“What the bloody hell, Caroline? Mr. Wilson is ready and willing.”
She opened the door a crack and peeked out. She noted the bulge in his bathrobe. “I can see that, but give me a minute. I’m fixing my hair and face.”
“At a time like this? Really?”
“You and Mr. Wilson can wait. After all, you both seem to think I’m worth the effort.”
Silence.
“All right then,” she said. “I’ll leave the door ajar and we can continue our talk, okay?”
“Yes, but hurry up, damn it!”
Caroline began creaming her face, a nightly habit she couldn’t seem to shake, even if the cosmetics required were a bit dear in wartime. “What did you think of Billy?”
“Uh, seemed a nice chap. Reminds me of someone, but can’t think who. Maybe—”
“Cary Grant, silly, who else? He’s got the same dimpled chin, the thin, reedy fra
