'No.' He was right; I wouldn't. 'The last I saw of Dorsal Finn, he was crawling on his hands and knees along the gutter across the street from the Queen and Country.'
'The gutter, you say? What was he doing there?'
'It was where he landed when Beauregard Sylvester prized his hands from around my throat and threw him across the street.'
'Threw him across the street?' There were several gasps and choking sounds. 'Into the gutter? That's an insult that can only be avenged in blood!'
'It will be his blood, if Beau ever gets his hands on him again. If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep away from us – all of us.'
'But where is he now?'
'I don't know and I don't care. If he wants his dog, he's probably trying to track down Lucy and Nova.'
'If they've still got it. The Semtex has a mind of his own. He may have run away from them and be roaming the streets anywhere in London.'
'Then maybe you ought to try the Battersea Dogs' Home.' It was as good a suggestion as any. If it wasn't, I didn't care. My brief flare of energy was ebbing away. There was a faint dull ache in my head, my stomach felt uneasy and ...
'My throat is aching where your friend tried to throttle me. I can't talk any longer. Goodbye.'
Almost immediately, the phone began ringing again. It might be Martha, it might be Brendan ringing back, it might be. ..
I didn't care. Taking a leaf from Evangeline's book, I yanked the jack out of the socket and went back to bed.
14
By the time Evangeline returned, I felt a lot better – and no wonder.
'It's eleven,' I gasped, 'P.M.! I've slept all day.'
'You needed it,' Evangeline said. 'And you're looking all the better for it.'
'But –' I was conscious of the odd feeling of dislocation you get when somehow the day has disappeared without your ever really getting a grip on it. I wanted to protest, to demand a recount, to start the day over and do better this time.
'Are you just getting back?' It wasn't Evangeline's fault that I had lost the day but, if she had been here, I might not have. 'Where have you been?'
'I had an early dinner with Nigel and we looked in at a few pubs. We ran into some of our friends. They send you best wishes and hope you're better soon.'
'Thanks.' I still felt half asleep, uncomfortable, unhappy ... there had been dreams ... bad dreams ... and then I remembered. I'd been dreaming of Sweetums. She hadn't been happy, either ... she had been furious ... trying to tell me something ... but the distance between us was too great. She hadn't been able to make me understand. That had made her madder than ever.
'You unplugged the phone again.' Evangeline pounced on the jack and shoved it back into the socket. 'No wonder I wasn't able to reach you. I thought it might be something like that.'
'Brendan called,' I said. 'He was upset because he couldn't find Dorsal. I told him what had happened. He still seemed to think we should know where Dorsal was. Not to mention the dog. The conversation became ... tedious.'
'I can imagine.' Evangeline clucked her tongue. 'We must have a word with Hi-Yi and have him do something about those Irishmen. We can't have them hanging around making trouble.'
'I take it you didn't find Nova and Lucy?'
'No.' She gave a guilty start. 'What made you think I might be looking for them?'
'Come off it! I know you're not worried about Tex —'
'Out of sight, out of mind,' she murmured.
'But I also know you're not going to let Lucy and that play slip through your fingers – even though it may turn out to be just as terrible as the last one.'
'That woman has talent and good ideas. She just hasn't found her voice yet.'
'Speaking of which ...' I hummed up and down the scale and swallowed experimentally a couple of times. Yes, definitely an improvement. 'I think I could use a glass of cold milk to soothe my throat a bit more.'
'You want some brandy and an egg beaten up in it, and perhaps a sprinkling of nutmeg on top. A good old-fashioned eggnog, that's the ticket for a sore throat.' She regarded me critically. 'And perhaps some arnica cream to rub on the outside for those bruises.'
'We don't have any arnica cream.'
'We'll get some tomorrow.'
'And we made eggnogs with rum in New England.' We didn't have any of that, either, and suddenly I had a craving for the sweet molasses tang of the cool thickened liquid. We ought to pick up some rum, too.
Evangeline had found a jug and was breaking two eggs into it. She might not be much as a cook, but she could mix a mean drink. She was mixing an awful lot of it; I realized she had talked herself into a brandy eggnog, too.
'I do believe we've underestimated Nigel,' Evangeline said. 'He really is a most personable young man and he has some very interesting ideas.'
'Evangeline!' Alarm bells began ringing. 'You haven't let him talk you into taking any financial advice from him?'
'Really, Trixie!' Evangeline gave me a withering look. 'I'm not insane!'
'Maybe not financially ...' I sank back in my chair with relief.
'We have never seen Nigel at his best.' Evangeline ignored my remark. 'Not operating in a social scene with strangers.'
'What social scene?' My suspicions were aroused. 'Where did you take him?'
'Oh ...' She poured brandy recklessly into the jug, a faraway look in her eyes. 'Here and there ... round and about ...'
'You didn't find Nova and Lucy.' She'd have been cock-a-hoop if she had, but she was clearly not entirely displeased with her day. 'Did you get any clues about where they live?'
'Not directly ...' She was sparing with the milk, but then emptied a small carton of cream into the jug. 'We wound up at the Queen and Country and ran into Vic and his friends. They were there to see the full show. It seems that, after we left, what passed for the management had had to stop the show and give the audience their money back or tickets for another night. The ventilation was so poor that they couldn't clear the smoke in time for the show to continue that night.
'The boys also,' she continued thoughtfully, 'got our tickets replaced and gave them to me. We really must see the rest of that show. It wasn't too bad.'
'Uh-huh.' I felt I'd probably seen enough of The Mist in the Meadow – and especially the mist – to last me the rest of my life. But Evangeline was always determined to have her and everyone else's money's worth. 'And was that where you discovered how sociable Nigel could be?'
'Why, yes. He got on so well with everybody, I was very favourably impressed. Especially with that shy little Ledbetter.'
Ledbetter, the stake-holder. And Nigel, with his unerring nose for money and his sharp eye for the main chance. Alarm bells shrilled again. I wondered just how high the stakes Ledbetter held were – and how susceptible he was to flattery.
'There now —' Evangeline handed me a glass of cool creamy liquid. 'Wrap your tonsils around that. It's just what the doctor ordered.'
Well ... maybe a doctor in the good old days before the medical profession concerned itself with little matters like cholesterol and alcoholism. The days when a Victorian lady took to her couch for a decade or two with the prescribed eggnogs and/or laudanum. I sure wouldn't have to worry about getting back to sleep tonight, despite my afternoon-long nap.
But that was another thing. In a vague way, I felt as though the shadowy dreams were still there waiting to claim me again – and I could do without them. In fact ...
'Evangeline?' I sniffed the air uneasily. 'Can you smell heliotrope?'
'Heaven forfend!' But she lifted her head and sniffed, too, suddenly as uneasy as I was. Her forehead creased; she looked around suspiciously.
'Nonsense!' She was speaking to herself, not to me. 'It's impossible!' She set down her glass and charged over to the far corner, returning with the wastebasket, which she upended in the middle of the kitchen floor.
'There! There's your explanation!' She pounced on the torn-up pieces of Sweetums's original letter (had it been that lon
g since we'd emptied the wastebasket?) and waved them at me.
I stepped back, repelled and dizzied by the waves of sickly sweet scent emanating from the paper. 'Please, Evangeline –'
'The last of Sweetums Carew!' She carried them over and deposited them ceremoniously in the depths of the black binliner. 'And good riddance!'
The cloying scent still hung in the air, perhaps some of it clung to the debris which had been discarded on top of it. Sweetums must have saturated her notepaper in the stuff.
'Now forget her and let's relax.' Evangeline picked up her drink and the jug and strolled through into the living room, leaving the contents of the wastebasket still in a heap on the floor.
Automatically, I shuffled everything back into the wastebasket and carried it over to the bin. Really, it was like having to clear up after Martha at the height of her childhood sloppiness. I tried to hold on to that strangely comforting thought as the scent eddied up and nearly overwhelmed me when I dumped the rest of the stuff in the bin.
Shuddering, I retreated, then braced myself and sealed off the binliner, lifted it out and took it over and placed it outside the back door by the stairs where someone would probably collect it eventually. I put a fresh liner in the bin, telling myself that the smell of heliotrope no longer lingered, however faintly. Poor Sweetums ... how strange that she should have survived all the feuds and battles of her life, only to succumb to a fatal accident in a strange country on what was meant to be a pleasant social occasion.
Of course it was an accident. She hadn't been here long enough to add to her mortal enemies. Had she?
My glass had somehow emptied itself. I picked it up and followed Evangeline into the living room for a refill. I intended to make absolutely certain of a dreamless night.
In the morning, all trace of my tummy upset had disappeared. The day was bright and beautiful with the sun reflecting off the surface of the Thames, little boats sailing past leaving a gentle wake of golden ripples. The view on a day like this was almost enough to reconcile one to living deep in the heart of Docklands rather than in the centre of the city. Almost.
To prove how much better I was feeling, I got dressed before joining Evangeline in the kitchen. She looked at me sourly as I entered and I recognized the symptoms. Not only had I wrong-footed her by appearing dressed and fully made-up while she was still in her dressing gown, but she had undoubtedly finished the eggnog last night. I could have told her she was mixing a lethal potion: all that egg and cream disguises the potency of the brew until it's too late.
Evangeline was royally hungover. This did not improve her disposition, always uncertain at best first thing in the morning.
I poured my coffee and stood beside the toaster waiting for it to pop up. It seemed safer to let her choose any subject for conversation, if she wanted to converse at all.
There was a sharp snap and the toast clattered into view.
'Don't do that!' Evangeline jumped and gave a muffled shriek.
'I didn't do anything – it's the toaster.'
'If you're going to butter that toast, please take it into the other room. I can't stand the noise.'
'That's what I thought.'
'And just what is that supposed to mean?' Evangeline attempted to turn her head indignantly, but stopped in mid-turn and clutched it with both hands instead.
'You're sure you wouldn't like to go back to bed today?'
'I have always been slightly allergic to eggs,' Evangeline announced with dignity.
'Especially when you add a pint of brandy to them.' I added more coffee to her cup, not that I thought it would do much good at this stage.
'I'm glad to see you up and ready for action.' She changed the subject as though she were dressed and ready to face the day herself. 'We have been overlooking Lunchtime Theatre, I have discovered. It is time to remedy that. We are lunching today at the Scarlet Swan. I have made arrangements with Eddie.' She rose majestically to her feet and swayed for a moment before taking a bearing on the door and heading for it slowly but determinedly.
'It won't take me a moment to dress.' She lied beautifully. She always did.
Nobly, I refrained from humming 'Little Brown Jug' as she exited. Besides, it wasn't a brown earthenware jug, it was a beautiful glass claret jug with a silver lid. I looked at it as I put the cups and saucers down beside it in the sink. It must be part of Ros's collection; she had been heavy on fine china and glass. I hoped she still would be when the time came to return everything – whenever that might be.
Although their situations seemed to be easing, I noticed that none of our dear friends and neighbours were rushing to retrieve their belongings. I didn't think they were motivated solely by altruistic considerations. It was more likely that they felt the bailiffs had been defeated only temporarily and might renew their offensive when they had had time to regroup. Mariah was doing her best to stem the rising tide, but she had her work cut out for her.
There was another muffled shriek from Evangeline as the telephone rang and I went to answer it.
'It's all right,' I called out. 'It's only Eddie. He's waiting downstairs with the taxi. I told him we'd be down in a few more minutes.'
'Speak for yourself!' Evangeline sailed into the living room, stately as a galleon, and trying for as little jarring movement. 'I am ready now.'
We can both do it, of course. It's a legacy from the years of quick-change performances in run-down theatres where the icy chill of the dressing rooms was as motivating as the knowledge that you were due back on stage in forty-five seconds.
'Don't just stand there.' She waved her make-up case at me; she'd put her face on in the taxi. 'Go and get the lift!'
'I'll get my handbag first.' I dived for my room and caught up my bag and coat.
She was in the foyer when I returned and the lift doors were opening. She sailed in and leaned against the opposite wall with her eyes closed, leaving me to push the button for our descent.
I knew better than to speak to her. I concentrated on ignoring her until we reached the ground floor, when she marched out ahead of me, down the steps and into the waiting taxi.
'The Scarlet Swan,' she directed.
We sat there motionless.
'If you please, Eddie,' I said sweetly.
We still sat there.
'We want to go to the Scarlet Swan pub,' Evangeline said between clenched teeth. 'We want to be there for lunch.'
'Are you sure?' Eddie asked.
'Why shouldn't we be?' I asked.
'Well, you know ... it's a Women Only pub.'
'It may have escaped your notice, Eddie,' Evangeline said, 'but we are women.'
'Yes, but – ' He cast about frantically. 'It's in Battersea. It's south of the river.'
'Oh, good.' Evangeline tried sarcasm. That's just where Battersea always used to be. I'm so glad they haven't moved it.'
'But–'
'Drive!' she ordered.
'If you must.' He slipped the cab into gear. 'You'll be asking for the Drill Hall next,' he muttered.
'If they have a good show on, perhaps we will.' Evangeline opened her make-up case with a decisive snap and settled down to recreating her face, thoroughly revived by the altercation.
Eddie lapsed into a disapproving sulk and gave all his attention to the road, managing to bounce us in and out of every pothole between Docklands and the Scarlet Swan.
The first thing I saw was the large placard in the window announcing: AMAZON IN ARMS
'Uh-oh,' I said. 'Evangeline, do you really think – ?'
'Look!' she commanded.
The second thing I saw was Tex gallumphing across the pavement to greet us as old friends.
15
I'd seen worse adaptations of Lysistrata, although perhaps none quite so peculiarly slanted. However, the cast was lively and enthusiastic, the acting ranged from competent to inspired and the audience entered into the spirit of the piece. Also, the performance was mercifully short, since the theory of lunchtime thea
tre is that jaded office workers can drop in and imbibe culture and lunch simultaneously. The theory seemed to work well; the performance had been crowded and the atmosphere friendly and relaxed, with everyone having a good time. I'd had a good time myself. I realized abruptly that this was the first show we'd seen in ages that hadn't had one or several of the men from the Open and Shut Club in its audience. It was rather refreshing.
The fact that we were recognized and treated like royalty had done nothing to lessen our enjoyment, of course, and Lucy and Nova had basked in our reflected glory. We sat at a long trestle table facing the stage and feasted on a hearty vegetable soup and freshly baked wholemeal rolls with lashings of unsalted butter while watching the performance. Tex lay beneath the table at our feet and was quite forgiving when nothing more interesting than the occasional crust was tossed to him. Tex ...
'You really are going to have to give him back, you know.' I tried to impress the fact on Lucy after the performance.
'Oh, but he's so happy here with us.' Lucy tangled one hand in Tex's fur and avoided our eyes. 'Aren't you, Tex?'
'That isn't the point.' How could I get through to her? 'Tex belongs to somebody. His master wants him back. He's a thoroughbred dog, an expensive dog –'
'He sure is,' Nova muttered. 'He eats like a horse.'
'He is Dorsal Finn's dog.' I tried to keep to the point, although I felt that Nova had another good bargaining counter. 'And Dorsal is a dangerous man. He may even be crazy.' I fingered my throat. 'He's paranoid about getting Tex back. You can't just dognap somebody else's animal.'
'Animals have rights, too,' Lucy muttered.
Thump-thump-thump. The tail hit the floor beside my feet. Tex agreed with her.
'You could get in serious trouble over this,' I said severely. Evangeline nodded agreement.
Lucy pouted and bent over to rub her forehead against Tex's. 'You'd rather be with me, wouldn't you, lovey?'
Thump-thump-thump.
'It's only a matter of time' – I spoke over her head to Nova – 'until Dorsal goes to the police.' I didn't add that the police were unlikely to be very sympathetic towards an Irishman reporting that he'd lost his Semtex. Even when they'd sorted it out, I doubted that they'd enjoy the joke. Good enough for him, they might think.
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