Dr. Yes by Colin Bateman Read Free Book Online

career of Leonard and the
television work of Pelecanos, and to my explanation - but not justification,
definitely not justification - for the Greene. The master himself might have
dismissed Our Man as merely an entertainment, but sometimes authors can
be too close to their works. In my humble opinion, it is a much better novel
than any of his 'worthies'. I was on top form; she could have listened to me
all day, I'm sure, but I was there for a reason. She handed over twenty pounds
for the books. I waited while she rifled her handbag for the additional fifteen
pence. Once that business was satisfactorily completed, I moved on to the
equally pressing reason for my having lured her into my home from home in the
first place.
        I
said, 'I can't believe you've been in the shop before. I'm sure I would have
remembered you.'
        'Most
times there's an older woman working there? To tell you the truth, she was a
bit scary. I never stayed long.'
        'That
would be Mother. She's no longer with us.'
        'You
mean she's . . . passed on?'
        'Not
yet. As the Stranglers used to sing, she's "Hanging Around". She's in
a home for the very, very annoying. Actually, though, we do have someone in
common.'
        'Really?
Who?'
        'Name
of Augustine W—'
        'Wogan!
Oh God, how do you know . . . ?' She tutted. 'Of course! How silly of me. He's
a crime writer. Though I've never read one of his books, and now I'm quite sure
I never want to. What a pain in the neck!'
        'He
is, isn't he? And he's currently eating me out of house and home.'
        'He's
not! Oh, how awful! How did that happen?'
        'Well
he came into the shop all ranting and raving, and I kind of felt sorry for him.
I'm sure you've gathered how passionate I am about crime fiction, and he is a
bit of a legend, so I thought I'd do the old guy a favour seeing as how he was
so distressed and had nowhere else to put his head down. Tell you the truth, I
wish I'd never bothered.'
        'Oh,
I don't envy you. I mean, yes, poor man, but honestly, the trouble he's caused!
He's been scaring our customers away and I've had to phone every pizza company
in Belfast and tell them to stop delivering to us because we haven't ordered
any. He's a menace.'
        'He's
convinced his wife
        'I
know! But what does he think we've done with her, buried her under the patio?
Honestly! She's a perfectly nice woman, she had her procedures, everything went
like clockwork and she looked wonderful. Tell you the God's truth, after being
pampered for a few weeks, the prospect of returning to him would put me
on the first plane to South America as well!'
        'You
think that's where she is?'
        'I've
no idea. Though I have to say, there's a lot of sitting around recovering in
what we do, and I couldn't help but notice that Arabella - lovely name, don't
you think? - was reading a teach-yourself-Portuguese book. Now, what do you
think, is that a clue? Brazil, maybe?'
        'Or
Angola. Or Cape Verde. Or Guinea-Bissau. Or Mozambique. Or Macau. Or East
Timor.'
        She
blinked at me for a little bit, and then said, 'Or Portugal.'
        And I
said, 'Oh shit,' without really meaning to, because I happened to have glanced
up, and there at the counter, just taking delivery of two frappuccinos, one of
them undoubtedly for me, was Alison; and in that instant she looked round, and
spotted me, and was halfway towards a smile when she realised I wasn't alone.
The staggering beauty of the woman I was with seemed to strike her like a
metaphorical brick to the face. The humour drained out of her and she just
looked shocked and mortified in the same breath, neither of which stopped her
from crossing the couple of metres to our table. My mouth dropped open as she
glared at me, and I vaguely pointed at Pearl and mumbled something like,
'Alison ... I wasn't . . . this isn't. . . this is Pearl. . .', and it must
have made some sort of sense, because she