After a while she explained, blushing and
giggling, that one of the cook's assistants had made friends with her
the previous night and given her two meringues.
"A friend of mine who came out as a stewardess told me the best thing
you could do was to make friends with the cooks or the butchers--because
there's all sorts of little tit-bits they can get for you. Young
Bill--him that gave me the meringues--has got a mate called Winkle. I'll
give you an intro., if you like. He's quite a toff. He's been a waiter."
Marcella made some excuse, but when Phyllis--or Diddy--went away to her
appointment with Bill she sat for a long time thinking. She was already
feeling disillusioned.
At nine o'clock she decided to go below. In the shadow of the steps
leading to the upper deck Mr. Peters and Mrs. Hetherington were sitting
very close together. A little bright tray was at their feet, and a big
bottle with a cap and scarf of gold foil stood sentinel over two glasses
of such an exquisite shape that Marcella stared hard at them as she
passed, saying "Good night." Mr. Peters was smiling with filmy, vacuous
eyes. The little lady was flushed and vivid-looking. They both nodded
beamingly at her. At the other side of the steps, in the bright light of
the electric lamp was a small bundle, between two scarlet fire buckets.
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