The Great California Game

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Lovejoy. I’d no idea!”

“Please may I take my leave, Mrs. van Cordlant?”

“Oh, please. I —”

Melodie quickly mollified me enough to have me sitting down. We were frosty friends at opposite ends of the settee, a mere mile apart, while Melodie apologized repeatedly. I was aloof.

“You hear that, Chanel?” she told the maid with brimming eyes while I looked soulful. “Lovejoy here—a true clairvoyant, though he’s Libran—refused twenty thousand, so’s not to spoil the luck he gave me! Isn’t that just beautiful?”

Melodie choked, Chanel looked astonished. I almost fainted, and did a bit of choking on my own. I came to with my ears ringing disbelief.

“Lovejoy,” the silly old bat said, emotion brimming from her eyes. “You are the most sincere person I have ever met. Do you know what it’s like to be rich in New York?”

“No, Melodie,” I said with honesty. Or anywhere else.

Her voice sank to a whisper. Chanel left, looking back in disbelief. “It’s punishment, Lovejoy. Purgatory.”

“It is?” I tried more soulful, this time didn’t make it.

“It’s people, Lovejoy. Mercenary, grasping.”

Women are odd. I really mean that. A woman doesn’t know the effect she has on a man. Any woman affects every man with instant global tonnage every single time. But women all go out teaching each other it isn’t true, God knows why. They reach for doubt, where we blokes go for hope. This accounts for much of their behaviour. Here was Melodie, for instance, wanting some excuse to justify our evident valency, and finding approval for her desires in this mystic claptrap. I was glad, wanting desperately to get back to where that fortune had so briefly winked its golden eye.

Chanel safely out of the way, I took her hand forgivingly. “Don’t, Melodie. You’re distressing yourself. Distress isn’t the way of, er, those psychic influences. We can keep ourselves mindful of truth, and love.”

All that frigging gelt, my baser elements were sobbing. I could have been winging my way out on my own personal frigging jet.

She was filling up again. We were both awash. She raised my hand to her lips, gave it a sucking kiss. “Oh, Lovejoy. I knew we’d bond. No wonder Gina values you.”

“Please, Melodie.” I moved away, thinking what to say. In the grief of losing all that gelt, I’d forgotten this bird was a pal of the Nicko mob. “There’s something I have to say.”

“Yes, dear?” She came to stand with me, looking over the city. I put my arm round her waist.

“I have a psychic obligation to you, Melodie. It came to me right…” How the hell did psychic obligations come? “… out of the ether.” I grasped her hands. They were a mass of rings I could hardly get my fingers round. “I had to guide your actions, transfer my luck to you.”

“You did?” she breathed.

“Had to, love. But there’s a psychic condition.”

“What condition, Lovejoy?” She withdrew slightly, eyes narrowing. I recognized suspicion.

I gazed into her eyes, deeply sincere. “I want a promise, Melodie. Just your word that you’ll not breathe a word of our friendship. This psychic, er, thing is solely between us. Is that understood?”

Her expression cleared.“Oh, yes, Lovejoy!”

“Can Chanel be trusted?”

“Perfectly. Her family’s served mine for two generations.”

Two generations? That was only her and her dad. Didn’t she mean ten, twelve? I shelved the problem, bussed her, disengaged when she clung.

“Oh, Lovejoy.” She broke down, weeping. “I have a terrible confession. A moment ago, when you said you wanted something…”

“I know, love,” I soothed. “Don’t forget I am psychic. Mercenary considerations crossed your mind, didn’t they?”

She nodded, sniffing. The miniature hound started whimpering

“Never think of money between us.” I swallowed, almost blubbering myself at our profound emotional depths. Thoughts of all that money helped my sorrow along.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said.

“Then all’s forgiven.” I led her gently to the settee. “And you can tell me…” Brainwave! “… about how you carried it off, on the Gina.”

We held hands. I stayed her from ringing for Chanel to pour, bravely said I’d manage. It was a modern scrolled silver, rubbish but worth its weight in, well, silver. The porcelain was crappy modern stuff. Unbelievable.

“Oh, Lovejoy. It was marvellous!” Her eyes were shining now. There’s nothing voluble as a woman telling a triumph. ”I’d never felt so confident! It was your penny!”

Smiling, I corrected her gently. “Not the penny, love. The forces act through it.”

“That’s it!” she cried. “I felt the forces act through it. I slipped it under my third ring—you’ll know we’re all searched. I took quite a risk, Lovejoy.”

Her face was solemn now, serious.