’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. “Bit thick on the old man, isn’t it?” said Roddy, who had developed a bluff, straightforward style in the motor shop. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. She indicated the captain who had retired behind the sofa. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will.
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