“It’ll be a fraction…” Steerforth said with a merry expression.
“Of course, darling.” Mame glittered, in full if hilarious control. “Nothing’s cheap. I’ve heard.”
We drank and chatted. It being noon, they had Bloody Marys and that. They were from the tourist liner and prattled of shipboard socialites, captain’s-table politics, and who danced with whom. There were considerable limitations, Mame said, gushing at Steerforth and squeezing his hand. A bit risky, I thought, because there’s no telling who spots you in a restaurant, is there? George was Mame’s husband. (“I mean, I’d no idea I was marrying into the Brookers, know what I mean?”) Lorna’s spouse Irwin was his partner. “Lorna’s a slowpoke!” Mame giggled, then started a series of nudge-whispers with Steerforth.
“Have you lived in Hong Kong very long, Lovejoy?” Lorna asked me as the Mame-Steerforth axis strengthened.
“No. Only a couple of—”
“—years,” Steerforth cut in smoothly. “He loves it. Lovejoy’s great strength is his hobby.
Developed it here, didn’t you?”
“Eh? Oh. More or less,” I answered guardedly, nodding to show old Steerforth was really on the ball, and then listened anxiously to learn more facts about myself.
“Hobby?” Mame and Lorna breathed together, intrigued.
“Mmmh. Right up George’s and Irwin’s street. Detecting and restoring antiques, isn’t it, Lovejoy?”
“Er, well…” I beamed apprehensively.
“How marvelous!” Mame was thrilled. “We should get Mr. Gelman to come!” This caused her to laugh explosively. “What have I said!”
“Lovejoy has quite a reputation,” Steerforth added. I could tell he was delighted at the impression he was creating. “You want to see his workshop! Superb.”
“Is it really?” Lorna too was fascinated.
“Unbelievable,” I said dryly, looking narked at Steerforth. Half my brain was going: Brookers and Gelman. These were the wives of the pundits.
The swine was oblivious. “Yes. Cost him a fortune to set up. It’s been more difficult since the contessa.”
“The contessa?” The women were agog. Me too.
“Ooops. Sorry, Lovejoy,” Steerforth said, wincing as if at a gaffe. “But he’s got over it.”
“I have?”
“Well,” Steerforth gave back sharply, “it was you gave her the push, dear.” He shook his head at Mame. “You’ve never seen such a fuss! Can you imagine? Venetian nobility are very volatile. The noise! You could hear her on the Peak!”
“You threw her over, Lovejoy?” Mame was on her third drink.
“Well…” I said desperately, lost, promising myself a really good strangle of Steerforth’s throttle first chance.
“It was the scandal, wasn’t it, Lovejoy,” Steerforth prompted, nerk of the Orient. His glance told of disappointment at my lying talents.
“Oh, yes. There was that.” Pause. I swallowed hard. The world wanted more. “Er, I don’t really want to speak about it.”
“Oh, come on!” Mame was enthralled, leaning forward to squeeze my arm. Three pricey rings, one first-class and Cartier. Her huge diamond pendant swung gently above her cleavage. Valuable, but not a single antique. Modern equals crud. “Tell!”
“Go on, Lovejoy. About the count,” my pal Steerforth prompted with ill-concealed irritation. “And the earl’s obsession with his family’s lineage. How she behaved.”
A headache welded my skull. I began to stutter. “Sorry, everybody. It’s just that there are some things…”
“Spoilsport!” pleaded Mame.
It was Lorna who came to the rescue. “No, Mame,” she put in, all serious. She patted my hand. “I understand. It goes against the grain, isn’t that it, Lovejoy?”
“Yes.” I recovered and went all noble, speaking quietly. “I never betray a lady’s confidence. And one has memories…” Straight out of Charlotte Bronte.
“Oh, how perfectly sweet!” Mame sniffed.
“Don’t make too much of a thing of it.” I was and had pleased. And a gentleman to boot. I’d have waxed eloquent on my true-blue propriety if Steerforth hadn’t given the bent eye.
“I think, Lovejoy, it’s rather time we made a move.”
“Move?” My empty stomach growled at this appalling news. “But it’s dinnertime.” We were in a restaurant, for God’s sake.
“What?” Steerforth snapped. “You’ve just had five almond slices.”
“He’s hungry,” Lorna observed.
You can like somebody straight off, can’t you? I felt drawn to Lorna. Mame clapped her hands and laughed. We ordered nosh, some more enthusiastically than others. I practically infarcted over the menu—one column was dense with dollar signs—and started an uneasy sparring over costs with the baffled money-shunning waiter, but Mame only fell about some more and told me to order what I liked.
“It’s my treat,” she said, on her fifth swig. “All right with you, James dworling?”
More merriment. I decided they were an odd lot.
