘There was something I wished to ask.’
‘Ask.’
‘I hope you don’t make a habit of visiting Miss Vaughan’s room.’
‘Don’t you? You go into all the rooms when they’re out, seen you.’
‘Are you spying on me, Jones?’
He gave a final noisy sup at his coffee and sat back. ‘I happen to be where I am at the time, Mrs Gandell, and nowhere else.’
She threw him a cigarette, and lit one herself. ‘Whatever I may think about you, Jones, I shall always remember that you are good to me.’
