surprised.”
“However much, it’s second best.” Into her gentle laugh I said, “Bethune— Save him. Demote to second advisor.”
“But Orly has other duties. So who’ll be first?”
“Me.”
“I might have guessed.” She hesitated. “One thing, Lovejoy. After what you said, you’ve got to raise the income for our stake in the California Game. You understand? Whatever Bethune raised, you must double.”
My throat was suddenly dry. Maybe Sophie had taken more out of me than I’d realized. “I understand.”
“I’ll send immediate help, in case.” A pretty hesitation, then, “Good luck, Lovejoy.”
I hung up. “Right, lads,” I told the pair cheerfully. “Let’s get down to it. Jim, you’re sacked. Okay?”
They’d both risen, appalled. The antique dealer was gazing across at the windows, the low-grade antiques, as his world imploded. Orly was motionless. He was an irritation, this one.
“Gina’s sending a team along. Here, Orly. Do you reckon that Anita’s place does takeaways? Hop across and bring some grub. I’m starving.”
He moved towards the phone. Enemies nark me. especially as I’d done nothing to make him my foe. “No, Orly. Bring it yourself. Plenty of them bread things. And be quick about it—or I’ll tell teacher.”
Orly was white. He swallowed, exhaled long and steadily. The effort to walk out of the door was superhuman, but he did it. Thoughtfully I watched him go. Funny, that. It raised the question of whether Gina was in league with the private scam Orly was running, or whether he was in it only with Fatty Bethune. But I’d peeped from Mrs. van Cordlant’s kitchen, and seen Bethune and Denzie Brandau paying her a clandestine visit, which raised the question of whether… My head ached.
“Jim,” I said quietly to the fat man. “A quick word.”
A limo slid to a stop outside, illegal parking. Tye Dee and three Suits alighted, came in. I waved. “Wotcher, Tye. Can you have a quick shufti round, see the doors are locked, and bring the staff? That means everybody, okay?” I was beginning to like this okay at the end of everything. It was sort of inviting, friendly. Tye scattered his people. A neat dapper bloke entered carrying a briefcase. I sighed. Accountants were arriving.
“The office, please. Impound all files, get them in some sort of order, okay?”
“Right.” He beckoned a clone and a secretary to follow.
“Right, Jim,” I said quietly. “Tell all. Including the private thing you’ve got going with You-Know-Who, okay?” I nodded to the street, terse and cryptic to show I wasn’t bluffing even if I was. “Orly’ll be back in a minute. It’s as long as you’ve got.”
I was in a hurry to find Magda.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
« ^ »
THE Benidormo had slipped into almost total decay. The desk man had crumpled into dust the instant his telly cooled. The phone was layered in rime. I once saw a sea village flooded on the spring tide. This foyer looked like the aftermath without marine life stirring beneath the tatty carpet. Nobody about. For reassurance I went back to peer into the street, shivered, went upstairs to my room wondering if the world had vanished without me. Eerily, a western saga was shooting off to no Zole. For once I was glad to hear a rhythmic pounding from Magda’s room.
Ten minutes, then the bloke left. Magda’s abuse was crisper than before, more desperate in a way I found hideous. She followed him along the corridor yelling invective. His growled reply was inaudible. I gave her a few moments’ grace, tapped on the door. It flung open.
“Who the sheet… ? Lovejoy! You’re…”
“Here,” I said. “Hello, Magda.”
Her hair was embattled, her face marked. Derelict is as derelict does, where a woman’s appearance is concerned. I used to think women were barmy, forever at mirrors with paints. I now admit they’re infallibly right about make-up. In fact I’d go so far as to say that cosmetics are essential, the thicker and gaudier the better. You can’t have too much, though women of course think the opposite, being wrong again.
She looked ninety, haggard, death on sticks.
“In yours, Lovejoy. Not here.”
She doused the telly, did that swish of hair and sat on the edge of the bed. The lazy hotel swine hadn’t made it. How many nights had it been since I’d last slept there?
“He beat you up?”
“A couple since.” She had a sort of defiance, as if she expected me to whale into her too. Odd, because I’m never really narked with people, not often.
“How are you managing, Magda?”
“Not as good as you, Lovejoy. Fancy suiting, handmade shoes. Your lady’s a spender.”
“How’s Zole?”
“Okay. He brung good two days.”
