3: Ernestine
O'MARA came out of a drugged sleep; opened an eye; ran a parched tongue over dry lips. He watched the shadows on the white carpet. He saw Tanga.
She said: "This is the day after—the evening after—the night before. You have slept like an exhausted bear."
O'Mara thought that her accent was charming.
She moved from the bedside, across to the windows that looked down the hill, and out to the sea. She drew on the curtain cord, closed the pale green curtains. She switched on the light; flooded the room with the soft glow from the shaded wall lamps.
The bedroom was long with big windows on the estuary side. The walls and ceilings were painted white; they glowed warmly under the electric lights. The curtains and the bed coverlet were of pale green organdie with white spots. The c
