The Lies of Fair Ladies by Jonathan Gash Read Free Book Online

lips.
    Even tight lips aren't fair in these circumstances. I mean, tight
lips make you think of loosening them, and what with.
    “That rich bitch Mrs. Vervain left your scene, Lovejoy?''
    ''Who?'' I never blab. It's the road to dusty death.
    Veil nodded slowly, her smile returning. I screwed up the empty
newspapers. Actually, this was another fluke. Because if Veil wouldn't disclose
what Acker Kirwin was up to, maybe she would if I stayed a while? But I could
only come, so to speak, when Geronimo wasn't here.
    "When do you go?" Like a fool, I asked the snake.
    It flicked its reptilian tongue, dead eyes swiveling my way. Said,
"Soon. What's on your mind?"
    "Nothing," I told it quickly, and smiled weakly at Veil,
who smiled back and handed me the wine, which I took.
    The rest of the evening was uneventful. I got nothing out of Veil
about Acker or Connie, though I tried. I left, backing round the wall as if
pinned in a searchlight, to keep clear of Geronimo. Veil waved bye-bye, her
breasts making me groan with lust as I hopped it. I'd promised to come next
evening for supper. We'd be alone.
     
    Outside in the cool drizzle, the shoe-black night sheened on the
town like polish. I drew breath. A motor swished past, spraying my legs.
Fantle's was shut. The florist's was lit by a single fluorescent strip. Farther
down, the night was lit by an orange sky glow from the town's ring road.
    The bus station's a couple of hundred yards, through a narrow
gateway in the Roman wall. I went along the alley that passes the priory ruins.
    "Is that you, Lovejoy?"
    "Martha?" I couldn't see a damned thing. They've cut
streetlights for efficiency, so we can all break our legs after dusk.
"How's the show?"
    She's a pleasant lass. Acts with the St. Hilda Players. A pleasant
lot on the whole, though each'd kill to get the lead part. Summer performances
in the ruins with floodlights. She has a boutique out in the villages, and a
husband.
    "Fine, thanks. We're doing Titus Andronicus ."
    "Comedy? I'll come."
    She put her arm through mine. We walked along. "Why do you, Lovejoy?
Pretend you're thick. I've seen you, creeping in."
    "I can't afford a ticket. Who can?"
    "Our prices are cheap!" The actress's dictum: It's
proper, charging people to admire me.
    "You're rolling, love. I’ve heard about your new
benefactress. Cassandra Clark, isn't it? You should make the plays free.''
    And suddenly it fell into place. Acker hadn't been coming out of
The Great Marvella's doorway. He'd been ducking in, hoping not to be seen, when
Jeff's car had dropped me off. He hadn't come from the shuttered pawnshop,
Fantle's chippie, the florist's. The only other place was the priory ruins. And
the rehearsal.
    "Just because we've found somebody public-spirited in this
God-forsaken town, Lovejoy! People are unwilling to pay to see a wonderful
show. Yet they watch endless grot on telly—" Et yawnsome cetera.
    “I agree, love," I said.
    Astonishment stopped her tirade. "You do? I knew you approved
of us, really."
    "Cassandra Clark there tonight, was she? Only, I saw Acker
Kirwin take an antique ..."
    "Came briefly." Martha's tones had the reverence
actresses reserve for people who put up money. "Cassandra's wonderful. She
never interferes with the artistic side. A true philanthropist."
    We entered the bus station to the sound of heavenly violins,
Martha waxing eloquent about philanthropy and me thinking there's no such
thing. Waiting for the last bus out to our respective villages, I got a rundown
of those present at rehearsal, and the loan of the fare home. Martha didn't
explain why a lovely rich lady would pour money into shamateur drama in an
ancient ruined priory.
    Bits were adding up. I wished Prammie Joe was on the phone, or
that message bottles flowed from my river directly into his. But it was late.
Countryside frightens me at the best of times, let alone when bats do fly and
trees start watching you. So I didn't go to Prammie's marsh. Wrong again.
    Six
    The day dawned