The Rich and the Profane by Jonathan Gash

Author:Jonathan Gash [Gash, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9780670883462
Google: 90uUPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0670883468
Publisher: Viking
Published: 1999-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

16

Hello? can I please speak with Florida?’

‘Who wants her?’ the bloke asked.

‘Bert Postlethwaite, her horse trainer,’ I snapped, really narked. Try to help people, all you get is aggro. ‘Hurry, please. Her horse Benjamin has got distemper.’

Silence. ‘I thought only dogs got distemper.’

See? ‘It’s terminal, tell her.’

He clonked the receiver down, grumbling. ‘Some lunatic, Florida. If it’s that barmy antique dealer—’

‘Hello? Mr Postlethwaite, is it?’

‘Yes.’ I heard her stifle a laugh. I’m usually Lieutenant Carruthers of the Dragoons when I ring her, but her husband long since sussed that. ‘Look, love. I need gelt—’ ‘Wait a moment, please, Mr Postlethwaite. I’ll get a pencil.’ A door clicked, and she returned, breathy. ‘Lovejoy. What the hell are you playing at? The police took off after you through the woods ...’

The phone ate my borrowed zlotniks.

‘Listen, dwoorlink, I rang you because I’m daft about you, and want to know how to organize a gambling game.’

‘Darling,’ she said, all misty. ‘You’re a swine.’ Then, sharply, ‘Gambling? You, Lovejoy?’

‘Sort of,’ I said. ‘It was you gave me the idea. That conversation in Franco’s restaurant, remember? And we are partners, after all. There’s lots of real sordid risk, dwoor-link,’ I ended in a burst of genius.

She said thickly, ‘Real sordid risk, Lovejoy? Can I bring a friend?’

‘Be my guest,’ I invited grandly. ‘Only, I can’t quite work the odds out. It’s not horses. I need a few quid to set it up. Could you advance me—?’

Click. Purr. I cut the phone in the nick of time. I winked at Gussy, waiting with me. Walt Jethou was at the kerb on his machine.

‘Ready, steady, go!’ I cracked, smiling. ‘Can we all get on that thing?’

‘No, Lovejoy,’ Gussy said. She’d added more make-up, looked nineteenth century in her vast flowered hat and lace gloves. ‘I’ll phone for a car.’

Which arrived ten minutes later, and off we drove to the abode of a middle-aged couple.

The bungalow was what I’d call average. The antique dealers Meg and Joe Carriere, had converted their parlour into a small showroom. They were nervous, treating Gussy warily as some madwoman. Meg definitely saw Walt Jethou as somebody to avoid, all but asking him to wait outside. I began to wonder if I should have thought twice before teaming up with this rum couple, but by then we were indoors and I had to brazen it out.

‘I ran into Mr Jethou at the harbour.’ I was calm and proper. ‘He overheard me asking the way to the nearest antique dealer, and offered to put me in touch with you. Good of you to let me call.’

Meg said eagerly, ‘What are you interested in, Mr, er ... ?’

‘Lovejoy,’ I told her. In for a penny. ‘Any antique. I’m doing a sweep of the Channel Isles. After this, Winchester, then Cornwall and Dorset. Only limited funds, mind you—’ ‘Of course!’ Meg cried quickly. ‘You’ve a spending limit!’ ‘As long as the antiques are right,’ I finished for her. Antique dealers always chant this litany. Politeness, before a joust to the death.

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