The Tropical Issue Read Online Free PDF Page B

door and went to choose a bedroom. The one I’d used seemed to be the main guestroom. It smelt of Mrs Sheridan’s scent. It had a phone in it.
    It struck me that I had some calls to make if I was staying in London. I picked up the phone, and found I was listening to Johnson’s caller.
    It was a woman, and she was in the middle of reading a lecture.
    ‘Well, you can’t stay there, can you? If you don’t go back to your people, then you might as well come to us. Daughter Joanna would love it. She’s made you some rather drippy jam.’
    Johnson’s voice said, ‘If I don’t go home, I’d have to go to the Judge’s.’
    There was a silence. Then the woman said, ‘Yes, I see that. But it’s too much for Connie.’
    He said, ‘I’ll get help for her. Really. It’s all right.’
    ‘And later?’ She still sounded doubtful. ‘Don’t you want to get away from those phones? Where’s Dolly?’
    ‘Still refitting.’
    The woman said, ‘You could be in the Caribbean by the early summer. Why don’t we send Lenny down to sail her out? We’re not using him. He could take her to Tenerife and wait till you were ready. Or take her across himself with Raymond or somebody. You could fly over.
    ‘You know everyone over there. You could stay anywhere you want, or on board if you didn’t want company. I’ll tell Bernard.’
    ‘Something to look forward to?’ he said. The put-down in his voice was like the one I’d had.
    There was another silence. Then she said, ‘Believe me, you won’t feel as tired as this all the time. All the same, I don’t know what you were thinking of, letting these people in. What’s she called, this girl Ferdy’s wished on you?’
    ‘I don’t know. Geddes, I think,’ he said.
    ‘And what’s she like?’
    There was another silence. Then he said, ‘Small. Tough. Scottish. She’s listening to you.’
    The bastard. I whipped the receiver away from my ear without thinking, and so missed the first half of a very smart leave-taking. I heard Johnson say, ‘It’s too much trouble for you. No, please don’t. But of course I’ll remember. Give my love to Joanna.’
    Then the woman rang off, but he didn’t. He just laid the phone off the rest, so no more calls could get in.
    It also meant that I couldn’t phone out.
    As I’ve probably said, attack first is my motto. I got up and banged on the door of his bedroom. Why not?
    I had credit cards and an account. I could go to a hotel. Pal Johnson wasn’t going to suffer, with his folks and the Judge and Joanna’s mother and all to mollycuddle him. So I walked into his room without waiting too long for a sniffy invitation. He wasn’t likely to be taking calls starkers.
    Starkers he wasn’t, but the Owner of the Apartment he certainly was, sitting straight up in bed as if he’d money rammed into both pillows. On the bed stood the filing basket full of letters, florists’ cards and parcel tags, and beside it a tray of pens and paper and stuff he’d been answering with.
    The phone was purring beside him on the table. I put the receiver back on its rest and said, ‘I have some calls to make. Do you want me here or not?’
    ‘It depends rather,’ he said, ‘on whether Ferdy comes back.’
    A man of few words. What he meant was, he couldn’t be bothered to row, but he wasn’t going to lease 17b as a knocking-shop.
    I said, ‘There’s nothing for him to come back for. How long is your housekeeper taking?’
    ‘Till tomorrow night, I imagine,’ he said. ‘I should have asked Ferdy.’
    The phone rang, and he looked at it. He didn’t pick it up. It went on ringing. I said, ‘I’ll go into the kitchen and whistle,’ but got no reaction. Against the ringing, he said, ‘Stay or leave as you like. You need a bed?’
    The ringing came to an end, and he turned his head and unhooked and laid down the receiver. ‘I’m afraid that is essential,’ he said.
    Behind the table, there was a telephone socket in the skirting. I got down on my