The Expensive Halo by Josephine Tey — Read

The road by the park was filled with long glancing shafts of light as the cars flashed past. Where the two lines of movement crossed, directly in front of one's eyes, there was a little intermittent explosion of brilliance, which made a stimulating, irregular rhythm in the smooth melody of those straight speeding lines. And now and again a great rosy fire-ball of a bus thundered past. There was apparently no break in the continuity. As far as one could see in either direction were the lines of trees, the line of white houses, and the swift unbroken lines of traffic.

But there was a policeman opposite the park gates. Ursula, with a complete faith in her own personality born of experience, stepped off the pavement without hesitation. Her faith was justified. The policeman flung himself at the traffic, and, Moses-like, created a passage. The traffic parted, congealed, and froze, and Ursula Deane crossed to the other side matter-of-factly. That was as it should be. If she, Ursula, wanted to cross a street it was fitting that the traffic should wait. She smiled at the officer and bade him good-morning. He saluted her, and wondered whom she was sleeping with at the moment. She took her fun where she found it, so he'd always heard. As he met her eyes squarely he wondered if all that were true. You couldn't believe all you heard, of course. They said she was cold, too. Led you a dance. The two things didn't go, now he came to think of it. He waved an acquiescent arm at the traffic. Anyhow, she'd be worth a man's while. Not like that other little bitch with the peroxide hair.