Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

and see you.’

      ‘Please do. You see I have an uncle, by one of those quirks of fate not greatly older than myself, and he–’

      ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, ‘well, I must be going.’ I am backing out just as Doctor Carboy bowls in.

      ‘Dear lady,’ he trills, ‘What can I say?’ He looks round the dark, shabby room like it is an Ideal Home feature. ‘Your own incomparable beauty is matched by the elegance of your surroundings. Forgive me for not coming sooner but I was engaged in a tedious search for my baggage. Alas, without success. But what care I? You are the prettiest little baggage in the world.’ I think he must be round the twist but Miss Ruperts giggles coyly and obviously laps it up. No accounting for tastes.

      ‘Go and make sure that the champagne is cool,’ he says to me. ‘I’ll make sure that the blood is hot.’ He is actually taking her hand in his as I leave. I always thought he was a bit batty, now I am certain of it.

      ‘I reckon your Miss Ruperts is on the point of betraying you with another,’ I say, when I bump into Sidney. ‘That Doctor Carboy bloke is giving her the full treatment.’

      ‘If only we had a few more like him, all our troubles would be over,’ sighs Sidney. ‘I hope she doesn’t upset him. You know, I think you were right about her. I can’t afford the booze she puts away, let alone anything else. Trouble is I suppose Mrs Caitley would chuck in her notice if I gave her the boot.’

      ‘Mrs Caitley would probably punch your head in, Sid. Come on, why fight it any longer? This place is going down the drain. If there’s anything left when these bleeding rugger buggers have pulled out, why don’t you let Rigby have it?’`

      Sid sighs and does the whole head-shaking bit, like Jack Hawkins about to send Richard Todd out on a suicide mission without his cocker spaniel. ‘Oh, blimey,’ he says, ‘after all I’ve put into the place.’ I can’t think of anything, but maybe he is talking about a different place. ‘All right,’ he goes on, ‘but the bastard will have to come to me first. I’m not crawling back to him.’

      Sidney does not have to wait long for the coming. The next morning, while I am helping June and Audrey clean up the results of a fire extinguisher battle–no prizes for guessing who between–Rigby’s rodent frame bristles behind us.

      ‘You want to try using carpet shampoo,’ he says. ‘It’s less messy. Where’s Noggett? Hiding from his creditors, as usual?’

      ‘I suggest you wait in the lounge,’ I say grandly. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’

      ‘No thanks. Something might drop off the walls.’

      ‘I thought that’s how you got in here,’ says June, loyally.

      ‘Watch it, girlie, you’ll find yourself out of a job when I take over,’ snarls Rigby.

      ‘I wouldn’t stay here five minutes if you took over. Only long enough to open the windows.’

      You don’t have to be good at reading expressions to know that Rigby does not like that, but before he can say anything Sidney appears.

      ‘You’re looking for me, are you?’ he says, seeing Rigby.

      ‘Amongst many others, I expect,’ sneers Rigby. ‘I came round to tell you that I’m fed up with hanging about. Unless you see sense by tomorrow dinner-time I’m moving my boys in to start developing the sites on either side of you. They’ll be at it twenty-four hours a day, working by floodlights. I’m behind schedule and my backers want results. If you don’t take my offer you won’t be able to accept a booking from anyone who isn’t deaf.’

      ‘You can’t blackmail me.’

      ‘I’m not blackmailing you. I’m telling you. You should be grateful to me for giving you a chance to get out of this dump. Look at it! I’m amazed it hasn’t fallen down without the other two buildings to support it.’

      ‘You’re a nice bloke to do business with, aren’t you?’ Sid’s fists have folded into bunches of bananas and there is a look in his eye like the outbreak of World War III.

      ‘I’ve heard about the kind of guests you’re taking now. Down to football teams, isn’t it? I suppose if they can’t afford the YMCA they come here.’

      ‘Rugby teams, not football teams.’ The words come from one of Fatso’s mates and are spoken without warmth. Since the speaker is about six foot eight inches tall they encourage attention.

      ‘Rugby teams,’ says Rat Features.

      ‘And we never stay at the YMCA. The YWCA, now that’s different.’ Mr Big is advancing towards Rigby as if he wants to use him to practise tying knots.

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Piss off,’ says Sid, falling in beside the incredible hulk.

      ‘Dinner time tomorrow,’ squeaks Rigby, breaking the World Backward-walking record. ‘If you don’t agree to my terms, I’ll turn my boys loose on the site.’

      ‘Getoutofit!’

      Rigby flashes into his Rolls like he is only let out of it on a spring. The windows are a smokey-blue colour so we cannot see him through them. Nobody expresses a sense of loss.

      ‘We’ll see him tomorrow,’ says the big guy. There is a note of anticipation in his voice that I do not appreciate at the time.

      ‘What are we going to do, Sid?’ I say.

      ‘I don’t know, Timmy. It just depends on what kind of offer he finally makes.’ But, from the expression on Sid’s face I know that he has as good as chucked in the sponge.

      One person who remains cheerful is Miss Ruperts. When I next see her, she squeezes my arm affectionately and draws me closer. She opens her mouth to speak and I feel that it must conceal the entrance to a whisky still.

      ‘He’s so kind and thoughtful, isn’t he?’ she says.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Doctor Carboy. Or Walter as he allows me to call him. Do you know he’s going to have all my jewellery valued free?’

      I look at her mitts and they are indeed ringless.

      ‘Very nice.’ It is isn’t it? Doctor Carboy has now completely replenished the items that were lost when his luggage failed to turn up and the local tradespeople must be very grateful for his custom. He has also consumed gallons of booze and exotic goodies in the privacy of his suite. All in all, a man well versed in the art of chucking money about. Now he has taken Miss Ruperts’ jewellery–hey! Wait a minute. I detach myself from Miss Ruperts and move swiftly to Sid’s side. He is in his office slamming shut a large ledger and beginning to slide despairing hands over his mush.

      ‘Sid,’ I say, trying to sound very relaxed about the whole thing, ‘has it occurred to you that Doctor Carboy might be a conman?’ Sid pauses for a moment, then continues to slide despairing hands over his mush.

      ‘Not until you mentioned it,’ he says. ‘Now it seems the most natural thing in the world. That’s all we need, isn’t it? A conman. Very nice. When did you first become suspicious?’

      I tell Sid about the ring-valuing and he shakes his head.

      ‘He just might be on the level,’ he says hopefully. ‘Come on, we’d better go and talk to Miss Ruperts. I’ve been trying to keep out of her way but I suppose–’

      ‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ says Miss Ruperts reproachfully when we interrupt her trying to find room for a couple of ice cubes in a jumbo slug of scotch.

      ‘I’ve been very busy,’ says Sid, lamely. ‘Now–’

      ‘Now,’ says Miss Ruperts, riding over him professionally. ‘Now that you’re here at last. There’s something I want to say to you–’

      ‘Yes, but–’