Instead of giving me a scandalized lecture on propriety, Mrs. G only snorted and slapped one sturdy thigh. Tears were running down her carefully powdered face.
My husband stood in the doorway to the courtyard, a noticeable damp patch spreading across his crotch. Hurriedly, he stuffed Biggin and Elvira into my shopping basket. I noticed with some interest that someone at the Watering Hole had slipped the economy-sized bottle of intimate lubricant into the basket as a parting gift. How kind. Behind Harry, Dunnett groaned loudly and eased himself up from the flattened plants. Somewhat shakily, he retrieved a small pewter hip flask from a Black Watch tartan bum bag. Presumably a sporran is too itchy in the tropics. Thankfully, he unscrewed the cap with a trembling hand and took a lengthy draught of the liquid within. The man had to have a liver built on the Clyde. Finally, his rather scrawny loins suitably girded with drink, he limped off through the restaurant in the Lush's wake. Rather pointedly, our waiter placed a small leather folder on the table and retreated with a disdainful glare. We were lowering the tone something nasty.
"My treat!" gasped the Black Widow, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and reaching for a brand new Gucci purse.
Harry looked relieved and I made up my mind to put the old boy out of his misery and confess my little joke with the ring. I'd get the hiding of a lifetime. Oh dear, never mind.
We were just scooping up the remains of the crab cakes and polishing off the dregs of our drinks when I spotted a dog-eared pamphlet on the floor near our table.
"What is that?"
Curious, I picked up the creased brochure and smoothed it out upon the glass top of the table. It appeared to be a promotional booklet for a cosmetic surgeon, but judging by the outmoded style of the images and slightly yellowed pages, it was far from up to date.
"Good heavens!"
I couldn't help myself. Never having inquired about breast enlargement, I was ignorant regarding this cosmetic procedure. The booklet was essentially a style guide, with bosoms ranging in size from relatively petite to need-a-wheelbarrow proportions. Each page showed a tasteful line drawing of the projected final result and bore a charming name. One could select a "Trixie", a modest 34B with a rather impish upward tilt, or go full-steam-ahead with "Jezebel", mammoth melons, the dimensions of which read like a stifled expletive. I giggled and tried to pronounce the enormous cup size:
"FFFF!"
"Watch your mouth, Lawrence!"
I stuck my tongue out at my husband, and we gathered our belongings to make a dignified retreat. Naughtily, I held up the brochure for all to see, just as the waiter returned for his cash. The poor man's eyes almost popped out of his head and Harry let out a long whistle.
"Jezebel! I'd know those tits anywhere!"
I glanced down at my delightfully dampened chest.
"Why, thank you, darling. I dropped my Panties!"
The Black Widow began to wheeze with mirth. Just to put the cherry on the cupcake, a rather respectable looking middle-aged businessman at an adjoining table leaned over and inquired confidentially:
"Titty Boomboom?"
The waiter ground his dentures.
"I must ask you to vacate the premises. Sir. Madam."
Blowing my fan a theatrical kiss, I marched out of the restaurant, arm in arm with my stained husband, a tittering Black Widow bobbing along in our wake like a small pink dinghy. It was not 'til we reached the relative brightness of the street that I realized the rear hem of my dress had somehow got caught in the wicker of my shopping basket and I had mooned the room while beating a dignified retreat.
CHAPTER NINE: TWO PLUS TWO MAKES FIVE
We decanted ourselves from a taxi at the foot of the gangplank. The Immigration and Customs men were nowhere to be seen, which meant they would forego their "exit tax" – a significant source of income for many Immigration departments, and sometimes for their governments as well.
Mrs. Neptune's modesty was by now covered in an attractive blue wrap, with palm trees and bubbling champagne glasses. I reflected that it was a good job the ripping took place before her interrogation about the Hope diamond. The red glow left by a thorough spanking might have been attributable to a spot of nude sunbathing, but questions would have been asked about a certain precise striping effect associated with more rigorous chastisement.
"Oops a daisy!"
Mrs. Goldfinkel, Gigi, the Black Widow, performed a feat I have seldom seen before by falling up the gangplank. She arrived on deck in a whirl of arms and legs and shopping. Captain Ahab prudently took a step back.
"I trust you enjoyed your run ashore. I see you did – even those of you confined to your cabins! Inspector Parrot was so much looking forward to making your acquaintance, Mrs. Neptune. Indeed, he still is. Step this way…"
"Parrot? I'm not going to take the third degree from a blasted bird!"
"He is a policeman, madam. Inspector Hercules Parrot. Now if you please…"
I picked my wife off her feet and carried her to the rail, where I quickly lashed her to a lifeboat davit with a dangling length of rope.
"You shall not have her! I shall protect her with her life!"
"Ooh, this is – hey, that's your life, dummy!"
"I know what I'm talking about. Shut up and look innocent."
The Captain apparently lacked a sense of humor. He sighed, crooked a finger, and turned to a companionway.
Miss Lawrence was torn between the bondage and the imperious crooked finger. Finger won.
"Lemme go!" she wriggled.
It looked like the fuzz was going to get his way. I slipped the knots and gave my slightly slavering wife a shove in the right direction.
"Would you like a witness? Not that I'm impartial, but I can tell a lie under oath without batting an eyelid. Got an award out of a judge that way once, instead of six months."
"No thanks. I'll tell you all about it later."
Miss Lawrence disappeared after the Captain with a most attractive twitch of her bottom.
"Now then, Harrykins, what shall we do while poor Jaykins is on the rack?"
From the look in the Black Widow's eye she had a very good idea of what she wanted to do, and it didn't coincide with my idea of late afternoon fun. Not with her, at any rate.
"Detectiving, that's what we shall do, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Unearthing evidence to clear my beloved's name. I don't believe any detective named after a mythical strongman and a screeching tropical bird is going to come up with anything useful. Who shall we convict?"
Gigi giggled coyly.
"Won't you have to interrogate someone first? Will you be cruel and nasty? Will you make awful threats and look fearsome?"
"Bugger that for hard work. I take bribes. What's it worth to stay out of the clink?"
The Black Widow grabbed my hair in two pudgy talons and applied her lips to my ear. My eyes widened. Not even I had thought of that – not since Rio, anyway.
"Mrs. Goldfinkel! Not only is that immoral and illegal, I'd need at least two masseuses on call in case of accidents! Unhand me, woman."
Mrs. Goldfinkel let go, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she hadn't given up.
I smoothed my hair and took a breath.
"Let's examine the scene of the crime. They're usually littered with clues."
I marched off to the scene of last night's excitement, a twittering Mrs. Goldfinkel in tow. The room was gloomy and empty, the smell of stale tobacco and booze lingering. The tables and chairs were in the same positions as last night, bare white tablecloths ready for the next load of crockery, eating irons and food stains.
I surveyed the room with the air of a seasoned investigator. Without a deerstalker I was lost, so I winged it.
"Sit where you were last night, if you please, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Let us recreate the scene."