my bamboo chaise-longue. He was smoking a cigar.
‘My God, Beltanno,’ he said. ‘A virgin for thirty-two years, and then you get laid between the loo and the bidet. Could you not move him out on the landing?’
I gathered up the litter in silence, and draped Johnson’s trousers over one arm. I wondered how much my father had seen and heard: I rather thought nothing.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I could not move him out on the landing. I have the landing to keep for the queue.’
I walked out and took over James Ulric’s bathroom, since I had to wash somewhere. His scales were six pounds under true. I reset them for him.
I slept soundly. Thank you.
FIVE
I went to see Dahlia early next morning. She knew about her boyfriend already but was not unduly upset as she had fallen in love with an Italian croupier on Paradise Island. She admitted cheerfully that she had given her water-tower key to the waiter to be copied: they kept their draughty assignations, I suppose, on the top, and much good it did the poor man. His name was Pentecost.
The only other fact of interest I elicited from her (Quis bene interrogat, bene diagnoscat) was that Pentecost had been one of a family of four brothers from Bullock’s Harbour. And Bullock’s Harbour is the native settlement on Great Harbour Cay.
I meant to tell Johnson when we met at the airport, but there was no time to touch on it. Sir Bartholomew, with his wife in attendance, a little washed out, was ushered into the Twin Otter and I followed as the ambulance drove off, with my overnight case and medical bag in one hand. From the amount of zipped pigskin luggage entering the Otter’s hold, I gathered that Lady Edgecombe didn’t intend to spend all her time at the hospital. She was wearing a beige trouser-suit of some elegance, and even Johnson had smartened up remarkably, in a tropical suit of rather elderly cut and a long suede tie with an unclothed woman neatly affixed to the lining.
I may have been looking at it rather pointedly. At any rate he scanned himself searchingly, as we revved for take-off and said, ‘Do you like it? I have a new skinny body hug, but I thought the clients would worry.’
I lifted up, without speaking, the underside of his tie, and he looked at it with bewilderment. ‘How extraordinary.’ he said. ‘It was a Christmas present from my agent’s secretary, along with a pair of little-league baseball shoes with genuine Nescohyde Vinyl Uppers and Safety Rubber Cleats.’
‘Your agent’s secretary wants watching,’ I said, taking out and handing him my nail-scissors. He removed the lady with care. With, indeed, a regrettable artistry.
The Twin Otter cruises at 8,000 feet and does a comfortable 150 m.p.h. The journey to Miami was less than an hour and we had coffee half-way: ‘The Beautiful People eat a leisurely breakfast. Why shouldn’t you?’ quoted Johnson; and Lady Edgecombe smiled while Sir Bartholomew grimaced weakly. He was looking forward, clearly, neither to his dialysis nor to the prospect of further attempts on his life. I could see the bulge where Johnson’s gun (or his pipe) lay in his pocket. He gave no sign of discomfort from his invisible burns and had already suggested that I forget them.
I did. Like plucks of crabmeat, small fleshy clouds hung over the blue sea below, and ladders of fine cloud streamed past higher up. There are seven hundred islands in the Bahamas, and they lie avocado-coloured in a marbled green and blue sea which shoals to apricot and light apple green as it lifts to the beaches. So white is the sand and so clear is the water that land and sea blend in a thin watered green, and you must stare to see the faint dermatoglyphic patterns which show you fly over water. Off Bimini, speedboats passed over the blue like smoke-tailed rockets crossing the heavens. ‘There’s Miami,’ said Johnson.
And it was the Florida coast. Flat and skeined with sheets of flat water. Groups of skyscrapers white and polished
‘My God, Beltanno,’ he said. ‘A virgin for thirty-two years, and then you get laid between the loo and the bidet. Could you not move him out on the landing?’
I gathered up the litter in silence, and draped Johnson’s trousers over one arm. I wondered how much my father had seen and heard: I rather thought nothing.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I could not move him out on the landing. I have the landing to keep for the queue.’
I walked out and took over James Ulric’s bathroom, since I had to wash somewhere. His scales were six pounds under true. I reset them for him.
I slept soundly. Thank you.
FIVE
I went to see Dahlia early next morning. She knew about her boyfriend already but was not unduly upset as she had fallen in love with an Italian croupier on Paradise Island. She admitted cheerfully that she had given her water-tower key to the waiter to be copied: they kept their draughty assignations, I suppose, on the top, and much good it did the poor man. His name was Pentecost.
The only other fact of interest I elicited from her (Quis bene interrogat, bene diagnoscat) was that Pentecost had been one of a family of four brothers from Bullock’s Harbour. And Bullock’s Harbour is the native settlement on Great Harbour Cay.
I meant to tell Johnson when we met at the airport, but there was no time to touch on it. Sir Bartholomew, with his wife in attendance, a little washed out, was ushered into the Twin Otter and I followed as the ambulance drove off, with my overnight case and medical bag in one hand. From the amount of zipped pigskin luggage entering the Otter’s hold, I gathered that Lady Edgecombe didn’t intend to spend all her time at the hospital. She was wearing a beige trouser-suit of some elegance, and even Johnson had smartened up remarkably, in a tropical suit of rather elderly cut and a long suede tie with an unclothed woman neatly affixed to the lining.
I may have been looking at it rather pointedly. At any rate he scanned himself searchingly, as we revved for take-off and said, ‘Do you like it? I have a new skinny body hug, but I thought the clients would worry.’
I lifted up, without speaking, the underside of his tie, and he looked at it with bewilderment. ‘How extraordinary.’ he said. ‘It was a Christmas present from my agent’s secretary, along with a pair of little-league baseball shoes with genuine Nescohyde Vinyl Uppers and Safety Rubber Cleats.’
‘Your agent’s secretary wants watching,’ I said, taking out and handing him my nail-scissors. He removed the lady with care. With, indeed, a regrettable artistry.
The Twin Otter cruises at 8,000 feet and does a comfortable 150 m.p.h. The journey to Miami was less than an hour and we had coffee half-way: ‘The Beautiful People eat a leisurely breakfast. Why shouldn’t you?’ quoted Johnson; and Lady Edgecombe smiled while Sir Bartholomew grimaced weakly. He was looking forward, clearly, neither to his dialysis nor to the prospect of further attempts on his life. I could see the bulge where Johnson’s gun (or his pipe) lay in his pocket. He gave no sign of discomfort from his invisible burns and had already suggested that I forget them.
I did. Like plucks of crabmeat, small fleshy clouds hung over the blue sea below, and ladders of fine cloud streamed past higher up. There are seven hundred islands in the Bahamas, and they lie avocado-coloured in a marbled green and blue sea which shoals to apricot and light apple green as it lifts to the beaches. So white is the sand and so clear is the water that land and sea blend in a thin watered green, and you must stare to see the faint dermatoglyphic patterns which show you fly over water. Off Bimini, speedboats passed over the blue like smoke-tailed rockets crossing the heavens. ‘There’s Miami,’ said Johnson.
And it was the Florida coast. Flat and skeined with sheets of flat water. Groups of skyscrapers white and polished
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