The Tropical Issue Read Online Free PDF

the pavement and no further, celebrated her general relief by flopping off through every alley after her favourite smells, of which there are more in Mayfair than you would think.
    I hadn’t taken a leash, and by the time I got my hand in her collar, she was far from 17b, but in among the dress shops, the ivory shops, the gift shops and the shops making handmade chocolates, so that I rather took my time getting back.
    The new doorkeeper stepped in front of me.
    He was smaller than the last one: only two feet higher than me. He said, ‘Oh yes. You’re the jokey lady who bloodied up Ned and Josser?’
    ‘And they deserved it,’ I said. The dog, fawning, dripped Standard Dribble on the doorkeeper’s trousers, and I waited for the accidental black eye.
    The doorkeeper said, ‘Good dog, then. Wish I’d seen that: my Gawd, what a picture! Where’s the blood come from, then?’
    He was cheerful. The new security man left the counter and joined us. He was cheerful too. ‘Important make-up lady, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘Ned and Josser weren’t to know. You should have told them, Miss. ‘E’s a real fan of yours, Mr Braithwaite.’
    Ferdy? Ferdy explaining and soothing? Ferdy down in the foyer spreading Largs?
    The security man said, ‘If you’re goin’ up now, Miss, there’s this parcel. The boy took it up to deliver it, but nobody answered the door. Of course, Mr Johnson’s not up to walking.’
    Bessie was at the lift, waiting.
    I didn’t join her.
    I didn’t take the parcel.
    I said, ‘But Mr Braithwaite’s in the flat. Didn’t Mr Braithwaite come to the door?’
    They looked at me, and I brought my voice down. I said, ‘Didn’t Mr Braithwaite go up to the flat again after he spoke to you?’
    ‘Oh no, Miss,’ the security man said. ‘Out on the street like a rocket, he went. A heavy date, he said, and he was late for it. My Gawd, that’s a character. . . Do you ‘ave a key to 17b, Miss? Mr Braithwaite left one for you, in case.’
    King Ferdy the Rat.
    I turned to make for the street. Bessie joined me, her tail wagging. I halted.
    My case was in the flat, too. And my money.
    I returned to the desk. I said, ‘Do you know Mrs Margate’s address or phone number? Mr Johnson’s housekeeper?’
    They didn’t. I thought.
    Ferdy’s flat was being rewired. It was empty.
    Natalie Sheridan wanted me for two days. I had no flat, no hotel room, no money and an Old English Sheepdog.
    There were a number of choices.
    I could shove Bessie into the flat, lift my gear and walk out.
    I could tell the men down below what had happened. They could ring Meals on Wheels or the Salvation Army to rescue the guy upstairs if they felt like it. Ferdy would be mad, but it was Ferdy’s fault anyway.
    On the other hand, Ferdy could do me down with Natalie Sheridan.
    It wasn’t likely. He enjoyed life, and it took a good push before he got the knives out. But everyone knew what happened then.
    I didn’t want Mrs Sheridan put off me. I didn’t much want to walk round finding a bed. A free night upstairs had something to it. And sure as eggs, I’d have no come-on from the resident cripple.
    I took the key and went up in the lift with Bessie. Someone had wiped off my lipstick from the mirror, and had written TA LOVE on the door. I read it.
    Ferdy was a bastard, but I supposed I’d go along with it in the end, as per usual. Twenty-four hours was all he claimed the housekeeper needed.
    I could stick it till lunchtime tomorrow. And if I could, the guy Johnson would have to.
    I got to his door and nearly changed my mind when I heard the phone ringing behind it. But however feeble, the man could surely take his own calls, if I answered the doorbell and fed him.
    I unlocked the door and walked in, shooing Bessie before me. I shouted. ‘It’s Miss Geddes back, Mr Johnson! You’ve got another palm for your parlour!’
    I don’t know whether he heard me, but I could hear his voice on the phone, so I suppose he did. I shut the