'From your mind? Perhaps not, because I'm dope enough to come.' She sighed and scrutinized my shabby frame. 'You'll get any flabby amateur tart from the nearest taproom and make love to her wherever she says, in the car, your cottage, her place if her husband's out.'
'What's it all about?' I pleaded. 'What did I do?'
'You can't help it, Lovejoy, can you?' she said.
I gave in, shrugging. 'Sometimes it's not easy,' I said.
She smiled and took my arm. 'Come on, you poor fool,' she said. 'I'm famished.' She climbed into the car and started to push the finger pump. As I said, she'd known me for a year. The motor responded. I saw Alf the porter thankfully closing up as we left the darkened station forecourt. We clanked through the silent village, my spirits on the mend.
'Not to worry, angel,' I reassured her. 'I've a repast fit for the Queen. One of my specials.'
'I suppose that means your sawdust pies.'
'Pork,' I replied, narked.
'Custard tart for afters?'
'Of course.'
'Beautiful.'
I turned to say something and noticed she was laughing.
'What's the joke?' I snapped.
'Nothing.' She was helpless with laughter.
'Look,' I said roughly, 'don't you like my grub? Because if so, you can bloody well—'
'N—no, Lovejoy,' she gasped, still laughing.
'I've gone to a lot of trouble,' I informed her with dignity. 'I always do.'
'I know, love,' she managed to say, and held my arm as I drove. 'It was just me. Don't take offense.'
'All right, then.'
She gave me a peck on the cheek. 'Friends again?' she asked.
'Pals,' I promised fervently, relieved her odd mood was over.
We held hands all the way home.
Next morning.
I was itching to have my priest hole open to enter up a few oddments of information I'd gathered on my journey the previous day, but with Sheila there I contented myself with cataloguing my tokens. One or two were quite good. I'd advertise those, priced high. The rest I'd sell through local dealers when the big tourist rush began.
She was watching me, turned on her side on the fold-out bed. 'You love them,' she said.
I sighed theatrically. 'Don't come that soul stuff.'
'It's obvious you do.'
'It's also obvious that going all misty-eyed because we had it off is pretty corny.'
She laughed again when she ought to have been put out. 'Have you had breakfast, Lovejoy?'
'Yes, thanks.'
'What time were you up?'
'Seven.'
'Did you notice the bruise?'
'What bruise?' I felt guilty.
'When you belted me in the bathroom the other day.'
'Oh. About that, love.' I didn't look at her. 'I've been meaning to say sorry. It was important, you see.'
'A phone call?'
'Well, yes.' I forced justification into my voice. 'It turned out to be vital. I admit I was a wee bit on the nasty side—'
'Come here, Lovejoy,' she said. I could tell she was smiling.
'No,' I said, concentrating.
'Come here,' she said again, so I did.
See what I mean about women, never giving up?
Muriel answered the door, still jumpy and drawn but as stylish as before.
'I'm sorry to bother you again so soon,' I apologized.
'Why, Mr. Lovejoy.'
'I just called—'
