“She didn’t make them. She bought them.”
“Oh.” He sipped his coffee and munched on a cake, taking great care to wipe his mouth judiciously on the fine linen cloth. “It was a terrific film, the Hitchcock. Fast, funny, and thrilling. The title character, the lady who seemed to vanish from the train was named Frost, an odd, white-haired woman. Of course, I thought of you.”
“I see,” she said, and then set her cup and saucer down with a clatter. “Odd and white-haired. Yes, I understand why you thought of me.”
“No, no. What I meant was you would have enjoyed the film. Much more, I think, than my companion who didn’t laugh once or comment on the film when I saw her home.”