“You’ve your orders, Lovejoy. And keep me informed of the Hawkins project.”
The what? Why didn’t she just ask Moira Hawkins? She was only yards away, swanning around the deck arena with Fat Jim Bethune. And why did this megabuck outfit worry about a cheap dream in a cheap bookshop?
“It’s just some loony scheme about a missing manuscript.”
“Realistic? A practical proposition?”
“Well…”I felt it was time to splash over the side, somehow jump ship and make a run for it. Less than a few hours ago my only worry was being late at Fredo’s diner. “Her sister’s the grailer. That’s a nickname for crets who waste their lives chasing a rainbow. The Holy Grail, see? The Hawkins daftness is only a Sherlock Holmes novel. It went missing in the Victorian postal system. Every nation has its loonies,” I said apologetically, in case Gina or Nicko took umbrage. “We have folk who’re chasing two of the Virgin Mary’s milk teeth, supposedly in a pot in Syria. Fakes are life’s real trouble.”
Gina said softly, “That’s so, so right. Go now.”
I decided to play along as ordered but to cut out first chance I got. So whatever I promised now would be superfluous, since I wouldn’t be here to be checked on. I’d smile my very best at Sophie Brandau, tell Gina the gossip, then exit pursued by bear.
“How often do I report?”
“Nightly,” she said, making my mouth gape by adding, “You come to my cabin.”
And Nicko sitting there, deep in his numbers, while his wife tells a stranger to come tiptoeing into her boudoir in the candle hours? “Er, wouldn’t it be best if I —?”
“
I crept away like a night-stealer. Just in time to get pinned against the nearest bulkhead by Orly. He was ten times tougher than he looked.
“Lovejoy. You keep away, capeesh? Gina’s not switching, hear? Not to you, not anyone.”
“Okay, okay!”
It was Tye who prised Orly off. I recovered my wind while Tye shook his head and lowered Orly to the deck. He’d lifted him one-handed with barely a grunt of effort. At least I’d one ally. That’s what I thought then.
“Leave Lovejoy, Orly,” Tye said. “He’s taking orders, same as the rest of us. You want changes, you ask Jennie, okay?”
Ask Jennie? Not Nicko, Gina? I watched Orly hate me out of sight, and followed Tye towards the sound of the music and glam shambles. I’d be sorry to land Tye in it when I ran for it and shook the dust of New York off my shoes.
Tye paused at the foot of the gangway. “A tip, Lovejoy. This is big. Nobody gets outa here less’n he’s allowed. ’Kay?”
“I’ll ask first, Tye. That’s a promise.”
He gave me the bent eye for a moment.
“I can’t tell ifn you’re stoopid or clever. Know that?” He sighed and started to climb to the upper deck. “Trouble is, it’s the same thing.”
With ignorance born of idiocy, I ignored that warning too.
As I rejoined Bill behind the bar the tannoy was announcing that the opening game would commence in one hour. O’Cody, portly grey-hair in the magenta silk waistcoat of a monsignor, chuckled when Jennie joked there was still time for a quick prayer. Others laughed along. Puzzling, because I hadn’t seen a cleric come aboard, though somebody very like him had. I shelved the oddity, smiled, located Sophie Brandau in the glittering throng, whispered to Tye to have somebody spill a little
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
A spillage on a woman’s dress is an indictable offence. Funny, that, when it’s supposed to be lucky. The old Queen Mum used to say ta to nervous waiters when they plopped a drop on her lap, for luck given. Sophie Brandau didn’t quite go spare, but Blanche hurtled to the rescue when Tye — too clever to commit the crime himself —sent a waiter to accidentally tilt a carafe in passing. Kelly Palumba and a thin straw-haired wastrel called Epsilon were especially concerned. Denzie Brandau gave a bored half-glance, made some remark to Moira Hawkins, causing people to fall about. I diagnosed a husband making capital from his wife’s clumsiness. I was beginning to dislike the politician. I took over from Kelly Palumba, who cracked to her pal, “Better than your TV productions, Epsilon!” I didn't much care for her either.
“Mind, Mrs. Brandau,” I said. “Don’t stretch the material.” People don’t think. Her dress was a rich brocade, royal blue with sky sleeves. I commandeered a water decanter from a waiter and drenched a serviette. “Macon wine leaves a stain otherwise.”
I drew her to one side as the chatter reasserted itself. We were by the rail, landward side. “A few more linens, Blanche, please,” whittled the gathering down.
That left Sophie Brandau and myself. Fussing like I imagined a meticulous waiter would, I blotted the brocade. It was near the hem, and took a few minutes. During it, I passed comments on the surroundings. Which made me notice the man in the motor opposite the pier. He didn’t look much like a photographer, but the motionless Wildlife Internations van nearby with its odd black-sheening windows could be full of them. He was talking into a car phone. So?
On board, however, Mrs. Brandau and me were no longer the centre of attention. I placed everything on the
