Free Dolly And The Cookie Bird - Dorothy Dunnett - Johnson Johnson 03 by Unknown Page B

across the road center. On the back it said: smash ,
es mas zumo
. I walked gently over to the Alfa Romeo.
    It did me good just to look at it. You could tell without any trouble that Gil and Coco had both had quite a shaking. A ratty, half-dozen people had spilled out of the bar-café, and the lorry driver soon got down and joined them. A lot of money changed hands rather quickly. I went back and sat in the car.
    Men don’t like it, Flo says, when you do something better than they can. Except for housewifely things, that’s to say. I could never quite see what she meant. Whatever you’re most fabby at—swimming, dancing, changing a wheel—it gives you an edge in the race. Me, I’d like to know how to do everything, if I’d only had cash for the classes.
    Gil was impressed, anyway, or so he said when he came over eventually, grinning bravely. I knew Coco would be annoyed, but that was only partly because of my driving. When he’d finished looking at the Alfa Romeo’s busted headlights, bent bumpers, and dented white paintwork, he strolled up and put his hands on the hips of his very tight slacks and said, “Well, darling: a demon driver, aren’t you, dear… just like Mummy after her remold…”
    I looked him up and down too. “The color’s just you,” I said, giving his shirt a cool stare. “Are they selling tat medals as well?”
    “You’re a road hog,” said Gilmore calmly, before Coco could reply. “What do you drive at home?”
    “Anything that’s around,” I said. “I like a Bentley convertible.”
    “Oh, my goodness, so do I, darling,” said Coco. “Race you who sees one first.” He had a glittering smile. He added, “I hear you’re a cook.”
    Gil said, “Sarah’s here as Dad’s guest.” He looked pale and cross, and I was thrilled to the core.
    “Making up for having mislaid old Forsey?” said Coco. His golden, permed sideburns glistened in the hot sun. “Honestly, Sarah, it wasn’t Daddy Lloyd’s fault. He wasn’t even there when the old bugger walked out on him.”
    “
You
were,” I said.
    “At the party? Of course,” Coco said. He leaned on the bonnet, found it hot, and transferred the hand to his medallion. He couldn’t have got a finger into his pockets. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? If he’d stayed and taken a lovely up-trip with us, he’d be here, live and well. But true love beckoned.”
    Gil said, “Coco, you’re high.”
    “No, I’m not,” said Fairley, but I suddenly began to see the point of the dark glasses. He said, “If he wants to do naughty things with the lamp out, it’s nothing to do with us youngsters. All I can say is, he was in an indecent hurry.”
    “Coco, shut up,” said Gil, but I stopped him.
    “Did you see my father leave the party? Where did he go?”
    “I don’t know dear, but I can guess. He was in Helmuth’s car, and going hell for leather in the usual direction.”
    “Where?” Gil and I said together, but Coco wouldn’t tell. “Lady’s honor, darling,” he said, and smirked, and when we pressed him, doubled up with soprano laughter that nearly split his white pants. When he finished gasping, he said, “I think Sarah should come to the party tomorrow, sweetie, and see for herself.”
    “She doesn’t know Mrs. van Costa,” said Gilmore, drawling, with an edge to his voice. Mrs. van Costa was the owner of the tennis courts and the present sponsor of advanced concrete verse.
    “Gilly dear, don’t be naïve,” said Coco, laughing harder than ever. “Do come. Bring her, Gilly, and your America antique, the Mandleberg. Does she have something to wear? Janey could fix her.”
    “If not,” I said, “I’m sure you could, darling,” and let in the clutch. The Maserati shot off with a roar.
     
    Dolly
was big and white and beautiful, and tied to the quay at the yacht marina, so that all I had to do was to cross the tarmac yard, crammed with cars next to the boatyard, and walk through the yacht club’s aluminum