was now mauling Rich’s duvet. Amiss made a face at her and withdrew.
‘You know what I’m hoping for, Ellis.’
‘Tell me.’
‘That Ned and Wally both had straightforward accidents. I don’t want to find out that Rich is a murderer.’
‘You’re very sentimental really, aren’t you?’
‘Incorrigibly. I like to believe in true love, and I decline to believe that anyone who didn’t love Ned would take on that unspeakable cat.’
‘I’m afraid that for the moment everyone has to be presumed guilty until proved innocent. So carry on snooping.’
Amiss sighed and took another gulp of black coffee. ‘Oh, all right. When do we speak next?’
‘Well, with luck I’ll have the PM result unofficially by this afternoon. I’ll ring you at work, shall I?’
‘Please. Ask whoever answers to call me out of class.’
‘And who shall I pretend to be?’
‘My tailor, of course. Who else?’
----
14
« ^ »
The nightmare commenced at eleven, just at the moment when Amiss and Gavs were supposed to avert a human log jam round the coffee machine by shepherding their groups back to the classrooms. Amiss, idly chatting to Gunther, was on his way to the stairs when Jenn called.
‘Someone here to see you from the police.’
Amiss’s mind filled with sensations of fear and guilt. ‘Me? Surely there’s some mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ said the WPC as she entered the room. ‘You’re Mr Amiss, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Amiss realised unhappily that neither colleagues nor punters showed any signs of leaving him in privacy for his interview.
‘And you live at Lothair Mansions near Victoria?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’ve been burgled.’
Amiss felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His loved ones were alive; he hadn’t been unmasked. ‘Oh, really. Is that all? Well thanks very much for coming along to tell me about it.’
Several of the bystanders looked bewildered, feeling that roars of pain and outrage would be a more suitable reaction. Even the WPC seemed slightly nettled. ‘I’m afraid it’s rather serious, Mr Amiss. Whoever it was threw paint all over your clothes. I’m afraid they’re ruined.’
Poor old Pooley, thought Amiss. Plutarch had certainly set a trend. He wondered vaguely how the problem of ownership could be sorted out with the insurance companies. ‘Well, thanks again. No doubt you’ll want me to come down to the station tomorrow morning.’
‘No, Mr Amiss. I want you on your knees… now!’ She pulled off her cap, and began rapidly to remove her tunic. Oh, no, prayed Amiss. Don’t let this be happening to me. Not a Stripagram.
He stood motionless as her clothes continued to come off and the students clapped and cheered. By now they had been joined by the other two groups: every eye in the room was riveted on Amiss and his tormentor.
‘Come on, Bob, don’t be a spoilsport.’ By now she was down to her underwear and was pointing to an envelope tucked into her garter. ‘On your knees, Bobby boy. Fetch it with your teeth, there’s a good Bobby.’
By now Amiss knew there was no escape. He had to do this or jack in his job. Fuck it, he thought. Give the punters what they want. He sank to his knees as gracefully as he could, leaned forward, and to tumultuous applause plucked the envelope from her garter with his teeth.
‘Good boy. Stay. Now gimme.’ He pushed his head towards her to proffer his trophy. ‘OK, Bobby. That was very good. Come on, everyone. Give him a clap.’
This time the clapping was interspersed with cheers. Amiss could distinguish the raucous ‘Hoorays’ from Ahmed. ‘Now up you get and I’ll read you your poem.’ This was a more difficult manoeuvre, but through grim determination Amiss managed it with only the slightest tremor. He stood beside her grinning gamely.
‘Wait everybody. Where’s the champagne?’
On cue, Jenn produced three magnums of champagne from beneath the table. She, Gavs and Cath opened them
‘You know what I’m hoping for, Ellis.’
‘Tell me.’
‘That Ned and Wally both had straightforward accidents. I don’t want to find out that Rich is a murderer.’
‘You’re very sentimental really, aren’t you?’
‘Incorrigibly. I like to believe in true love, and I decline to believe that anyone who didn’t love Ned would take on that unspeakable cat.’
‘I’m afraid that for the moment everyone has to be presumed guilty until proved innocent. So carry on snooping.’
Amiss sighed and took another gulp of black coffee. ‘Oh, all right. When do we speak next?’
‘Well, with luck I’ll have the PM result unofficially by this afternoon. I’ll ring you at work, shall I?’
‘Please. Ask whoever answers to call me out of class.’
‘And who shall I pretend to be?’
‘My tailor, of course. Who else?’
----
14
« ^ »
The nightmare commenced at eleven, just at the moment when Amiss and Gavs were supposed to avert a human log jam round the coffee machine by shepherding their groups back to the classrooms. Amiss, idly chatting to Gunther, was on his way to the stairs when Jenn called.
‘Someone here to see you from the police.’
Amiss’s mind filled with sensations of fear and guilt. ‘Me? Surely there’s some mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ said the WPC as she entered the room. ‘You’re Mr Amiss, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Amiss realised unhappily that neither colleagues nor punters showed any signs of leaving him in privacy for his interview.
‘And you live at Lothair Mansions near Victoria?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’ve been burgled.’
Amiss felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His loved ones were alive; he hadn’t been unmasked. ‘Oh, really. Is that all? Well thanks very much for coming along to tell me about it.’
Several of the bystanders looked bewildered, feeling that roars of pain and outrage would be a more suitable reaction. Even the WPC seemed slightly nettled. ‘I’m afraid it’s rather serious, Mr Amiss. Whoever it was threw paint all over your clothes. I’m afraid they’re ruined.’
Poor old Pooley, thought Amiss. Plutarch had certainly set a trend. He wondered vaguely how the problem of ownership could be sorted out with the insurance companies. ‘Well, thanks again. No doubt you’ll want me to come down to the station tomorrow morning.’
‘No, Mr Amiss. I want you on your knees… now!’ She pulled off her cap, and began rapidly to remove her tunic. Oh, no, prayed Amiss. Don’t let this be happening to me. Not a Stripagram.
He stood motionless as her clothes continued to come off and the students clapped and cheered. By now they had been joined by the other two groups: every eye in the room was riveted on Amiss and his tormentor.
‘Come on, Bob, don’t be a spoilsport.’ By now she was down to her underwear and was pointing to an envelope tucked into her garter. ‘On your knees, Bobby boy. Fetch it with your teeth, there’s a good Bobby.’
By now Amiss knew there was no escape. He had to do this or jack in his job. Fuck it, he thought. Give the punters what they want. He sank to his knees as gracefully as he could, leaned forward, and to tumultuous applause plucked the envelope from her garter with his teeth.
‘Good boy. Stay. Now gimme.’ He pushed his head towards her to proffer his trophy. ‘OK, Bobby. That was very good. Come on, everyone. Give him a clap.’
This time the clapping was interspersed with cheers. Amiss could distinguish the raucous ‘Hoorays’ from Ahmed. ‘Now up you get and I’ll read you your poem.’ This was a more difficult manoeuvre, but through grim determination Amiss managed it with only the slightest tremor. He stood beside her grinning gamely.
‘Wait everybody. Where’s the champagne?’
On cue, Jenn produced three magnums of champagne from beneath the table. She, Gavs and Cath opened them
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