“Reckon Kelly Palumba’s recovered?”
“No names, Lovejoy. House rules.”
“Right. Only, it’s been about an hour since she went moribund.” I drew breath. Come darkness, I’d be over the side and swimming for it, or being smuggled away in some kind lady’s purse. Sophie Brandau was that lady. “Bill. What would you call a really convincing drink, for a lady?”
CABIN 020 was midships, port side. That meant its portholes faced the open sound. Light was dwindling now, sailing boats and small craft setting sailing lights shimmering the darkening waters. The Gina was starting to sway almost imperceptibly. I knocked, licked my hand to smooth my uncontrollable thatch, and donned a bright waiter’s beam.
Mrs. Brandau’s welcome wasn’t much. “Come in, Lovejoy. Sit.”
Hell, like a dog. Reluctantly I deposited the tray, an old Burmese original lacquer. Criminal lo use it. I’d only chosen it to prevent Bill from scouring it to extinction. It was one hundred and fifty years old, living on borrowed time in this company of millionaire scatter-brains.
The cabin was a shipboard compact, folding tables and furniture screwed down and all that. It was highly feminine, three mirrors, of which one was a true Regency that caught my breath. I sat on a low settee, modern crud, and tried to think polite thoughts about the lovely woman opposite.
Worry shreds a woman’s confidence, doesn’t it. It takes the steam out of the face somehow, shows in the eyes. This lady was never going to bat for America, not the way she’d crumpled inwardly.
“Something I said, love?” I asked.
“You were kind, Lovejoy. I need somebody kind.”
This sort of talk dismays me. We’re vulnerable enough without trust raising its fearful head.
“Look, lady. I’m knee-deep in muck and bullets. I’ve hardly a bean. All I really know, between ourselves, is antiques and nothing but antiques. I’m also…” How to phrase it so I sounded superb? “Don’t trust me, is all I’m saying.”
“Sophie,” she said listlessly. Women take no notice. You might as well talk to the wall. “It’s my husband, Lovejoy.”
Oh, hell. I half rose. She gestured me down.
“How can I stop him?” She noticed my face, which must have debeamed somewhere along the line. “You’re the one doing the Sherlock with Moira Hawkins. Denzie’s crazy. It’s not the first time he’s been stupid. She’s dragging him in. We’re in over our heads. She’s persuaded him it’ll bring fame, a fortune. The biggest PR fillip ever. Even push him to the presidency. He’s like a man demented. And she’s playing on it.”
That was it. Expectancy lifted her eyebrows. “Well, Lovejoy?”
Clearly this was no seduction scene between randy serf and lusting contessa. Disappointed, I revealed how I’d encountered the Hawkinses. “All I know is that Moira’s sister Rose frequents the bar where I work…”
Sophie heard me out. She lit a cigarette, clicking the lighter a few times. “I’d hoped you would be more cooperative. If it’s a deal you want…”
I’d nothing to deal with. Yet here was a millionaire’s wife offering… Suddenly I wanted to know more, more about Moira Hawkins’s project, why Sophie was so concerned. I mean, I’d seen the Hawkins place. It was mundane, cheap even. This lady’s emerald solitaire could buy Rose, Moira, bookshop and all. I’d been ordered to play along with this delectable bird, so I’d be in the clear with Gina even if I said, “Okay, love. I’ll do what you want.”
Her face lit, losing that waxy cast and hueing into animation. “You will? Truly, Lovejoy?”
She came to fold herself beside me. “You know the risks?”
“You’re worth it,” I lied, hoping Gina’s recorded tapes of this conversation would exonerate me one hundred per cent.
Her eyes fluttered, lowered. “Don’t be under any illusion, Lovejoy. There’s a limit to what I can do.”
“That’s always the danger.” I felt noble, a knight on a white charger. “You want me to have a word with Moira?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “No, Lovejoy. You’ll have to end it. The Sherlock enterprise. It’s the one thing that’ll make him drop that Hawkins bitch.”
End? That all? I cheered up. Moira’s plot hinged on a grailer scam, and they’re always failures. Dreams are dud, which is why they stay dreams and never become reality.
“Easy, Sophie,” I said. “Leave it to me.”
“You will? Oh, you darling man! Thank you!”
For one second I knew I could have joined her in communal happiness, so to speak, but I heard someone coming down the corridor. My hand never even reached her breast.
“Invite me to your place,” I said, thinking quickly. “To, what, restore your antiques.”
She slipped me a card from her handbag.
“I’ll okay it with Jennie,” she said. “I’ve a convincing collection; Jim Bethune supplied most. You want I should damage one or two, make it look convincing?”
I went cold, nearly throttled her but kept control. Her hand cupped, grasped mine. She kissed my palm, eyes filling. I’d never seen so much gratitude at one go.
“Don’t ever damage an antique, Sophie. Promise?”
“I’ll do anything in my power for you. I swear.”
I left then, her gratitude flowing out into the corridor after me like a cloying perfume. Mr Sokolowsky was approaching. He said a cheery hello, asked how I was liking life on board ship. I was making some sort of inane reply when he leant close confidentially.
“Help her, Lovejoy,” he whispered, and went on his way, the sentimental old fool. I presumed he meant Sophie. I shrugged it off, only one more bemusement among many.
When I returned, Bill had gone. The deck arena looked uninviting. Nothing so forlorn as drooping bunting. All was left for seagulls and the evening breeze.
Onshore the Wildlife van remained. I looked down at the water. Still enough daylight to make a swim for it. A small white motor launch was purring across the bay, heading parallel to the shore. One crewman, and Bill. The Gina’s inshore boat. I yelled, “Hey, Bill!” but he didn’t turn. All right, I thought, narked. Not even the manners to say so-long.
I decided I’d better report to Gina as soon as darkness covered the day, and went to find the galley for some nosh to keep the wolf from the door. It was on the way that I got the key to most, if not all.
The cruiser was almost silent, rocking somnolently with its lines tapping as the breeze flicked them. The companionway led down a deck. You double back towards the stern, for the crew’s quarters. I’d been told our scoff was there and nowhere else. Tye Dee must already be there, I’d decided. Like an obedient hound I would report to Gina on the dot, allaying all her suspicions.
“Lovejoy?”
I almost fainted with fright when she grabbed my arm, coming out of nowhere.
“You silly mare! You scared me to death!”
Normally Kelly Palumba would have giggled, having put one over on the universe. She was in no state for levity. She was shaking, teeth chattering and limbs a-twitch. A fleck of vomit touched the corner of her mouth. God, she was a mess.
“Lovejoy. Where the fuck’s Bill?”
“How the hell should I know?” She clung and trailed, clawing. She babbled inanely. I pushed her back into her cabin and stepped after. “Look. Wait here. I’ll call Blanche.”
“Wait?” she shrilled. “What the fuck’s with wait?” She wept, shivering. Her dress was soiled. I looked away, stuck to my fair-minded task of getting the hell out and leaving her to stew in her own pot. “Get fo’ me, Lovejoy. I’m dyin’.”
Some sort of drugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t got any.” I pressed the button frantically. This nightmare wasn’t the prelude I wanted to my clandestine escape. “Who’s your stewardess?”
“Fuck the stewardess!” She slumped against the door, sobbing, muscles in spasm, retching. “Where’s Bill?” It was a cry from the heart. I tried dragging her away so I could get out. Where the hell was Blanche and her team? “Bill sees me right every time. You’re all against me…”