slim, with grey eyes and a pale, unhappy face. I was sure I had
seen her before.
‘You live in West Egg,’ Miss Baker said to me. ‘I know
somebody there. Gatsby. You must know Gatsby.’
‘Gatsby?’ Daisy asked quickly. ‘What Gatsby?’
Before I could answer, we were told that dinner was ready.
Tom Buchanan led14 me from the room. We were dining
outside, on the porch. Four candles were burning on the table.
‘Why candles?’ said Daisy, putting them out. ‘It’s not dark
enough for candles.’
Miss Baker sat down at the table and yawned.
‘We ought to do something,’ she said in a tired voice.
‘All right,’ said Daisy. ‘What shall we do? What do people
do, Nick?’ she asked me.
When dinner was nearly over, the phone rang in the house.
The butler15 came out and said something quietly to Tom.
Tom stood up without saying anything and went inside. Daisy
smiled at me across the table. Then she suddenly stood up and
walked quickly into the house. Miss Baker leant forward in
her chair.
‘Mr Gatsby is my neighbour,’ I began.
‘Shhh . . .! Don’t talk. I want to see what happens,’ Miss
Baker said.
‘Is something happening?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you know?’ Miss Baker said. ‘Tom’s got a woman in
New York. I thought everyone knew. But she shouldn’t phone
him at home, should she?’
At that moment, Daisy and Tom came back together.
‘So sorry we had to leave you,’ Daisy said.
The candles were lit again. We sat for a while in silence,
finishing our wine. Then Tom and Miss Baker walked back