"Hmm, Barbie and Scrooge. Probably arguing over the drinks bill. Or maybe the bar staff tried to stick a paper parasol in his Glen Tipplet. Um, incidentally, what is that rock on your finger, Jaybird?"
The Black Widow tutted and I ignored her, stylishly lifting my newly arrived drink in an expansive and theatrical gesture, as if showing the world my magnificent ring.
"Isn't it stunning, sweetie? I just couldn't resist!"
Harry blanched, a forkful of crab cake paused en route to his gaping mouth. He appeared to have lost his appetite.
"Er, how much did you pay for that bauble? Can I pay for lunch or do we have to munch and run?"
I looked coy.
"Oh, I couldn't say. A girl never tells. After all, what price can one place upon true love?"
My husband put his fork down and took a steadying gulp of wine.
"Out with it, Lawrence. I want the facts."
I was just about to confess the truth when our attention was distracted by a minor scuffle in the courtyard. It seemed Miss Swat had slapped the doctor's face. Well, well. A lovers" tiff? Seemed highly unlikely. She kept gesturing at her pneumatic boobs, today, modestly concealed beneath a jade green sun dress. How very odd. The intense patterns of light and shade in the garden almost suggested that Swat's chest was not entirely symmetrical, one breast a little higher than its twin. I took a pensive sip of the chilled white wine.
The Neptune brain had not resumed firing on all four cylinders after the interlude at the Watering Hole. In fact, it was burping along on one and a half. That was quite insufficient to assimilate and generate an intelligent response to a pair of ebony male and female parts with magical powers, Swat and Dunnett pummeling each other, and a rock that must have left a dent in my credit card the size of the Grand Canyon.
I worked out some priorities and settled on the rock.
"How much, Lawrence? Did you run out of ink before the zeroes were finished? Do I have to turn to a life of crime to get Mr. American and Mr. Express off my back? Out with it!"
"Turn to a life of crime? Return more like!"
"That's enough of that. We're in polite company. How much? Where did it come from? Where's the receipt? Sale or return, I hope."
Mrs. Neptune sniffed.
"You'll find out when you get the statement. If you really loved me you wouldn't ask such questions! Heartless beast!"
Sniff again. Mrs. Goldfinkel looked on approvingly.
"You tell 'im, dear!"
I could have sworn the Black Widow dropped an aitch.
"Tell me!"
"Shan't!"
My wife turned her back and stuck her nose in the air. Mrs. Goldfinkel cackled and did likewise.
Seeing as no one wanted to face me, a drink seemed in order. I drained the wineglass and looked at it, unsatisfied. Chardonnay was no contest for St. Vincent rum, but there was only so much of that I could take. All the same, something more bracing was called for. I gestured to the waiter.
"Panty Ripper!"
My female companions swiveled back round and looked at the waiter with interest. He grinned.
"Coconut, white rum and pineapple juice," he explained.
"Make that two," said Miss Lawrence.
"Three," added Mrs. Goldfinkel.
I put the issue of the Kohinoor diamond on the back burner. I would return to it in the privacy of our cabin where I could apply some moral "suasion in peace.
The rum cocktails arrived. Not up to the lethality of St. Vincent, thank goodness, but a healthy belt nonetheless. I felt the hair of the dog start to do its work. Another cylinder kicked in.
Mrs. Goldfinkel knocked hers back appreciatively and waved her glass in the air.
"Rip my Panties!" She collapsed back on the rattan sofa in helpless mirth as the waiter organized a refill. I could see we might need a wheelbarrow to get her back to the ship.
I remembered the first mystery on my list, the hair-raising fetishes. I picked them off the table and examined them as well as my eyes could focus.
They seemed to have almost a soapstone texture, yet somehow they didn't feel like stone. Ebony? Seasoned mahogany? Bone? There seemed to be very faint striations under my fingers, but I couldn't see any variation in color under the dim indoor light.
I levered myself to my feet and took the fetishes out into the dappled sunlight of the courtyard. The light was best next to the fountain, where Dr. Dunnett and Loretta Swat were engaged in a quiet, fierce, heads together altercation. I ignored them and held the anatomical replicas up to the light.
"Harry, be careful!"
Jay's voice came from far away.
The light around me faded. The fetishes seemed to become even darker and more mysterious. They also seemed to be taking on a life of their own, as if they were absorbing energy from the disappearing sun's rays.
I felt as though I was back at school in a physics class, striving to hold two magnets apart as their opposite poles attracted. The hairs on my arms prickled and bristled. The parts tugged at my hands, willing me to join them. I saw no harm in that, so I relaxed my muscles and the dark shiny willy shot into dark shiny heaven.
"Mistah Neptune!"
Miss Swat's pseudo-shocked tones pulled me out of a reverie. There seemed to be violent action around my groin level. I looked down and stared in amazement.
A ferret was trying to fight its way out of my trousers and doing a lot of dribbling in the process.
I have heard of self-gratification, but this was ridiculous. Unaided by human hand, the Neptunian pride and joy was straining my trouser material in a pulsing rhythm and spreading Neptune seed as liberally as butter on breakfast toast.
"Mistah Neptune!" exclaimed Miss Swat again, leaning forward and resting her chin on one hand.
I resolved to retrieve the situation.
"A little trick I learned in the Antarctic, where it's too cold to take your gloves off," I said airily.
"Mistah Neptune, honey, I surely would love to see that trick in the open air!"
"Och, indeed…" added a male voice in a tone that can only be described as "dreamy."
I looked to Miss Swat's right and saw Dr. Dunnett in identical Rodin pose, his gaze fixed on my ferret. I backed hastily away and pulled the ebony penis out of its girlfriend.
As I did so Miss Swat sat upright. Or rather, most of her did. While I am sure her breasts engaged in a perpetual battle with gravity, I imagined they always prevailed in unison. Not this time.
Her right boob thrust eagerly as ever against her sun dress, but its companion seemed to be on strike. The effect was decidedly lop-sided.
Miss Swat gave a scream and landed a roundhouse left on Dunnett's nose.
"I hope they hang you! And fry you! And boil you in oil!"
She leapt to her feet and fled through the restaurant to the street, clutching her chest in both hands.
I ignored Dunnett, flat on his back in a bed of cactus, and turned plaintively to my wife and Mrs. Goldfinkel.
"What did I do?"
"It's what you haven't done!" the Black Widow and I chorused in girlish glee, before collapsing in gales of rum-soaked laughter. Mrs. Goldfinkel was practically flat on her back on the little couch, clutching her ample tummy and drumming the heels of her espadrilles on the parquet floor. I looked at Harry and promptly spluttered out a large mouthful of Shredded Panties, neatly soaking the front of my dress. I stared at my wetted bosom with little regret.
"Oops! Oh well, that's the only panties I'll be wearing today!"