Last Reminder dcp-4
Page 27
‘So Joey was in the bathroom with poor Lisa?’
‘That’s right. They were inseparable.’
‘In a way, I suppose he did, bless him.’
‘Did what?’
‘Mark K. Tom for life.’
I folded the menu, being careful not to swipe everything off the table, and gazed across at her. She looked sad. I wanted to hold her hand, but she was too far away.
‘I’ve decided,’ I announced. ‘It’s either the flamingo’s kneecaps, on a bed of lily petals in a cage of baby asparagus stems, or — wait for it — the Beef Wellington.’
‘I knew you would have the beef,’ Annabelle declared.
‘Am I so depressingly predictable?’
‘Not at all. It’s probably the best thing they do. I think I will have the salmon. So how much gold did you recover?’
‘Just the one bar, unless Sparky concealed half a dozen in his car boot.’
‘Good gracious. Where did it all go?’
I shook my head. ‘No idea. Somewhere on the Continent, we presume, concealed inside K. Tom’s bullbar. We think that part of the deal was that he deliver the gold over there, to work off his debts to Michael Angelo Watts.’
‘Because of the diamonds failure?’
‘That’s right. And for madam’s starter?’
‘Umm, the duck pate, I think. Yes, the duck pate.’
‘Ah!’ I exclaimed.
‘Ah? Why “Ah”?’
‘Oh, er, nothing. A wise choice if I might say so.’ I reached across and she gave me her menu. The waiter ceased to hover and went into a dive, pulling out alongside me with inches to spare. When he’d gone, taking our orders to the kitchen and the menus back to their air-conditioned vault in the Bodleian, Annabelle repeated, ‘Why “Ah”? What do you know about the duck pate?’
I sighed and unfolded my napkin, draping it over my knees like a travel rug. ‘I’d, er, rather not say,’ I told her.
‘Now you are being infuriating, Charles,’ she insisted, in her pretend-school-ma’am voice.
‘Well, this involves my eating humble pie, and it will ruin my appetite.’
‘Gosh. The great detective having to admit he was wrong. Tell me all about it.’
I took a sip of wine. ‘This is nice,’ I said, turning the glass in my fingers.
‘Tell me!’
‘OK! OK! We, er, caught someone for killing the swans in the park.’
A smile crept over her face. ‘You mean — poor Donald is no longer a suspect. What’s the phrase? He’s not…in the frame, any more?’
I pulled my best grimace. ‘For the time being,’ I growled, ‘but I’ll have him, one day.’
‘You can’t win ’em all, Charlie boy,’ Annabelle smirked, tipping me a wink. The waiter returned to give us the appropriate cutlery.
‘It’s a sad story,’ I told her. ‘Young man, only twenty-one. Lots of problems, into drugs and anything else he could find or steal, probably schizophrenic. Another one let down by the care in the community system. I actually arrested him, later that day, but we never thought to associate him with the swans.’
‘Poor chap. What had he done?’
‘Tried to break into a flat. He was up a ladder, threatening to throw a dog down. I managed to talk him out of it.’
‘Donald wouldn’t do anything like that,’ Annabelle assured me.
‘No. Maybe I owe him an apology. No I don’t. What am I saying? He comes and digs your garden, has morning coffee with you, and I’m jealous. I’ll get him, one day.’
‘That reminds me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am the one you owe an apology. Thanks to you, Donald now charges me four pounds an hour. He says you told him to!’
‘He’s worth every penny,’ I countered. ‘You were exploiting him.’
The first courses arrived, arranged on the plates to look like something knocked up by Paul Klee. I was selecting the correct implements when a thought occurred. ‘Wait a minute,’ I said, ‘wait a minute.’
Annabelle looked up from her work of art.
‘This money you pay Donald,’ I continued. ‘I don’t suppose you know if he declares it to the Inland Revenue, do you?’
Annabelle placed her knife and fork back on the table.
‘Oh, Charles,’ she giggled. ‘You are impossible,’ and her nose wrinkled the way it does when the happiness takes over, and any hunger I had for food went flying right out of the window.
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Document creation date: 11.08.2012
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