This morning, as usual, I opened at eleven. This morning, as usual, Betty arrived; woollen hat intact, "good morning, Maud" intact, the table by the window chosen for her morning coffee. I have to say, I was quite unable to return the greeting, nor arrive at the table with my usual practised swiftness. I did not bring florentines as (as threatened) I had eaten all fifteen the afternoon previously. Betty did not notice for six sips of coffee. On the seventh, she looked at me under her hat and frowned.
"You're terribly quiet today, Maud."
"Am I?"
"Is anything the matter?"
Honestly!
"With me?" I am ashamed to say I shrugged. Betty looked at me as if I had just announced I was to move to Bognor Regis with an itinerant painter. "Why on earth should there be anything the matter with me?"
I sipped my coffee demurely.
"No florentines, today?" she asked, a little sadly.
"No," I said, hurriedly. "No almonds."
"Really?"
"It's because of the troubles, you know. In Egypt." I prayed silently her knowledge of the global production of almonds was as sketchy as mine, and offered her a toasted tea cake.
"Don't go to any trouble dear." And then we sat in silence for some time.
"I suppose you were at the doctors yesterday," I said, when the silence became too much. Betty coloured slightly.
"Er...yes. My, you know. Rheumatism."
"Did Dr. Porter prescribe green-lipped mussel extract? It did wonders for Gertrude White."
"Did it?"
"Indeed," and we went on like this for some time. You know, I have never been so pleased to see the egg man in my entire life. As I busied myself collecting the delicious bantam eggs into my attractive, though impractical, wire egg holder, I noticed Betty's expression had descended into serious melancholia. I also noticed the slink of a silver car glide past the window, and the furious glare of a large bearded face searching for a woollen hat.
