In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. He smiled inwardly. “They have just taken this house from Lady Cellender. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. Which was not to say that ladies were not interested in him. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. He savored the last solo, the coda. Ruth went on to explain.
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