“I’ll leave the door ajar.”
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m wanting you like crazy.”
“Jane! Please don’t say things like that!”
“Why on earth not?”
“You make me — you make me so excited—”
That was when she’d heard a great crash, although the terrible truth had not immediately dawned upon her consciousness...
Who the two men were she now saw walking up to the block of flats, she hadn’t the faintest notion. But they looked a well enough heeled pair, and the posh car parked at the kerbside hardly suggested a couple of double-glazing double-dealers. And when she answered the door-bell (yes, they had called to see her) she acknowledged to herself that she could really rather fancy one of the two men, the one whose hair looked somewhat prematurely grey. For in spite of her anxieties, she was already casting round (as Mrs. Sherwood had suspected) for some replacement demerara daddy.
“Jane Ballantyre?”
She smiled invitingly. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
“You know, I rather think you can,” said the man whose hair looked somewhat prematurely grey.