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Agency Blue. Alex Smith
Читать онлайн.Название Agency Blue
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780624058274
Автор произведения Alex Smith
Жанр Учебная литература
Издательство Ingram
When the sandwich was gone, Joe wiped the cream and honey from his fingers, picked up a pen, decided it would be better not to include his lunch in the story and set about drawing Kitty instead.
“I’m not going anywhere on New Year’s Eve,” Kitty said. “And I definitely don’t want to eat crab!”
“When my mother’s second husband, Angus, died,” said Tallulah, “all she wanted to do was to stay in that hotel room and never ever leave it again.” Tallulah’s hands rested thoughtfully in mid-caress under the belly of Vegas and on Sinatra’s shoulders.
“Which is precisely what she did,” said Grace with a droll smile. “The two of you have been living at the Mount Nelson ever since the old pangolin’s heart gave in. What is it, four years now?”
“Yes, but this is about Kitty. Girl, you can’t stay in and evanesce; you must seize life.”
“Quite right,” Grace said. “Clubbing on New Year and a banquet it is then.”
“Hear, hear,” said Tallulah, and Sinatra barked his agreement too. “I don’t think you’ll be allowed there, Frankie,” she said to Sinatra. “It’s too fancy for a mutt like you.”
From the tips of her toes crushed into her cowboy boots an unexpected rage surged through Kitty. “NO! Are you crazy? There’s no way I can ask my mother for a thousand rand to spend on a dinner. Is this the emergency you called me here for? You lot have no idea, you’re so spoiled … How can you think about New Year’s Eve? Is that all there is? Just food, clothes, clubbing and … and boys.” GASP SNIFF! Kitty covered her face to hide her tears. “Do you have any idea how much work Felix has left behind? My mother can’t do it, she’s turned into some kind of tranquilliser addict. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Now, now!” Grace wrapped her long arms around Kitty’s shoulders and held her tight. She almost said everything will be okay but didn’t because everything wasn’t okay and she had no idea whether it would be. “Kid, you know my grandma on my father’s side was originally from the Cape Verde islands before she moved to London? Just like the barefoot diva Cesaria Evora – and Cesaria says ‘Work is work and cognac is cognac.’ There has to be a balance. Confucius agrees.”
“What are you on about, Grace?” Tallulah said as the waitress set bowls of hot chocolate and a basket of croissants between the girls.
Grace unwrapped her arms from around Kitty, who took one look at all the food and thought she might throw up. “I’m sorry,” Kitty said to the waitress. “Could I rather just have mint tea, please?”
Vegas tried her luck. “Bad girl, Vegas!” Tallulah pulled the puppy down from the table.
After the waitress had gone, Grace patted Kitty’s hand. “Christmas and New Year are my treat, Kitty, my gift to the Comic Club if you like. Of course there’s more to life than clubbing and four-star chefs. We just want to cheer you up.”
“You should see a head-shrinker, a counsellor,” Grace continued to Kitty. “I’m not going to nag on about it, but I’ve spoken to people who’ve been through all kinds of violence and if you don’t see anyone now, it’ll come back. Post-traumatic stress disorder is very real; as real as this chocolate croissant. But I won’t say another word, I know you don’t want to talk about it.”
Seizing his opportunity, Sinatra attempted to launch an attack on the basket of chocolate croissants. “Sinatra!” Tallulah caught him by the scruff.
“One last thing, kid,” Grace said to Kitty. “Please, please, don’t feel responsible. When a person commits suici—”
“He didn’t!” shouted Kitty. “I don’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense.”
Trying to sound soothing but firm, Tallulah said, “But you have a suicide note. Didn’t that police detective give you a note from your father?”
Earlier Kitty hadn’t wanted to talk, but now it came out in a flood. “Yes, a poem, by one of my mother’s favourite poets, Léopold Sédar Senghor – ‘Et nous baignerons, mon amie … And we shall be bathed, my friend’. Why write that? There is something wrong. I know it! Why would he kill himself? We were so happy. Wouldn’t I know if my dad was unhappy?”
“Don’t blame yourself, kid,” said Grace. “It’s not your fault.”
“In fact, Kitty, I think you’re right.” Angel reached into her mother’s designer python-skin handbag. “Look at the date stamp.” Angel handed Kitty a postcard. “I received it this morning. Your dad must have posted it to me on the day he died.”
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