Bland Beginning by Julian Symons

Michael, Anthony and I are altogether convinced – aren’t we? Of course we are. It’s been so good of you, Michael, to –” He had backed sinuously to the door, and the others followed him.
    “Very good of you,” Anthony said. He did not really know at all what had been going on.
    “And of Mrs Blackburn to make tea for us,” Ruth added.
    “I dare not disengage her from The Dolly Dialogues, or I would ask her to come down.” Blackburn’s hand rested again, lightly, on Anthony’s tweed jacket. “Do remember, my dear fellow, if you are playing at Lord’s this season, that I shall be watching you enviously.”
    Anthony mumbled incoherently. There seemed no need, after all, to say that he was not likely to be seen at Lord’s that season.
     
    From the back of the car Henderson kept up a stream of reproaches against Miss Cleverly for her rudeness to Michael Blackburn. “He asked me if I was satisfied, didn’t he?” she said at last.
    “Yes, but really –”
    “At least we know who to approach next,” she said thoughtfully. “But Cobb may be difficult.”
    Henderson squeaked. “ Cobb ? You can’t mean to say you want to get in touch with Cobb?”
    “That’s your pigeon,” she said to Anthony, and he moved his broad shoulders uneasily. How had he got into all this?
    “I’ve said I’m satisfied.” Even as he spoke the words he knew they were not true. For some unknown reason, he felt extremely dissatisfied.
    There was silence until they reached Camden Town. Then Henderson said, “You can put me down here. Thank you very much. Don’t let this girl’s wild theories lead you away Anthony.” Anthony shook his head, resenting the use of his Christian name. “And do come and have lunch one day when you’re in London. Remember – I shall be watching, too, when you’re playing at Lord’s.”
    Anthony drove on, and there was another silence. Her small nose was wrinkled with distaste. “Isn’t he a beastly man?”
    He grunted. “Appalling. Don’t know how you can bear to work for him.”
    “Not Porky Henderson. He’s just foolish. I meant that man Blackburn. There’s a snake in the grass for you. No doubt about that.”
    “He seemed to me quite charming. I must say I thought you were rather rude to him.”
    They approached Regent’s Park. Her monkey face was slightly puckered. “Look,” she said, “You’d like to call off this dinner party, wouldn’t you? I mean, there’s no point in it now you’re convinced that little book’s genuine, is there? Call it off, then – that will be all right as far as I’m concerned.” As she spoke these last words her voice suddenly rose to a wail. Anthony was alarmed.
    “Miss Cleverly – Ruth –” Her face was covered by an enormous white handkerchief, into which she was sniffing. He was painfully conscious of the appearance they must present. “Please,” he said in agitation, “don’t cry here in the street.” She wailed again.
    “You’ve been so awful – agreeing with that snake – about everything. I hate you.” Her wail was changing to a roar. Reluctantly he drew the Bentley to the kerb, and patted her shoulder. He gently drew down the handkerchief from her face, and saw the marks of tears. “Why,” he said with an unhappy jocosity, “I didn’t know you were the sort of girl who cried.”
    “Well, you know now. Take me home, please.”
    He put in the clutch obediently, and then said, “I don’t know where you live.”
    “Red Lion Square, Holborn.” She remained huddled in the opposite corner from him, a small and sniffing figure, for the rest of the journey. Anthony’s mind was a maelstrom of emotions, in which a confused and disturbing tenderness seemed to be uppermost. When they pulled up outside a dingy block of flats he said, “I say, look here, old girl – Ruth – I’m terribly sorry. Please come to the party. It won’t be the same without you.” She sniffed, and to his dismay Anthony heard himself stammering as