Free Mrs Pargeter's Package by Simon Brett Page A

papers nicked, need them fixed, arranged, emended, like . . . Larry Lambeth's the bloke you want – that's what Mr P. always said.'
    Mrs Pargeter was more concerned about another of her husband's dicta. 'What you are ignorant of, Melita my love, you cannot stand up in court and talk about. I am very proud to be the husband of a woman who has never broken the law or been the possessor of any information about anyone else who might have broken the law.' The late Mr Pargeter had often said that to her.
    She smiled at Larry Lambeth in innocent puzzlement. 'I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.'
    'OK, well, look, like coming up to date . . . Fact is, when I come out here, I got quite a stash. Bought the villa, no problem, still had plenty of drax left to keep me in the style to what I had accustomed myself. But – I'm not the first to do it and I know I won't be the last – I didn't take inflation into account, did I?'
    'Ah.'
    'So, anyway, after a few years, the old mazooma's getting a bit tight, and I start thinking to myself, like, maybe I better get something else going. Well, I don't want to go, like, back into the old full-time racket, do I?'
    'I wouldn't know,' said Mrs Pargeter with a sweet-little-old-lady smile.
    'No, right. Well, fact is, I definitely don't want nothing full-time, but I think to myself, like, I got these talents with the old documents and that – why don't I use them? And then I remember that the one thing that's always had a good international resale value – whatever the economic climate – is the old British passport.'
    'What, so you mean you forge passports?' Mrs Pargeter's voice was suitable cowed by the shock of the idea.
    'Not forge the whole lot, no – that's like a big job. No, I just, like, get the passports and then I doctor them.'
    'When you say you . . . get the passports . . . ?'
    'Well, this is why it's magic being out here, isn't it?'
    'I don't know what you mean.'
    'Look, Mrs P., lots of English punters come out here, don't they?'
    'Certainly.'
    'Well, first couple of days they're very good about things . . . put their cash in money-belts, take their passports and valuables with them at all times, close all the shutters, lock up the old villa every time they go out . . .'
    'Yes.'
    'But after that first couple of days, the old Corfiot bit gets to them.'
    'The old Corfiot bit?'
    'Sure, they relax , don't they?'
    'Ah.'
    'Place is famous for it. As a matter of fact . . . ' Larry Lambeth looked rather sedate for a moment. 'You heard of Mr Gladstone?'
    'Mr Gladstone? Which Mr Gladstone?'
    'The one what was Prime Minister.'
    'Oh yes. Of course I've heard of him,' said Mrs Pargeter through her surprise.
    'Well, he was out here for a while, you know, and he said he had "never witnessed such complete and contented idleness as at Corfu".' Larry Lambeth enunciated the quotation with a gravity befitting its provenance.
    'Really? I didn't know that.' Mrs Pargeter was impressed. 'You're very well-read, Larry.'
    'Yeah. Sure.' He looked a bit sheepish. 'Actually, I only read that in a holiday brochure.'
    'Never mind. It's still very interesting.'
    'Right. Anyway, so what I'm saying is . . . once the holidaymakers start to relax, start leaving the old villa windows open and that . . . well, it's dead easy for anyone who wants to go in and nick the odd passport, isn't it?'
    'And that's what you do? That's the business you've built up?'
    Larry Lambeth looked suitably pleased with himself. 'Yeah, right. Found a decent little gap in the market there. Ticking over quite nicely, thanks.'
    'So you just steal any passports you happen to come across?'
    He was affronted. 'No, come on, give me a bit of credit. It's not a random business, highly sophisticated operation, mine. Anyway, if I took too many, it'd start to look suspicious. No, mostly I'm working on commissions.'
    'Commissions?'
    'Sure. Someone says to me something like – I need a passport for a man in his sixties, five foot