‘Of course I’m a lady,’ chirped Perdita, ‘and so I should have lady’s glass.’ The barmaid, who was more than old enough to be Perdita’s mother, adopted the expression of a mildly shocked maiden aunt, but said nothing and busied herself filling a small dimple jug with a handle from an electric beer tap which seemed to know by magic when to stop dispensing beer and leave a half-inch of foamy ‘head’ atop the brown liquid. ‘That’ll be two-and-fourpence.’ ‘Good heavens! Is that all?’ Rupert blurted out. ‘Tha’ can pay more if tha’ wants but nobody’ll thank you for it,’ snapped the barmaid. Then she flicked a tea towel at an imaginary spillage on the bar and flounced away. ‘I don’t think that lady approves of me,’ said Perdita quietly. ‘I should have demanded a pint. I bet that would have put a twist in her girdle.’ ‘Don’t be so sensitive, darling,’ Rupert soothed. ‘I’m sure all the women in here drink the beer … when there are women in here, that is.’ Perdita lowered her voice to a whisper as she glanced around.
