We assembled as yesterday in the lounge. The drinks consumed at this hour are discreetly charged for by Jerrison, but that does not make the nightly occasion any less like that of a small provincial cocktail-party. For some time everything seemed normal. The bishop and Phiz had been playing golf and talked about it. “Do you play golf? “I asked the Natterleys. “Not here,” said the Major. “We don’t care much for the local club.” When we went into dinner only Sonia Reid was missing and Steve Lawson and I seemed alone in noticing this. “Where’s Sonia?” he asked of the gathering. “I saw her come in,” said Miss Godwin. “She was a little later than usual. I expect she’ll be down in a minute.” But she did not appear while we swallowed—the bishop rather vigorously—an excellent consommé. I suppose Mrs Jerrison must have made it earlier, for it showed no sign of hasty work; it was clear and brown, like a good sherry. When Sonia at last came in I could see she was in a state of high emotion, though I could not decide at first whether it was anger or distress.
What do You think about Nothing Like Blood (1985)?
