Spend Game by Jonathan Gash Read Free Book Online Page B

Chris.’
    I was ready to begin a brief enjoyable heckle, to take my mind off worrying, when Helen said the words which changed everything and caused people to start dying all over the bloody place. And none of it was my fault, honest. Not any part of it. I’ll swear to that. Hand on my heart, if ever I find it.
    ‘Lovejoy,’ Helen said in my ear.
    ‘Your Norman mints are cheaper an London,’ I was saying cheerfully, hoping to nark Chris.
    ‘Lovejoy. I’ve a message.’ Helen.
    ‘Mine are finer,’ Chris shot back, successfully narked, to my delight.
    ‘
Lovejoy.
’ Helen pulled me away an inch. ‘I said I’ve a message for you.’
    I let Chris off the hook a second, still smiling. ‘Who from, love?’ Helen put her lovely mouth against my ear to whisper. ‘From Leckie,’ she said.
    ‘Who?’ My face tightened. I felt my scalp prickle and could swear the room turned full circle.
    ‘I tried to give it to you last night.’
    Cain Cooper saw us talking and deliberately barged us apart, his idea of fun. He’s a big puppy, all action and no sense.
    ‘Stop that, you two,’ he yelled. General laughter, with people looking our way and nudging and grinning. ‘Lovejoy’s at it again, folks.’
    I managed a grin, with some effort. I was damned near fainting.
    ‘Don’t mind Cain,’ I told Helen loudly. ‘It’s time for his tablet.’ More laughs as I pulled Helen aside. Nobody more casual than Lovejoy, as Cain returned to his collection of paintings – some even genuine – and we drifted over to see Alfred Duggins, commercial as ever under his bowler.
    ‘I’ve some good prints, Lovejoy.’
    ‘Lend me one, then, Alf.’ Keeping up the wisecracks was giving me a headache. The room seemed suddenly unbearable, stifling. A message from Leckie, when Leckie’s dead?
    ‘Let’s get out of here, Helen.’
    ‘I tried to phone you all evening.’
    ‘I’d gone to earth.’
    Jill bore down on us with her poodle outstretched like a figurehead. It licked me while she tried to interest me in some loose portabilia.
    ‘See you in the bar in ten minutes,’ I lied, shamming interest in the set of household gadgetry. Women used to carry them around the house in a small handbag.
    ‘Lovejoy, you’re an angel,’ she carolled. ‘Take good care of him, Helen. Come along, Charles.’
    Charles looked knackered. He’s one of the vannies. He trailed her back into ihe smoky oblivion while Helen and I slipped out. Jean Plunkett was still being propositioned by Big Frank from Suffolk in the foyer. We passed them just as Black Fergus arrived, complete with the luscious bird, with a thin cadaverous bloke in tow, incongruous in a bright check suit. I’d seen him before somewhere. Helen and I got out of their way by stepping aside to examine the books. They always set up a bookstall in the downstairs lobby, new collectors’ publications and suchlike. Fergus passed us like a carnival and added to the hullabaloo inside. The blonde woman now had an elderly Wedgwood cameo, her scarab earrings presumably back in the family vault. Her eyes had flicked at me, again with that same startled air, before she gave Helen a cool once-over, the typical critical hatred of any two women passing each other. Women don’t like other women. Ever noticed that? When we got outside Helen still had her lips thinned out, recovering from having given the blonde tit for tat.
    We crossed the road, dicing with death among the traffic. I bought two ice creams at the entrance to Castle Park, Helen laughing and shaking her head. ‘You’re like a big kid.’
    ‘Here.’ I collared a spot on the low wall near the rose garden. People were milling here and there.
    ‘This is hardly my scene, Lovejoy.’ She examined the wall distastefully. I can’t see what’s wrong with sitting on a wall.
    ‘Don’t muck about, love.’ Women get me down when they go all frosty. ‘The message.’
    ‘Couldn’t we go into the Volunteer?’ There was a bonny breeze blowing,