A voice, from behind. “Light that for you?”
It was Mr. Pike, of all people. I let him light my cigarette, trying my best not to laugh.
I pitched my voice lower; I was a middle-aged widow. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t pretend.” Something in his eyes and voice made me think rather than seeing me, veiled and high-necked, he saw me as I looked at our previous meeting. “When you went under the canopy rather than through the tent door as any usual woman would, I recognized you.”
I stared at him, afraid. “Why are you here?” Had he approached to unmask me? To humiliate me further?
“I could ask the same. Did you want to see how well your little trick worked?”
I felt relieved. “Mr. Pike, I knew nothing of the ‘trick,’ as you call it; I wanted to hear what you had to say. You may not believe it, bu
