Dolly and the Bird of Paradise - Dorothy Dunnett - Johnson Johnson 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

answer ready on tap. ‘Very much improved, thank you,’ I said. ‘It will be a long business, of course. But he’s making great strides now, considering.’
    There were three more calls before I got all my outgoing ones.
    One of them wanted to know who I was, and I told him I’d been sent by the escort agency.
    I made an omelette and ate it with a glass of milk while I was talking. Then I made another omelette, plated it, and carried it through the hall, having taken the other two phones off their hooks.
    I banged on the Owner’s door, and got an immediate answer. ‘Come in. You were good enough to answer the phone?’
    I put the plate on his blotter and handed him a knife and fork. ‘It was an accident. Just folk with good wishes.’
    ‘Did they leave names?’ he said. He looked down at the plate and added, ‘Have you eaten?’ There were a dozen new addressed envelopes on the table.
    ‘I had the one I practised on,’ I said. ‘Did you want their names? There wasn’t a pencil.’
    The Owner picked up the fork. ‘They’ll ring again,’ he said. ‘If you took their names, I could ring back some time. The only people I’d need to speak to are my own family. They’ll say who they are. And people called Ballantyne.’
    He looked up and said, ‘Of course, I’m deeply obliged. If you have to go, would you be very kind and take Bessie down to the doorman? He doesn’t mind walking her.’
    ‘I’ll walk her last thing,’ I said. ‘And post your letters. I’ve got Ferdy’s key. Would you like some tantalised fruit from the box?’
    You could see him think about it, but not for long.
    ‘Not very much. You have them,’ he said.
    He hadn’t complained about the Scott Joplin, so I went and played some more, and fed Bessie and watered her, and then switched on the T.V. I’d noticed in the wee sitting-room. I remembered at the same time that, though I’d fed the Owner, I’d forgotten the liquids.
    I rooted out a nice selection of bottles, and ice, and some big and small glasses, and carried it all to the bedroom.
    The door was ajar, and behind it, Bessie lay on the rug, snoring heavily.
    Above her on the bed, the Owner was sleeping too, on his face, with his bifocals thrown on the sheets anyhow. I put them where I left the whisky, and took a vodka for myself back to the sitting-room.
    I used to be good at cartoons at college. After I finished my drink, I filled in time drawing Ferdy ogling Mrs Sheridan, and Mrs Sheridan dropping towels in front of the bug-eyed agency man.
    The block and crayon came from the studio, where I’d found where Johnson kept all his painting things. They hadn’t been used for an age. The palette had lost all its stickiness and the rags were all hard.
    There were two more calls. One was from Ferdy, roaring tight from a night-club, and bellowing housekeeper’s instructions about food, pills and Bessie. I put the phone down on him.
    Later, I took Bessie out on the pavement and the security man held the door for me. Back in the flat, I left her to push her own way into the Owner’s room, having no mind to get mixed up with bedtime ablutions.
    I found a box of chocolates and some grapes, and took them to the big bedroom.
    There were no satin nighties or black lace undies in any of the fitted drawers, which was a pity. It made you wonder what Ferdy and Pal Johnson actually had in common, apart from short tempers. However, the beds were made up. They were new, too. The sheets had sticky corners where the price labels had been.
    I was tired. I wakened four times: twice with burglar alarms going off in the Persian carpets and once because of some drunks. The last time, I couldn’t make out what it was, and then realised that it was Bessie not snoring. There was a light on under my door, and the sound of somebody chatting.
    I could just make out that it was the Owner, moving about if not racing, and talking to Bessie. I took it that he had wakened up and was going to bed officially,