Somehow I was not surprised. Nor did her slightly odd manner disconcert me. The bright tone and roundabout way of speaking, hinting but not saying, were things I instinctively understood. I was on the verge of becoming in reality a brother to her and Matthew. “Back to work so soon! You must be a glutton for it.” “I enjoy my work,” I protested. “And of course it’s piled up.” “Ah—then you won’t want to see me again.” “On the contrary, I’d very much like to. And I always make a habit of taking time off at some point in the day.” “Really? That is sensible. So maybe we could meet at lunchtime. Are you a great one for lunch?” Her intonation told me this is what phoneticians classify as a question expecting the answer “no.” “Not really. But a walk always clears the head.” “I do agree. If only fashion shows would give us breaks to do the same! Places do get crowded at lunchtime, though . . .” “I’m flexible. I could make it for two to three.”
