Surfeit of Lampreys Read Online Free PDF Page B

She’s like a white toad. I’ll bet you anything you like that under her clothes she’s all cold and damp.”
    â€œShut up,” said Frid. “All the same I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right. Henry, do let’s stop somewhere and have breakfast. I’m ravenous and I’m sure Robin must be.”
    â€œIt’ll have to be Angelo’s,” said Henry. “He’ll let us chalk it up.”
    â€œI’ve got some money,” said Roberta rather shyly.
    â€œNo, no!” cried Frid. “Angelo’s much too dear to pay cash. We’ll put it down to Henry’s account and I’ve got enough for a tip, I think.”
    â€œIt may not be open,” said Henry. “What’s the time? The day seems all peculiar with this early start. Look, Robin, we’re coming into Piccadilly Circus.”
    Roberta stared past the chauffeur and, through the windscreen of the car, she had her first sight of Eros.
    In the thoughts of those who have never visited them all great cities are represented by symbols: New York by a skyline, Paris by a river and an arch, Vienna by a river and a song, Berlin by a single street. But to British colonials the symbol of London is more homely than any of these. It is a small figure perched slantways above a roundabout, an elegant, Victorian god with a Grecian name—Eros of Piccadilly Circus. When they come to London, colonials orientate themselves by Piccadilly Circus. All their adventures start from there. It is under the bow of Eros that to many a colonial has come that first warmth of realization that says to him: “This is London.” It is here at the place which he learns, with a rare touch of insolence, to call the hub of the universe that the colonial wakes from the trance of arrival finds his feet on London paving stones, and is suddenly happy.
    So it was for Roberta. From the Lampreys’ car she saw the roundabout of Piccadilly, the great sailing buses, the sea of faces, the traffic of the Circus, and she felt a kind of realization stir in her heart.
    â€œIt’s not so very big,” said Roberta.
    â€œQuite small, really,” said Henry.
    â€œI don’t mean it’s not thrilling,” said Roberta. “It is. I—I feel as if I’d like to be—sort of inside it.”
    â€œI know,” agreed Henry. “Let’s nip out, Frid, and walk round the corner to Angelo’s.”
    He said to the chauffeur: “Pick us up in twenty minutes, will you, Mayling?”
    â€œHere’s a jam,” said Frid. “Now’s our chance. Come on.”
    Henry opened the door and took Roberta’s hand. She scrambled out. The voyage, the ship, and the sea all slid away into remoteness. A new experience took Roberta and the sounds that are London engulfed her.

CHAPTER THREE
Preparation for a Charade
    T HE LAMPREYS LIVED in two flats which occupied the entire top story of a building known as Pleasaunce Court Mansions. Pleasaunce Court is merely a short street connecting Cadogan Square with Lennox Gardens and the block of flats stands on the corner. To Roberta the outside seemed forbidding but the entrance hall had lately been redecorated and was more friendly. Pale green walls, a thick carpet, heavy armchairs and an enormous fire gave an impression of light and luxury. The firelight flickered on the chromium steel of a lift-cage in the centre of the hall and on a slotted framework that held the names of the flat owners. Roberta read the top one: No. 25 & 26. LORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. IN. Henry followed her gaze, crossed quickly to the board and moved a chromium-steel tab.
    â€œLORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. OUT, I fancy,” muttered Henry.
    â€œOh, are they!” cried Roberta. “Are they away?”
    â€œNo,” said Henry. “Ssh!”
    â€œSsh!” said Frid.
    They moved their heads slightly in the direction of the door. A small man wearing a bowler hat