The Bernini Bust Read Free Page B

high-pressure water-hose. “What piece of chicanery have you pulled off this time?”
    “Oh, Mrs. Moresby…’ Thanet said desperately, giving the others the only introduction they ever received.
    “Oh, Mrs. Moresby,” she mimicked in an unappealing fashion. “Stop whining. What I want to know is,” she paused for dramatic effect and pointed an accusing finger at him, “what in God’s name are you up to now?”
    Thanet stared at her in bewilderment. “What?” he said in surprise, “I don’t know what…’
    “You know very well what. You’ve been bamboozling my husband again.”
    Di Souza, always adverse to being left out of conversations with handsome and vastly wealthy women, spotted his opportunity. “What does bamboozling mean?” he asked, smiling in the way which, he firmly believed, normally made hearts flutter.
    Mrs. Moresby added him to her list of people who deserved looks of withering contempt. “Bam-boozling,” she said slowly but rather nastily. “From bamboozle. Verb. To defraud. To corrupt. To pull the wool over the eyes of sweet, trusting old men. To buy, in other words, stolen or otherwise illegally acquired works of art for the purposes of egotistical self-aggrandisement. That’s what bamboozling means. And this stumpy little creep,” she said, pointing at Thanet in case there was any doubt, “is the arch bamboozler. Got it?”
    Di Souza nodded slowly, having failed to understand what on earth she was talking about. “Yes, perfectly, thank you,” he said in what he always considered to be his most charming fashion. Highly reliable usually, and the prop on which he had built an old but deserved reputation for irresistibility. It singularly failed to work its magic on Anne Moresby.
    “Good,” said Mrs. Moresby. “Now keep your nose out of this.”
    Di Souza drew himself up in dignified protest. “Madam, please…’
    “Ah, shut up.” She cut him dead and directed her full attention at Thanet. “Your grasping ambition for this museum is out of hand. I’m warning you, if you keep on manipulating my husband, when he comes this evening you are going to pay a very heavy price indeed. So you watch yourself.” She poked him in the chest for emphasis.
    She did an abrupt about-turn and marched back across the lawn. Didn’t even say goodbye. In the background the gardener threw up his hands in despair and, as soon as the car swept back out into the street, came across to examine the damage.
    Thanet watched her go impassively. He almost looked pleased.
    “What on earth was that all about?” Argyll asked in astonishment.
    Thanet shook his head and declined the invitation to hand out confidences. “Oh, it’s a long story. Mrs. Moresby likes to take on the role of the dutiful wife protecting her husband from the outside world. And looking after her own interests into the bargain. I’m very much afraid she likes to practise on me. It may well indicate that Mr. Moresby will indeed be making an important announcement tonight.”
    Clearly, much remained unsaid here, but Argyll had no opportunity to pursue the matter. Thanet fended off further questions, apologised profusely for the unorthodox way in which di Souza had been welcomed, and sniffled his way off to the solitary splendour of his office in the administrative block. The two Europeans watched him go in silence.
    “Can’t say I’d like his job,” Argyll ventured after a pause.
    “I don’t know,” di Souza said. “Whatever Moresby’s faults, I have heard that he pays well. Are you going to go this evening?”
    Argyll nodded. “Seems so.”
    Di Souza waved his hand dismissively. “Good. The place will probably be littered with artistically starved wealth. All wanting genuine works of art imported direct from Europe. Could make your career, if you oil your way around the clientele properly. And mine, come to think of it. If I can only unload my stock on some of them I’ll be able to retire a happy man. I just hope that