Family Business (6 page)

‘
Dad
!'

‘But she was gorgeous, wasn't she?' Gina said.

‘I only take on the world's most spectacularly beautiful women,' Angelo said.

‘What had Dad
done
?' David asked.

‘What am I supposed to have done?' Angelo asked calmly in the face of the raging beauty.

‘It's three pubs I know about for certain, and who knows where else!' the woman said. ‘You've got no right! Already people are asking if I'm in some sort of trouble. They think I'm a criminal!'

‘My name is Angelo Lunghi, and this is my wife, Gina. There's tea in the pot. Why don't you let me pour you a cup while you sit down and tell us what the problem is?'

‘What's your name, dear?' Gina asked.

The angry woman seemed baffled by her reception. She said, ‘Kit Bridges.'

‘Pleased to meet you,' Angelo said. ‘Do you take milk? Sugar?' He moved to the teapot.

‘Doesn't my name mean anything to you?'

‘Should it?' Gina asked.

‘Well, if it doesn't, why have you been showing my picture in pubs? Why have you been telling people it's about something so serious you can't give details?'

‘You've been showing her picture around?' David said. ‘What case is it, Dad?'

‘None that I know about.'

Uncertain whether his father was teasing, David said, ‘Mum?'

Gina shook her head.

‘But I don't understand,' David said.

‘What else is new?' Marie said.

‘You're so clever,' David said. ‘What's it about?'

Marie looked at her brother disdainfully, but then saw that the adults were expecting her to speak. She said, ‘Who's been showing her picture?'

‘A man. In pubs,' Gina said.

‘And he says he works for us?' Marie asked.

‘He says he is a private detective,' Gina said.

Rosetta said, ‘But we're the only detective agency in Bath.'

‘Exactly!' Angelo said. ‘And that is therefore making Ms Kit Bridges, part-time fashion model, conclude that the man works for us.'

‘So who does he work for?' David asked. ‘One of the Bristol agencies?'

‘We don't know,' Angelo said.

‘What pubs has he been in?' Marie asked.

‘Three that she knows about,' Angelo said. ‘The Rose and Crown in Larkhall, the Anchor off Kingsmead Square,
and
the Star.' The Star, at the top of Walcot Street, was the neighbourhood pub the Lunghis favoured.

‘But he may have been to other pubs too,' Gina said.

‘Why does he want to find her, this detective?' David asked.

‘Ms Bridges says she can't think of anything a detective could possibly want to talk to her about,' Gina said.

‘So she's not married?' Rosetta asked. then blushed.

‘No. Not even a steady boyfriend. She says she puts all her energy into her career.'

‘Does she make a lot of money from modelling?' Marie asked.

Gina said, ‘She must make some. The man has been showing a photocopy of a picture of Ms Bridges that was in a magazine.'

‘And she's
so
gorgeous,' Angelo said.

‘Dad!' David said.

‘If she came to you, that means the detective hasn't found her,' Rosetta said. ‘So how does she know he's looking for her?'

‘She has a friend who works part-time behind the bar at the Rose and Crown,' Gina said. ‘The friend recognized the picture, but didn't tell the detective she recognized it.'

‘Why not?' Rosetta asked.

‘Because he wouldn't say why he was looking for Ms Bridges,' Angelo said. ‘Then today the friend and Ms Bridges had lunch together. When the friend told her about the detective, some people they were with said they'd heard that someone was looking for her too. That's how she found out he'd shown her picture in the other pubs.'

‘If it were you,' Rosetta said, ‘what kind of case would it be for you to show a photograph in pubs?'

‘Good question, Rose,' Angelo said. He looked to Gina. He said, ‘If we were looking for a drinker. Or a no-fixed-abode. Or someone who'd just moved here.'

‘A runaway?' Gina said. ‘Or a druggie. Maybe a fence.'

‘A musician?' Marie said.

‘Could be,' Gina said. ‘But nothing that sounds like Ms Kit Bridges.'

‘So what are you going to do?' Marie said.

‘Do? Do? But who's the client?' Angelo asked, mimicking his father. ‘So who pays? You don't run a business if nobody pays.'

Marie giggled.

‘But,' David said, ‘it's not good if people think this detective is one of us, is it?'

Angelo agreed. ‘That's why we think we need to find out more about it.'

‘Is there anything I can do?' Marie said impulsively, attracted by pubs and modelling.

‘Like what?' Angelo said.

‘I don't know,' Marie said. ‘There might be something.'

‘
She
thinks she could be a model,' David said. ‘For horror comics, maybe.'

‘Your father melted,
melted
when this woman said, “Oh, can you really find out what's going on, Mr Lunghi?” And you should see the smile on her. It was like a toothpaste ad!'

‘I've always had a weakness for a good set of choppers,' Angelo said.

‘Have you rung Salvatore?' Gina said.

‘Not yet. I'll do it now.' Angelo rose from the table, but then he hesitated. He turned to Rosetta. ‘We thought Salvatore might be happy to go out tonight and ask around for this detective, but if you'd rather do it, Rose …?'

‘Me? Go to a lot of strange pubs?' Rosetta said. ‘On my
own
?'

Meals on Wednesday evenings were informal and consisted mainly of foods that only needed heating. Eating was completed more rapidly than at the ‘big' meals and David and Marie, in particular, usually left the table quickly. It was therefore not unusual that Rosetta should find herself alone with Gina. She said, ‘Did Angelo mention whether a surveillance equipment salesman called into the office today?'

‘He called,' Gina said.

‘Oh,' Rosetta said. Then, ‘Is Angelo buying anything?'

Gina said, ‘Do you want us to buy something?'

‘If you need something,' Rosetta said. ‘I'm sure it's good equipment.'

‘The salesman's a bit of a hunk, I gather,' Gina said.

‘Is he?' Rosetta asked. ‘I suppose he is, if you like them chunky.'

Walter was chunky. Gina said, ‘Where did you meet him?'

‘In the business computer shop. He runs that too.'

‘Alan Boiling, is it?'

‘Adrian,' Rosetta corrected.

‘Have you gone out with him?'

‘Of course not!' Rosetta said. ‘It's nothing like that.'

‘It's not illegal,' Gina said.

‘We got to talking, that's all. I told him a bit about the agency and he mentioned the line of surveillance equipment.'

‘Angelo says he spoke well of you. “Lovely”, “charming”, “intelligent”, and “very attractive”.'

‘Stop it!'

At that moment Angelo returned. The women fell silent and Angelo said, ‘Salvatore said he could hardly turn down a paid pub-crawl.'

‘He's not seeing Muffin tonight, then?' Gina asked.

‘He didn't say,' Angelo considered. ‘It didn't sound as if he had to alter any arrangements.'

‘Mama will be disappointed,' Gina said.

‘Maybe he'll take Muffin with him,' Rosetta said. ‘She certainly sounded interested when we were talking business at dinner.'

Angelo said, ‘I met your friend, the salesman, today, Rose.'

‘He's not my “friend”,' Rosetta said.

‘Forceful guy,' Angelo said.

‘When I talked to him,' Rosetta said, ‘he made points about the business that made sense. That's why I thought it would be good for him to talk to you.'

‘What points?'

‘That we should capitalize on our position in the market.'

‘What does that mean?' Angelo said.

‘Because Papa bought the buildings outright when he did, we have low overheads and a good location. It makes us perfectly placed to expand.'

‘Do we want to expand?' Angelo asked.

‘Not so far,' Rosetta conceded. ‘But we have to think of the next generation. There's David and Marie. And their children. Salvatore might get married. And I haven't exactly given up the idea of having children myself yet.'

Salvatore's first stop was the Rose and Crown, a small, friendly local in Larkhall, itself virtually a village within the city. At the bar Salvatore asked for Kit Bridges' friend, Cheryl, but the man behind the bar said Cheryl wasn't on.

Salvatore ordered a pint and then bought one for the barman, whose name was Vlad. Vlad remembered the man who'd shown the photograph and described him as sallow-complexioned, and in his late twenties. As well, the man had worn a long black raincoat and was maybe five-nine. Vlad didn't remember hair colour or other features. ‘Except,' he said, ‘now you mention it, the bugger had knobbly hands.'

‘Knobbly?' Salvatore asked.

‘His fingers weren't straight. When I served him he had trouble getting a grip on the sleever, even though he'd asked for it.'

‘Did he show you the picture?'

‘Not
the
picture,' Vlad said. ‘He had a stack of them, all the same.'

‘Was he passing them out, or what?'

‘Not that I saw,' Vlad said. ‘But he did show one to Cheryl. I remember that.'

‘And what did Cheryl tell him?'

‘She asked what it were about. He said it were a hush-hush thing and he couldn't tell her details. He made it sound right mysterious.'

‘But he didn't show the picture to you?'

‘Not to me special,' Vlad said. ‘He saw I were looking like, over Cheryl's shoulder. But he never talked to me and he never asked me direct.'

‘Why not?'

‘Couldn't tell you, mate,' Vlad said.

‘Did you recognize the woman in the picture?'

‘No,' Vlad said. ‘But I wouldn't say no if Cheryl wants to introduce me.'

‘I'm wondering why he showed the picture to Cheryl but not to you,' Salvatore said. ‘Do you think he already knew that Cheryl was a friend?'

‘Couldn't say,' Vlad said. ‘Maybe he thought a girl was more likely to know another girl. Or at least more likely to admit to it.' He winked.

After Salvatore finished his drink he gave Vlad a business card and asked for a call should the knobbly-handed detective return to the Rose and Crown. Then Salvatore left and headed toward town. He stopped in several pubs along the way, but he had no joy. It was possible, of course, that the blank response he met was the same disinclination to talk to question-asking strangers that Cheryl had shown. Where they would take one, Salvatore left a card.

He made a more concerted effort at the Anchor on the edge of Kingsmead Square in town, but there too no one admitted to remembering the mysterious detective. Salvatore tried other pubs in the city centre, without success, and then he headed back toward home and the Star. At the Star he expected a more helpful reception.

And in the pokey, panelled bar he got it. Three of the men sitting at a table remembered the black-mac detective. He had been to the pub in the middle of the previous week, though there was some disagreement about whether it was on the Tuesday or the Wednesday. No one knew the man but all agreed that he had behaved in a self-important and secretive manner.

The Star, with its warren of little rooms and easy atmosphere, was the one pub in town where patrons were experienced in mixing socially with private detectives. All the adult Lunghis had drunk there over the years. ‘I knew straight off he wasn't one of yours,' a Star patron told Salvatore. ‘This geezer was right slimy.'

Given the sparseness of the information obtained over the earlier part of the evening Salvatore felt the ‘slimy' description was worth buying his informant a pint. This largesse was rewarded because the recipient then said that, as he remembered it, the detective in the black mac had shown his picture only to women.

The Old Man had had one of his tired days. He spent the evening watching television while Mama knitted quietly across the room. One of the Old Man's favourite games was picking holes in the plots of TV mysteries. Sometimes it was just too easy and no fun, even though at other times that very ease provided the amusement. But the Old Man had other things on his mind. Namely his will. He was contemplating an alteration that would cut Salvatore out of it. He hadn't told his wife. She would be furious.

It wasn't that he
wanted
to deny his eldest child. But the boy was a wastrel. Nearly forty years old and no regular life. If he removed Salvatore from the will, and made his action public, maybe it would shock the wastrel into pulling himself together.

It was a new idea, this. The Old Man didn't quite remember when it had come to him, and it was not that he had actually done anything about it yet. His visit to the solicitor had been to explore the implications of this new plan.

But the solicitor had not proved helpful. He was only young and full of ‘if that's what you want' but empty of understanding. No opinion about whether it would work, no stories of similar situations and similar experiences from other clients.

The Old Man's own solicitor—Harris, the one he'd had in mind when he made the appointment—was the man he'd dealt with ever since he started the detective business in 1947. When he couldn't join the police—an Italian so soon after the war, even though he'd spent all of it in Britain and some interned—he'd become a detective anyway. Picked Harris from a telephone directory with a pin and had been lucky. Never had a moment's complaint about Harris.

It was unfortunate for the Old Man's new intentions that Harris was dead. The Old Man now remembered going to the funeral. Five years ago? Waste of time, this youngster.