“How come you’re their dogsbody, Jodie?”
“Happened by, Lovejoy.” She spoke too casually.
“Pay good, is it?” A little lad on a donkey was frightened. His dad pelted up, did a rescue. The little lad fell about with hilarity. It had been an act. The dad scolded, started laughing. The mum was furious. Even the donkeyman laughed, shaking his head. Lots of acting today at Mentle Sands.
“Not bad.”
I watched her tongue on the cornet. The white ice-cream seemed to like going in, sweep by sweep. I found my throat had gone dry. She was amused.
“When do we move on, Lovejoy? As soon as you are sure I’m getting less money than you? Or when you’ve decided you might stand a chance with Monique Delebarre?”
Move to where? She hadn’t guessed yet that I’d resigned from Troude’s brood. She detested Monique. I went along with her misunderstanding. Maybe she couldn’t believe that somebody would actually refuse Troude and the lovely Monique. “Dunno. I expect we’ll know soon enough. That the stall?”
“As Baff was on? No. The police took it away as evidence. It was hard luck. Poor Baff. He just drew the wrong lot. Accidents happen, Lovejoy.”
Yes, well. Except a yobbo mob picking on a seaside vendor can sometimes be directed. Then it’s no accident.
“Ta for the company, Jodie. And the intro. I appreciate it.”
“No time for solace, Lovejoy?”
She’d finished her ice-cream. I watched her lovely mouth assimilate the tip of the cornet, and listened to the faint crunch as it achieved total bliss on entry. My ice-cream was running in a hot melt down my wrist. I had to chuck it in a waste-bin. Seagulls swooped, shrieking deprivation.
“If you like. La Delebarre’s antique chair was a fake, Jodie. And somebody’d ‘improved’ the oars on Willie Wouldhave’s model. Thought that was still in South Shields. How did they get it? Must have money to throw away.”
We walked to the Ruby, me dawdling to see her legs.
“They wanted some you couldn’t have seen, of course, Lovejoy. Taking no chances. One thing.”
“Mmmh? Get in.” I got the crank handle.
“Since we left the marina all of a sudden I’m Jodie. Until then you drove me mad calling me Jode. Why?”
She didn’t like it. I could have kicked myself. I give me away to women all the bloody time. I’m pathetic.
“Shut your teeth.” I swung the handle. The Ruby groaned awake, started a reluctant muttering, rocking side to side. “You women are obsessed with your own image.”
Lovely teeth, beautiful shape, and a complicitor in Baff’s murder. I watched her laugh at me. I had to explore further, with whatever means I had.
“That’s more like the Lovejoy we all know and love.” She actually said that.
One of Galileo’s girlfriends was a corker. A real stunner, Artemisia Gentileschi was. The reason we know so much about her is that she strolled about her dad Orazio’s studio naked, driving his apprentices crazy with lust. One apprentice, Tassi, couldn’t stand it. He raped the gorgeous Artemisia, and history—with the vicious impartiality history sometimes achieves—recorded the horrendous consequences.
Poor Artemisia’s dad Orazio (pal of Caravaggio, his only other claim to fame) sued Tassi. The court scene was enough to scar you for life. It certainly scarred Orazio’s lovely daughter. The law saw to that. In a variation of today’s courtroom tortures, the Roman court insisted on thumbscrewing poor Artemisia—presumably on the logic that truth needs forcible encouragement from females. A doctor’s examination of her pudenda was conducted in front of the goggling courtroom rabble. The apprentice was found guilty. Artemisia was justified, her honour restored.
Not enough. She went ape. Can you blame her?
An artist’s daughter to her very soul, she revenged herself with exquisite talent. Before, her paintings depicted nudes and more or less holy scenes, all grottoes and haloes. Now, they showed stark vengeance in the bluntest and most aggressive way possible. Her
See what I mean? Muck about with a bird’s self-esteem at your peril, or wear a parachute. As I drove from Mentle Marina I realized I’d been careless. My galling diminutive for Jodie had vanished as soon as I’d realized she was one of Troude’s people, hook, line and sinker. Quick as women always are, she’d spotted something in my manner. Lucky she’d guessed wrong about my staying hired, or she’d have guessed I’d rumbled her.
Nothing for it but to accept Jodie’s company. We drove to my cottage. I thought of ice-creamio stalls, and composed firm decisions about not going to France. I didn’t want to go. But why were so many people determined I should? Jodie made such life-or-death problems vanish into ecstasy.
CHAPTER TEN
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