The Lies of Fair Ladies (43 page)

There was a bus home
in half an hour. The shelters by the post office had all been vandalized, so I
decided to wait under the shopping mall arch. As I trudged wearily down Eld
Lane I heard the plaintive tones of a cornet. "The Emperor Waltz”? I’d
forgotten. Sandy's dance night.

The square was empty,
except for them. It's open to the sky, but for colonnades leading off under the
glass-covered ways I've mentioned. The Old Library's a bookshop now. Glossy
shops with spread windows look out. A young musician from St. Leonard's was
playing solo cornet, the waltz too slow but right for the mood. He was standing
on top of the fountain, water splashing over his feet, over the side of the
ornamental basin. I had to squint to see properly.

Sandy was waltzing in
stately fashion with Mel. The latter was attired as a soldier, original shako
from Waterloo time, all except his spurs authentic. Sandy looked even loonier.
He wore a fantastic silver wig, Carolean tall, with a wide crinoline, an
Isabeau corsage dating from about 1846, quite wrong but, since it was white
satin covered with pearls and glittering cubic zirconias, accuracy was hardly
tonight's theme.

The slowness of the
forlorn cornet's melody irritated me. Then I thought. Oh well, heaven pardons
love's perjuries.

What was I doing
here? Wanting to cadge a lift. The pair waltzed gracefully on. I smiled,
finally laughed, shaking my head. Who knows why this weird pair did this? Or
why any of us ever do anything? Money, love, greed, all motives come nowhere
near the truth. Everybody knows nothing.

"Sandy," I
tried for the hell of it. "Lend us the fare."

"Loser!" he
spat without pausing. "You almost ruined the dolloper. Idiot!"

"To save
Connie," I explained.

"With
her
dress sense?"

They danced on. Well,
I had to laugh. I was still falling about twenty minutes later at the bus stop.
I don't carry a watch, so have to rely on the town's wayward clocks. I was just
beginning to wonder if the last bus had been canceled when a car drew up.

"Lovejoy?"
A girl's voice.

"I'm busy."
Add exhausted. Had enough.

"Get in, you
proud fool you." Sarcasm's the one thing I can take on the chin. I stepped
inside, sat with my eyes closed. "I was going to take you to supper, as a
reward."

"You don't
understand." The car moved off down North Hill. Homeward, thank God. I
wondered if I’d any margarine. I could find an apple in the garden, fry some
slices. They fill you for about an hour. "The dollop you invested in's
safe, but a dolloper stays inactive for a year after police give chase. It's
the rule. No chance of cashing the antiques in for a twelvemonth, love."

This was where she'd
ditch me, fling me out by the old horse trough by the bridge. She just laughed.

"We women are
right. Men are stupid."

This was a different
car. I opened my eyes. Laura was truly beautiful. Why wasn't she angry? Women
are very particular about gelt. They go berserk when bread goes up a penny a
loaf. I’ve actually seen it happen. Yet she was delighted. Seemingly with me.

"Lend us a note,
love. I’m a bit short at the moment. I’ve some money coming tomorrow ..."

She stopped to buy
hot food from a Chinese place at the Middleborough, three great paper sacks of
the stuff. I almost fainted from the fragrance. I could remember food, but only
just.

We drove to my
cottage. I let her carry the nosh inside. There I fell on it, elbows flying.
She did nothing, simply observed me like a cat smiling at cream. Except the
cream wasn't me. It was something that had happened in town, and very very
recently. In normal times I’d have wondered what. Now, in my state of
dereliction, I was past caring.

During nosh, the
answer phone did its stuff. A familiar husky voice went, "Lovejoy,
darling. It's Veil. Geronimo's on holiday. I'm back. Come soon. Glad it's all
over, with those terrible females—"

Laura blocked my
reach for the phone, tutting rebuke. I fed on. Who pays the piper.

Two hours later, I
managed to stir myself. I noticed she'd locked the door. The curtains were
drawn. I saw her erase the answer phone's messages, saw her curl her legs on
the divan. They do that when they're settling in.

"Thank
you," I said hesitantly. Fine time to remember I couldn't brew up.

"Thank you,
Lovejoy."

Well, you couldn't
blame me for asking. "What for?"

"For having my
parents arrested."

She moved, placed her
mouth on mine. Parents? I'd had nobody arrested. Except Mayor Carstairs. And
maybe his lovely lady mayoress, at the ceremony in town.

"Luna?
Oliver?"

Laura's alacrity in
replacing Oliver when he withdrew came to mind. And her instant payments for
Luna's share . . .

"This means that
Lm your boss, Lovejoy. Right?"

"Look, Laura. I
didn't know you were, er, her when, er, when we . . ."

"Get them off,
Lovejoy." She reached for me. "Lola's their pet name. They try to
keep me a baby. And I'm not."

"Laura." I
tried to back away. "My side's all strapped up. This bird knifed me. I
stink of ether and them yellow chemicals—"

She laughed.
"You mean be gentle?" She was falling about.

The door pounded,
almost falling in.

"Lovejoy? Come
right out this minute!"

"Christ! It's
Luna!" I'd rather be back in the rain waiting for the bus. "Your
mother!"

"Marvelous!"
Laura cooed, pinning me down. I was so weak I just lay there. "Never
underestimate the hatred within families, Lovejoy. Or the ecstasy that comes
from assuaging it."

"Laura. Look,
love," I tried. "She'll bring the police—"

"There!"
She was laughing breathlessly as the hammering continued and I started to be
breathless too. "Not so fatigued, are we, darling?" I knew how George
the Fourth felt, sprawling helpless in his new queen's bridal chamber. At least
he was drunk. "Laura ..."

"Lovejoy!"
Luna frantically tried the windows, the door. I could hear her knocking on the
glass. "I know you're in there!"

"See,
Lovejoy?" Laura was moving over me. I was enveloped, entering paradise,
bliss blind. "Mummy knows you can get her off all charges by refusing to
give evidence. But you will give it, darling, won't you? Condemn her, Lovejoy.
Just a little. Say yes!"

"Ooooh." I
hardly knew what she was on about. Or cared. I was in that helpless phase. All
a bloke wants from a bird is everything. Surely everything isn't too much to
ask?

"Say yes.
Promise me, Lovejoy." She started to move off me as threat. "You'll
give evidence against her?"

I clasped her close,
yelled, "Yes!" surrendering in a gush of true honest perfect romantic
love or something. It's a woman's world, and that's not my fault. "Oh,
yes, love. Anything you say."

Ecstasy blotted out
the entire world to a sound of distant thunder outside on my door.