man’s soul like a woman, but how do you tell her? “What I mean is, ta.”
“Oh, kyoo, Lovejoy!” She simpered, in her thick mascara, plastered lipstick, hair greenish, cheeks really rouged. You have to hand it to birds. They have real style.
“There’s one thing.” I hesitated. How to describe Dicko? The truth, when all else fails. Here goes. “Katta, love. Dicko is, er, new to women. You understand? He simply doesn’t know how to, well
“Ghee is…?” Her purpled eyes widened. She actually licked her lips. “Ghee feerjeenal? Layke chyoo?”
Virginal like
She seized me, grabbed me in an envelope hug and forced her lips on to mine. Her tongue rummaged my uvula. Passing hotel staff made approving murmurs. “Senk kyoo, Lovejoy! Setch er geeft!”
Dicko was waiting in the lounge, bouquet of carnations at the slope-arms position. He shot upright. The poor chap was desperate, expecting another failure.
“Katta, may I introduce my friend Dicko Chave.” I was on my best behaviour.
“Chow doo yoh doow?” Katta got out, coy and shy.
Dicko shook her hand. “Flowers for a flower,” he clipped out. The daffodils stood to attention.
“Heavens!” I exclaimed. “That the time?” I left them beaming at each other. A hit!
Exit Lovejoy. I’d keep his loan, my fee for effecting a lonely-hearts intro. Fair’s fair.
The street was abuzz with police. I watched from the corner among a small crowd. The factory was being boarded up. Cloaked folk stood gazing.
“It’s no victory,” somebody said close to my elbow.
“I know,” I said.
“It will simply move on, Lovejoy. More legions of slave children, different guises.”
“I know that, too.”
“Mrs. Sweet tells me there were five in Great Britain.”
“And the rest.” I always sound bitter, wish I knew why. I do try to sound light-hearted and chirpy. I’ve never yet seen me smile in a photo. I wonder what it is.
“They are introducing legislation…”
“Shut it, love.” When law steps in, truth flies out of the window.
I watched as the police loaded up the furniture, much partly completed, some hardly started.
“What will you do, Lovejoy? Now Katta and Mr Chave have got engaged?”
That made me turn and look. She tried to give me a hankie, silly cow. You can always trust a woman to be stupid. “I’ve already got one, ta. Engaged?” I thought she meant hired.
“To be married, Lovejoy.” She was near to a smile. “Katta asked me to give you this.”
Hotel notepaper.
What had happened to the accent? That’s women for you. Me and Lysette strolled off. No good checking on the police now they’d finally got weaving.
“Mrs. Sweet wishes to see you, Lovejoy, tonight. She’ll call at your hotel.”
“She does?”
“It will take several sessions, I think, from the way she spoke. She has a massive inventory of antiques she wants you to check, before Miss Chevalier arrives tomorrow.”
“Miss Who?”
“Miss Chevalier. Monsieur Pascal told me there’s a way to reduce the criminal charges against you, if you co- operate with the authorities here, Switzerland, Great Britain.”
“Meaning co-operate with Lorela Chevalier?” I’d saved her firm, her reputation, her antiques, her job… She’d tried to phone me at the hotel a thousand times. I’d finally left the receiver off the hook while Katta, er, swallowed my pride.
“I think so, Lovejoy. And Mercy Mallock will be with you soon. She faxed the hotel.”
“Mercy?” I brightened. “What’d she say?”
“Her letter is too long, too personal, and impertinently presumptuous. You must have nothing more to do with her.”
We turned into the street gales, par for Paris. This was starting to look sour. I mean, Katta’d served, as it were, her purpose in detoxifying my soul with her unique brand of adventurous love. But Lilian Sweet was a different proposition. Back in East Anglia I’d not last an hour if word got about that a SAPAR hunter had decided to cottage
