Lovelace and Button (International Investigators) Inc. Read Free Page A

doubt it,” replies Bliss as he joins the applause for the newlyweds. “This is pretty small potatoes compared to the adventure you two have cooked up.”
    â€œDid I mention the Orinoco…” starts Daphne, but Bliss shushes her as the groom’s brother coughs into the microphone and brings the room to silence.
    â€œIt is my duty as the best man at this wedding…” he begins and is met with a concerted groan from the floor. “All right… All I’m going to say is that when theCommissioner called for better co-operation between his senior officers and the legal profession, I don’t think he had bonking in mind.”
    The rain has intensified as Minnie sets her sights on her final destination — Westchester’s stately railway station with its elegant glass canopy supported on cast-iron pillars — and she is so focused on the journey ahead that she takes no notice of Stapleton’s shadowy figure lurking behind her as she skirts the brightly illuminated main entrance and heads for the goods yard.
    â€œSo… Chief Inspector. Have I missed the best bits?” asks an unwelcome voice as the speeches end, and Bliss spins to find Chief Superintendent Michael Edwards on his shoulder.
    â€œOh. You made it, sir,” says Bliss, trying hard to keep disappointment out of his tone.
    â€œI thought I should show the flag, Dave. Esprit de corps and all that. I just hope I’m not too late to toast the happy couple.”
    â€œEsprit de corps,” echoes Bliss sourly as Edwards paints on a smile and makes his way towards the newlyweds.
    Inspector Williams creeps up behind Bliss, saying, “He’s gotta bloody nerve.”
    â€œBe nice, Mick,” says Bliss. “You know — the way we’re supposed to treat villains nowadays.”
    â€œIt’s easy for you to say that, flying a desk at the Yard. Anyway, you spend so much time out of the bloody country you never have to deal with the bastard.”
    â€œTut-tut, Mick,” cautions Bliss, though he has no intention of defending the senior officer. Neither is hegoing to defend his cushy job liaising with Interpol, though he’s conscious of the jaundiced eyes of some of his colleagues.
    â€œSo. How do you like shuffling papers, Dave?” asks Williams.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Bliss says with little enthusiasm, “but I think I’d rather be out chasing scum.”
    That’s not true,
Bliss acknowledges to himself as Williams wanders away. And he drains his Dom Pérignon, thinking,
The truth is you’d rather be back in France, dancing in the Mediterranean moonlight with a certain Provençal popsy named Daisy. She’s still there, waiting for you.
    I know.
    So, what’s stopping you? You’re forty-seven now. Your hair’s beginning to slip south along with the flab.
    It’s not that bad.
    Give it time.
    It’s impossible and you know it. She’ll never leave there — what about her mother and grandmother?
    Have you asked her?
    â€œDavid… David,” a persistent voice breaks into his musings and he finds Daphne on his arm.
    â€œThe band’s starting. How about the first dance?”
    â€œWhy not?” he says, though can’t help wishing that it were Daisy.
    In Westchester, at the railway station, Minnie has plotted her path, and she slips past the “Staff Only” sign at the goods entrance and onto the platform without looking back. Her slight figure registers hazily on the platform’s rain-fogged security camera in the signalman’s box just off the end of Platform One, but is unseen by Robert Mackellar, the duty signalman, as he fills his teapot froma boiling kettle, turns up the radio and auditions for a baritone part with the Merthyr Tydfil male voice choir.
    â€œ
Tonight… Tonight… Won’t be just any night…
“ he sings to an audience of switches and monitors high above the