the little streets of the town.
This time Janey hustled me on, and I didn’t have time to stop at the little shops that could be closed over entirely by shutting two unpainted doors, or at the walls studded with blue and yellow repro Majolica, or at the snazzy boutiques with shifts hanging out on a pole. If you looked up, above all the shoe shops and tiled farmacias, you saw the high living quarters: the balconies hanging with washing – clothes, sheets, embroidery under a polythene cover – the plastic pails, the geraniums. It was blazing hot. The walls were covered with monster thermometers, all hopelessly registering centigrade. I had on a little striped dress with long sleeves, and it felt about ninety already. Janey took off her jacket. She had a matching sleeveless tucked shirt underneath and a blonde crocodile belt.
I got some fruit, some groceries, and some of that ham with sliced olives in it, and a stack of Fantas in two flavours for Derek, while Janey swanned around being gorgeous to shop boys and then catching my eye when they did something silly. We’d got from there to the main market, and I was having a fearful discussion about some big red and green tomatoes, when this hired car came zooming round from the Calle Antonio Palau, and in it was Derek.
He hadn’t noticed us. Janey was quicker than I was. She flung a tomato into the taxi, and it stopped dead with a screeching of brakes. A donkey bolted, and thousands of people quite quickly appeared, as the driver got out. Janey stepped up to him, said six words or so, and gave him a dazzling smile. He stopped boning and began to smile back. So did the crowd, with a few oles thrown in. I paid for the tomato. Derek, roused at last from whatever early- morning trance he’d been in, put his head out of the window and saw me. ‘Sarah!’
His eyes were bloodshot. I must say he looked pretty foul. Then his gaze travelled round to the right. ‘Miss Lloyd!’
Then Janey smiled, and I got it. The fresh material had not only arrived: it had been sent for.
He wanted to book in at the Mediterranea, but that was overruled. There was no sense in inviting Johnson’s attentions. He must, said Janey, stay at Casa Venets, with me. He objected quite a lot, actually, but I put most of it down to having to come by night flight: Derek is a very slow starter in the morning. It also turned out that he was seething about being nicked away from his precious experiments, particularly as we both seemed so healthy. I let Janey explain.
It was a line we had thought up that morning, about nasty rumours going around concerning Daddy and his reason for suicide and my anxiety to clear his good name. On the spur of the moment, thinking doubtless of Coco, Janey threw in a bit about Daddy’s name being linked with a woman’s. It sounded more feasible actually, considering the name he already had among the discerning as a high-grade sponger and drunk.
In the middle of it, Janey said casually: ‘Sarah wondered if Lord Forsey let anything slip to you just before he was found. The time when you came over.’
‘When?’ said Derek. ‘That was after Father died.’ When he hasn’t shaved, Derek looks awful.
‘No, before that,’ I said. ‘The other time. Did he say anything to you then?’
‘The other time?’ said Derek. Fluently.
I got fed up.
‘Listen, live wire,’ I said. ‘You were seen in Ibiza on Friday, the day before Daddy died. What were you doing here? If you saw Daddy, what did he say to you?’
His eyeballs rattled. I swear it, like a computer selecting its programmes. He said: ‘Oh, that. Now I see what this is all about. Yes, I was in Ibiza. For one day, that’s all. I was back in Holland by lunchtime on Saturday. And Father didn’t tell me anything, Sarah, that had any bearing on his suicide, so you can forget that side altogether. As far as the other thing goes, we discussed something which is absolutely personal, and I don’t want to talk about it.
This time Janey hustled me on, and I didn’t have time to stop at the little shops that could be closed over entirely by shutting two unpainted doors, or at the walls studded with blue and yellow repro Majolica, or at the snazzy boutiques with shifts hanging out on a pole. If you looked up, above all the shoe shops and tiled farmacias, you saw the high living quarters: the balconies hanging with washing – clothes, sheets, embroidery under a polythene cover – the plastic pails, the geraniums. It was blazing hot. The walls were covered with monster thermometers, all hopelessly registering centigrade. I had on a little striped dress with long sleeves, and it felt about ninety already. Janey took off her jacket. She had a matching sleeveless tucked shirt underneath and a blonde crocodile belt.
I got some fruit, some groceries, and some of that ham with sliced olives in it, and a stack of Fantas in two flavours for Derek, while Janey swanned around being gorgeous to shop boys and then catching my eye when they did something silly. We’d got from there to the main market, and I was having a fearful discussion about some big red and green tomatoes, when this hired car came zooming round from the Calle Antonio Palau, and in it was Derek.
He hadn’t noticed us. Janey was quicker than I was. She flung a tomato into the taxi, and it stopped dead with a screeching of brakes. A donkey bolted, and thousands of people quite quickly appeared, as the driver got out. Janey stepped up to him, said six words or so, and gave him a dazzling smile. He stopped boning and began to smile back. So did the crowd, with a few oles thrown in. I paid for the tomato. Derek, roused at last from whatever early- morning trance he’d been in, put his head out of the window and saw me. ‘Sarah!’
His eyes were bloodshot. I must say he looked pretty foul. Then his gaze travelled round to the right. ‘Miss Lloyd!’
Then Janey smiled, and I got it. The fresh material had not only arrived: it had been sent for.
He wanted to book in at the Mediterranea, but that was overruled. There was no sense in inviting Johnson’s attentions. He must, said Janey, stay at Casa Venets, with me. He objected quite a lot, actually, but I put most of it down to having to come by night flight: Derek is a very slow starter in the morning. It also turned out that he was seething about being nicked away from his precious experiments, particularly as we both seemed so healthy. I let Janey explain.
It was a line we had thought up that morning, about nasty rumours going around concerning Daddy and his reason for suicide and my anxiety to clear his good name. On the spur of the moment, thinking doubtless of Coco, Janey threw in a bit about Daddy’s name being linked with a woman’s. It sounded more feasible actually, considering the name he already had among the discerning as a high-grade sponger and drunk.
In the middle of it, Janey said casually: ‘Sarah wondered if Lord Forsey let anything slip to you just before he was found. The time when you came over.’
‘When?’ said Derek. ‘That was after Father died.’ When he hasn’t shaved, Derek looks awful.
‘No, before that,’ I said. ‘The other time. Did he say anything to you then?’
‘The other time?’ said Derek. Fluently.
I got fed up.
‘Listen, live wire,’ I said. ‘You were seen in Ibiza on Friday, the day before Daddy died. What were you doing here? If you saw Daddy, what did he say to you?’
His eyeballs rattled. I swear it, like a computer selecting its programmes. He said: ‘Oh, that. Now I see what this is all about. Yes, I was in Ibiza. For one day, that’s all. I was back in Holland by lunchtime on Saturday. And Father didn’t tell me anything, Sarah, that had any bearing on his suicide, so you can forget that side altogether. As far as the other thing goes, we discussed something which is absolutely personal, and I don’t want to talk about it.
Similar Books
