When she put her key in the door she found it unlocked. It was late for Edda. Then she could smell his cigar smoke. He was sitting turning the pages of a French novel, a glass with brandy in it by his side. His pince-nez glinted as he turned and nodded and half smiled. “ You’re late, Anya.” She went over and after a barely noticeable hesitation kissed him. “Late for what, darling?” “I said I’d drop in for a drink about five today.” “Did you?” she said flatly. “Of course it’s Monday! Have you been waiting long?” “An hour. I’m usually punctual.” She went across and unstoppered the sherry decanter and took up a glass. “What a day! I need a drink.” He added: “But it appears I shall be unpunctual now. My next meeting is just due to start.” “I’m so sorry. I was quite mixed in the days of the week.”
