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Lix: Ah, Bel. Is Freddie in? He just asked me to do something for him.
Bel: What?
Lix: Oh, nothing; it can wait.
Bel:… Has he taken you to the cinema yet? French? I bet French. You know, he doesn’t speak a word? It’s infuriating. I can only apologize because I more than anyone know how irritating a trip to the cinema with Freddie can be. … But perhaps you don’t feel that way?
Lix: Feel what way?
Bel: About Freddie. About how infuriatingly irritating—
Lix: There’s a fine line between fury and desire, I tend to find. [She crosses into the next room. Bel stares after her, mystified, then follows.] I’ve never seen a film with Freddie in my life, nor do I intend to. I can’t stand the cinema—the darkness; the sense one has of being trapped. Now, a little fun: Freddie is most certainly that.
Bel: But what did he ask you to do for him?
Lix: Oh, he wanted some information on Peter Darrell. It’s nothing, darling. His heart is still with you.
Bel: We’re just friends.
Lix: Of course. I had a friend once. Treated him like a dog. Adorable man; absolutely useless at seduction. Then he married someone else and I realized it wasn’t him that was absolutely useless. It was me.
