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”“She ‘had to’. Who made her do this?”“No one,” he said uncertainly. “She was unsettled by what you said in the pub.”“She never felt the need to tell me anything before?”“No.”“So how am I ‘sniffing round her’ as you put it? I’ve made no attempt to contact her. I do not intend to do so in the immediate future.”“I think you said the interview is over?”“Yes.”He got up and went.John sat down and thought. The man was paranoid. Why? He was Carol’s fiancé, they were planning to get married. John felt a pang of sorrow at the thought. If John’s marriage was over, his feelings for Carol were not.He knew he still needed to make her see what she’d done. Hang it, he still had feelings for her: seeing her at the Griffin proved that, though he could not clarify what those feelings were.In any case, if she had divorced him to marry Liam, there was nothing to be done. Nevertheless he would still confront her with her actions, he promised himself that.It spurred him on to find all the other people. One Friday night Madame asked, ‘Raymon, could you possibly work tomorrow afternoon? I wish to stock take and of course, you will be recompensed accordingly.’ Not averse to a bit of extra money, I agreed, having nothing else to do. Cut off from friends and family, and with insufficient money to go out to meet people, mine was a lonely existence. When at midday on Saturday the ‘House’ closed for business, a take-away Chinese meal was brought in for Madame and I, Meester Buggs having departed. The meal over we went into the stock room and began work. Madame was clad, unusually for her, in skirt and shirt, rather than one of the artificial silk creations she usually sported. ‘Dressed to do some real work,’ I thought. For two hours we pulled out and counted bales of cloth and measured odd lengths. I did the pulling out and measuring while Madame followed me with clipboard and pencil. Then Madame called a halt. ‘Time for a leetle relaxation, Raymon, eh? Be a good boy and get a botteel of.
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