Sextet by Sally Beauman

Author:Sally Beauman [Beauman, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4477-5
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-08-20T00:35:00+00:00

XI

‘NOT A NICE PLACE, that labyrinth,’ Markov was saying to Lindsay, at 9.23 the same morning. ‘All those sacrifices, Lindy. A definite reek of blood and bone. Even I could sense it, and Jippy didn’t like it at all…’

Not for the first time in her life, Lindsay cursed Markov’s addiction to the telephone. Since 8.55, the entire world had decided to call her. First it had been Pixie; then, on the dot of nine, Gini Lamartine, wanting to cancel Thanksgiving in Washington (‘I’ll call you back,’ Lindsay had cried); next, Max had called and received very short shrift. There was then two minutes of agonizing silence, before the next caller proved to be that mumbling person from Lulu Sabatier’s office, wanting to speak to Ms Drummond urgently.

‘She’s dead,’ Lindsay cried. ‘She died suddenly. Go away.’

At 9.15, it had been Markov. Lindsay had already had four minutes on the subject of the lunch he and Jippy had just finished—retsina and moussaka; delicious, but Jippy had no appetite at all—and four minutes on the palace of Knossos; she did not intend to have any more.

‘Markov,’ she interrupted, ‘will you get off this line? I’m not interested in minotaurs. I told you, I’m waiting for a very important call.’

‘You’re insensitive, you know that, Lindy?’ Markov yawned. ‘Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, darling, this is your friend calling you from the other side of the world. How’s Gotham City? Whose call?’

‘I’m hanging up, Markov. I’m hanging up in twenty seconds…’

‘Tell me, Lindy, just to set my heart at rest, sweetling—this call wouldn’t be from a certain Rowland McGuire, would it? You remember him? The answer to every maiden’s prayer? Otherwise known as Mr Blind, Mr Unobtainable and Mr Conspicuously Bad News?’

‘No, it damn well isn’t. It’s—it’s work, that’s all. Go away, Markov. Ten seconds and counting…’

‘Jippy wants a word.’

Jippy might have wanted a word, but as usual he had difficulty in pronouncing it. Desperate now, Lindsay stared at the hands of her bedside clock; she could hang up on Markov without compunction, but not Jippy—that would be too cruel. She listened to Jippy fight sounds; she saw his gentle, steady, brown-eyed gaze, that expression of dog-like fidelity; she remembered the last time she had spoken to him and felt the brush of unease. It took Jippy one and a half minutes to utter a sound.

‘H-h-hell,’ he said finally. Lindsay waited for the last ‘o’ of the greeting; it never came.

‘Sorry about that.’ After a pause, Markov came back on line. ‘I told you, Jippy’s upset. He’s picking up some baad vibrations here…’

‘Where?’ Lindsay asked, jolted by Jippy’s truncated greeting and giving a small shiver. ‘Where? In Knossos? In Crete, you mean?’

‘Kind of.’ There was a pause; some whispering. ‘Anyway, he sends love. He says, take care.’

‘Listen Markov, I send you both my love too, but I’m hanging up, I have to—’

‘No problems. We’ll see you soon anyway. Back for Thanksgiving in Gotham City, that’s the plan. I might go for a swim now.

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