catch in it. Birds like Maud don’t become instant Sweet Charity for nothing. ‘Well, yes. But I’m a bit short . . .’
‘Your pay for opening the cage,’ she said. There was a pause full of significance. The hall’s only narrow. She came even closer and slowly put her hand round me under my shirt and squeezed with steady insistence.
‘Er, well,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I, er, usually charge, er—’
She lifted my hand on to her breast. Tinker had been right about her. She really was luscious. ‘Which is it, Lovejoy?’ Her voice went into a husky whisper. ‘You can have the cages. Or you can be tonight’s gig. Which?’
Well, I’d already got a motor. A motionless one, but definitely a horseless carriage. ‘The cages.’
She yelped and pushed me back. ‘You bastard !’ I fell over the carpet.
By the time I’d got up she’d stormed off, taking the cages with her. I went to the door and saw Big Frank’s car. It was rolling backwards out of my garden, being followed by Maud’s bubble car, and the penny finally dropped. So that’s a gig, I thought. A gig’s a bloke or a bird, or any combination of the two. Well, well. That seemed the end of Maud and me, and the end of my – well, her – lovely firefly cages. A woman scorned and all that. I shut the door as the phone rang.
‘Lovejoy! Where have you been?’ Helen.
‘Hello, love. Look. Can you come round urgently, please?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ My voice must have sounded odd because she said, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Something for you. Be quick.’
‘What is it?’
‘A gig,’ I said, casually as I could. ‘Oh, love. Can you bring a pasty?’
Chapter 5
You must admit, sometimes women deserve gratitude. Like I mean even with Helen staying I woke sweating and shivering now and then throughout the night.
Next morning she brewed up in the alcove and fetched the cups across. I could feel her looking interrogatively at me, but pretended to be reading Kelly on restoring oil paintings.
‘Lovejoy.’
‘Mmmm?’ I turned a page carelessly but she took the book away to see my face.
‘You spent a terrible night.’ She said it like an accusation, but who the hell has nightmares deliberately? No wonder women peeve you.
I said tut-tut. ‘Did I?’
‘Muttering and threshing all night long.’
I lowered my eyes innocently. ‘I’m not used to having company in bed. Makes me restless.’
She choked laughing and nearly drenched herself in instant coffee. ‘Lovejoy! You’re preposterous!’
I watched her fall about. Women are lovely in the morning, faintly dishevelled but warm and soft. Morning women aren’t half so vicious as the night sort. I always find they’re more fond of me. You can get away with more aftera night’s closeness. Odd, but true. Helen’s no exception. She always wears my threadbare dressing-gown to slop about in. It makes no difference to the allure you feel, just seeing her sit on the edge of the bed lost inside the tattered garment. After rolling in the aisles some more she sobered and asked me about shadows.
‘The one you got up to draw on the wall.’
‘Eh? I did no such thing.’
She pointed to the wall near the mantelpiece. I’d thought she was asleep when I did it. And there was me tiptoeing about like a fool with my torch half the night, which shows how treacherous women are, deep down. She’d been watching all the time.
‘You should have been kipping,’ I said coldly.
Helen was at the pencilled outline, head tilted. ‘What’s it a shadow of, Lovejoy? A leaning castle? A window? A book, end on?’
‘Dunno.’
If she hadn’t been an antique dealer I might have told her what was on my mind. The lines showed the firefly cage’s silhouette almost exactly as I’d cast the shadow last night when Maud called. There’s this old iron grate in my living room with a cornice above and a brass rail about head high. A painting I did years ago of the Roman road at Bradwell hangs nearby.
‘Your pay for opening the cage,’ she said. There was a pause full of significance. The hall’s only narrow. She came even closer and slowly put her hand round me under my shirt and squeezed with steady insistence.
‘Er, well,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I, er, usually charge, er—’
She lifted my hand on to her breast. Tinker had been right about her. She really was luscious. ‘Which is it, Lovejoy?’ Her voice went into a husky whisper. ‘You can have the cages. Or you can be tonight’s gig. Which?’
Well, I’d already got a motor. A motionless one, but definitely a horseless carriage. ‘The cages.’
She yelped and pushed me back. ‘You bastard !’ I fell over the carpet.
By the time I’d got up she’d stormed off, taking the cages with her. I went to the door and saw Big Frank’s car. It was rolling backwards out of my garden, being followed by Maud’s bubble car, and the penny finally dropped. So that’s a gig, I thought. A gig’s a bloke or a bird, or any combination of the two. Well, well. That seemed the end of Maud and me, and the end of my – well, her – lovely firefly cages. A woman scorned and all that. I shut the door as the phone rang.
‘Lovejoy! Where have you been?’ Helen.
‘Hello, love. Look. Can you come round urgently, please?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ My voice must have sounded odd because she said, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Something for you. Be quick.’
‘What is it?’
‘A gig,’ I said, casually as I could. ‘Oh, love. Can you bring a pasty?’
Chapter 5
You must admit, sometimes women deserve gratitude. Like I mean even with Helen staying I woke sweating and shivering now and then throughout the night.
Next morning she brewed up in the alcove and fetched the cups across. I could feel her looking interrogatively at me, but pretended to be reading Kelly on restoring oil paintings.
‘Lovejoy.’
‘Mmmm?’ I turned a page carelessly but she took the book away to see my face.
‘You spent a terrible night.’ She said it like an accusation, but who the hell has nightmares deliberately? No wonder women peeve you.
I said tut-tut. ‘Did I?’
‘Muttering and threshing all night long.’
I lowered my eyes innocently. ‘I’m not used to having company in bed. Makes me restless.’
She choked laughing and nearly drenched herself in instant coffee. ‘Lovejoy! You’re preposterous!’
I watched her fall about. Women are lovely in the morning, faintly dishevelled but warm and soft. Morning women aren’t half so vicious as the night sort. I always find they’re more fond of me. You can get away with more aftera night’s closeness. Odd, but true. Helen’s no exception. She always wears my threadbare dressing-gown to slop about in. It makes no difference to the allure you feel, just seeing her sit on the edge of the bed lost inside the tattered garment. After rolling in the aisles some more she sobered and asked me about shadows.
‘The one you got up to draw on the wall.’
‘Eh? I did no such thing.’
She pointed to the wall near the mantelpiece. I’d thought she was asleep when I did it. And there was me tiptoeing about like a fool with my torch half the night, which shows how treacherous women are, deep down. She’d been watching all the time.
‘You should have been kipping,’ I said coldly.
Helen was at the pencilled outline, head tilted. ‘What’s it a shadow of, Lovejoy? A leaning castle? A window? A book, end on?’
‘Dunno.’
If she hadn’t been an antique dealer I might have told her what was on my mind. The lines showed the firefly cage’s silhouette almost exactly as I’d cast the shadow last night when Maud called. There’s this old iron grate in my living room with a cornice above and a brass rail about head high. A painting I did years ago of the Roman road at Bradwell hangs nearby.
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