aisles.
“Want some?” I can be charming, too.
She tasted one small biscuit with a fractionated sardine balanced on its rim. It really beats me how women survive half the time. Some biochemistry we haven’t got, I suppose. I didn’t like that “taken in” bit, but it’s a wise prophet who knows where his next meal will come from.
“Lovejoy. You seem to be troubled. All eyes and ears.” She smiled. “Then I saw where your attentions really lay.” She indicated the shrinking victuals and shot an appraising look to the preparations in the long cabin.
“Look, Gina. I can’t help being hungry. I can’t stop women from walking past, either.”
“Of course not.” She gave a sign and Blanche’s mob withdrew. “Tell me about Bill, Lovejoy.”
“Bill?” She was full of surprises, this one. Did she fancy him, or what? “Nice bloke, good barman. But something’s wrong.”
She stilled with a woman’s scary tranquillity. “Explain.”
“Well, I think he’s a thick. I tried asking him about antiques. He wasn’t interested. Hadn’t even heard of your 1760 Goddard-Townsend cabinet makers from Rhode Island—when a single one of their mahogany secretary’ desks goes for zillions.” She stared back at me. Obviously she was thick too. Annoyed, I gave it her in detail. “Furniture that exquisite’ll never come again, never on this planet. It’s all made of mahogany we call
She was still blank. I found myself up, walking about. “For Christ’s sake, love,” I cried, exasperated. “Can’t you see? That’s why the values increase faster than the National Debt! It’s like a Gainsborough, irreplaceable.”
“You’re telling me Bill’s odd because he isn’t interested in antiques?”
Give me strength. I’d thought all Yanks were fascinated by antiques, but here I was having a hard time telling them about the treasures on their own doorstep.
“Look, love. You know that Manhattan building somebody sold for, what was it, zillions? On the news two days agone. Remember it? Well, the secretary desk I mentioned could buy two such buildings, and leave change. You follow?” She nodded slowly. God, she was beautiful, yet gorgeous women drive me at least as mad as the lesser lights.
“I see.”
“And a
“Sit down, Lovejoy.”
Her tone chilled me. I sat, suddenly less narked. Her brain was clicking, her gaze distant and venomous. I wished I was back at the bar. We sat for a full minute. She stirred.
“Lovejoy. Sophie Brandau. Her jewellery today.”
“Looked genuine, Gina.” Safe ground?
“Was everybody’s?”
“What do you think I am?” I said indignantly, “I was behind the bar. All the tom—er, jewellery—I saw was genuine, far as I could tell. I liked that eighteenth-century Milanese brooch Miss Palumba was wearing, though some nerk had tried to restore it with platinum.” Silence. “You see —”
“Lovejoy.” She meant shut up. Then why had the stupid cow asked me to speak? I tried not to sulk while she did more of her long-range venom. When she spoke it was muted, sibilant.
“Make up to Sophie, Lovejoy.”
We’d not had a row. “Beg pardon?”
The curtain glided open, some electronic trick. Nicko was sitting alone at the long board table, reading his endless printouts.
“Become special to her.”
I checked my hearing against memory, decided I wasn’t hallucinating. “Er, exactly what is it you’re —”
“
“Do you mean…?”
“Into Sophie Brandau. And report her pillow talk.”
“Look, Gina.” I retreated, babbling. “That’s something I can’t —”
“Nicko?”
Her husband spoke, still flicking along those lists. “You opened a packet of money, Lovejoy?”
“From Tye Dee?” Maybe they wanted it back.
“Your prints are on it. The money’s traceable. It was stolen from a Pittsburgh bank. A guard was killed. The bullet matches the gun in your hotel room.”
My voice went faint. “Pittsburgh? I’ve only just arrived in the US. It’s marked on my passport…”
“Illegal migrant worker? Criminal history? Now a lethal bank robber?” Nicko brought out my passport. ”No record of any date stamp in this, Lovejoy.”
I’d seen the Immigration man stamp it at the airport. I sat. Gina was suddenly impatient.
