“That’s always the danger.” I felt noble, a knight on a white charger. “You want me to have a word with Moira?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “No, Lovejoy. You’ll have to end it. The Sherlock enterprise. It’s the one thing that’ll make him drop that Hawkins bitch.”
End? That all? I cheered up. Moira’s plot hinged on a grailer scam, and they’re always failures. Dreams are dud, which is why they stay dreams and never become reality.
“Easy, Sophie,” I said. “Leave it to me.”
“You will? Oh, you darling man! Thank you!”
For one second I knew I could have joined her in communal happiness, so to speak, but I heard someone coming down the corridor. My hand never even reached her breast.
“Invite me to your place,” I said, thinking quickly. “To, what, restore your antiques.”
She slipped me a card from her handbag.
“I’ll okay it with Jennie,” she said. “I’ve a convincing collection; Jim Bethune supplied most. You want I should damage one or two, make it look convincing?”
I went cold, nearly throttled her but kept control. Her hand cupped, grasped mine. She kissed my palm, eyes filling. I’d never seen so much gratitude at one go.
“Don’t ever damage an antique, Sophie. Promise?”
“I’ll do anything in my power for you. I swear.”
I left then, her gratitude flowing out into the corridor after me like a cloying perfume. Mr Sokolowsky was approaching. He said a cheery hello, asked how I was liking life on board ship. I was making some sort of inane reply when he leant close confidentially.
“Help her, Lovejoy,” he whispered, and went on his way, the sentimental old fool. I presumed he meant Sophie. I shrugged it off, only one more bemusement among many.
When I returned, Bill had gone. The deck arena looked uninviting. Nothing so forlorn as drooping bunting. All was left for seagulls and the evening breeze.
Onshore the Wildlife van remained. I looked down at the water. Still enough daylight to make a swim for it. A small white motor launch was purring across the bay, heading parallel to the shore. One crewman, and Bill. The
I decided I’d better report to Gina as soon as darkness covered the day, and went to find the galley for some nosh to keep the wolf from the door. It was on the way that I got the key to most, if not all.
The cruiser was almost silent, rocking somnolently with its lines tapping as the breeze flicked them. The companionway led down a deck. You double back towards the stern, for the crew’s quarters. I’d been told our scoff was there and nowhere else. Tye Dee must already be there, I’d decided. Like an obedient hound I would report to Gina on the dot, allaying all her suspicions.
“Lovejoy?”
I almost fainted with fright when she grabbed my arm, coming out of nowhere.
“You silly mare! You scared me to death!”
Normally Kelly Palumba would have giggled, having put one over on the universe. She was in no state for levity. She was shaking, teeth chattering and limbs a-twitch. A fleck of vomit touched the corner of her mouth. God, she was a mess.
“Lovejoy. Where the fuck’s Bill?”
“How the hell should I know?” She clung and trailed, clawing. She babbled inanely. I pushed her back into her cabin and stepped after. “Look. Wait here. I’ll call Blanche.”
“Wait?” she shrilled. “What the fuck’s with
Some sort of drugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t got any.” I pressed the button frantically. This nightmare wasn’t the prelude I wanted to my clandestine escape. “Who’s your stewardess?”
“Fuck the stewardess!” She slumped against the door, sobbing, muscles in spasm, retching. “Where’s Bill?” It was a cry from the heart. I tried dragging her away so I could get out. Where the hell was Blanche and her team? “Bill sees me right every time. You’re all against me…”
Bill the drug supplier, to this ruin? I almost joined in her wailing from self-pity.
“Let me out. I’ll get Bill. He’ll bring you your, er, tablets. Honest, love.”
She flailed against the cabin door in some sort of epilepsy. Why had I let her lean against the damned door, trapping me like this? I reached for a towel by the bedside, scattering syringes, silver foil, and rolled it under her head. I vaguely knew there was something about an epileptic’s tongue, but what?
Gradually she quietened. I was drenched in sweat, breathing hard.
“They won’t even let me play the Game,” she whimpered. “Just because I’ve a small habit. Who hasn’t, Lovejoy?”
“Mmmh,” I said. “Rotten sods.”
She sobbed uncontrollably. “Now I’ll be out of the California Game. It happened before.” Her voice crescendoed. “They’ll not let me to LA.”
I tried to step over her towards the door but she clutched my leg. “They wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’ll ask
