Read Online Johnson-Johnson 06 – Dolly and the Nanny Bird by Dorothy Dunnett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
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his overflow basement.
The fact was, it wasn’t a picture: it was an ikon. And Simon Booker-Readman, according to rumour, had just lost an ikon, an old one.
This one, for example?
Then, should I call Bunty?
I didn’t have to. As I held it under the tap, Grover’s potty burst into song. Bunty opened the door. I turned off the tap. The potty, jingling busily, completed its modest recital:
‘Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treac… cle.
Mix it up, and make it nice,
Pop! goes the wea…sel
.’
‘Hullo,’ said Bunty. ‘You’ve found Graver’s musical potty. I say, you’ve got the nappy out of the loo.’
‘And the other things,’ I said. ‘What do you do, empty your coat pockets into the lavatory pan?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Bunty simply. ‘What’s all that, for God’s sakes?’
I spread out the fragments of unhygienic wood on some loo paper. ‘Someone’s bust up a picture. Grover?’
‘Maybe,’ said Bunty with cursory sympathy. ‘Bloody kid. Wrap it up and I’ll shove it down the disposal chute. Or his father’ll lecture him silly. Where is he, anyway?’
‘Grover’s with his grandfather,’ I said. I gave her the bundle of chippings. “How’s the scene with the parents?’
Bunty said vaguely, ‘Oh, I explained it all.’ She watched me wash my hands with a cake of Chanel No. 5 that matched the talc in the night nursery and must have tripled Bunty’s aura in the Park, whatever its virtues in cases of nappy-rash.
‘You explained the gin and orange? ’ I said. ‘No problem,’ said Bunty. ‘I said you and Hugo had shared a light refreshment. Hugo’ll back us both up. You must meet him some time. He practically lives here.’
With difficulty, I remembered that Hugo Panadek was Eisenkopp’s Design Director, and a good boy whom Bunty had kissed, according to Grover. I said, ‘Look, with you and Beverley Eisenkopp in the house, what that man needs is a sedative, not new introductions. What does he design anyway, apart from subterfuges?’
‘Never heard of them,’ said Bunty, who had no pretensions. ‘He’s Father Eisenkopp’s toy designer. Didn’t I tell you Comer manufactured toys?’
‘No,’ I said. I hadn’t seen a toy in the place apart from the plastic butterflies. ‘You mean I’m going to be sued for criminal assault by the irate mogul of a toy empire?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bunty placidly. ‘Come and see. I told him you’d just saved Sukey’s life. Grover’s always trying to do Sukey in. He tried to take off her head once with the can opener. This is where the toys are.’
She had led the way back to the day nursery, which was a large over-warm room with armchairs, TV and spotless vinyl tiles patterned like games boards. Half of one wall was blackboard and the other half pin board, covered with bits of paper scrawled on by Grover. All the other wall space, apart from the windows, was patterned with numbers, letters, animals and friezes from Disneyland. Bunty pressed a stud and the Lady and the Tramp slid aside, revealing a cavernous cupboard crammed with teddies, pandas, elephants and dogs in flare-resistant plush with safety-locked noses and eyes.
Grover’s wall let down in sections to show a complete electric railway, a farm, an Apache fort and a theatre with puppets and scenery. He had dress-up clothes and plasticine and planes and board games and jigsaws. Elsewhere there was a typewriter, a record player, paper, brushes, crayons, pencils and big pots of paint.
The last cupboard revealed party games, balloon packs and masks. Also a life-sized gorilla, angularly disposed on a shelf, who climbed down and embraced Bunty with vigour. ‘Hugo! ’ said Bunty crossly. The monkey hair, I think, had caught on her earrings.
I was thinking of Scimmia and other, associated recollections when the gorilla took its head off and turning, embraced me without warning also. His head, emerging from the gorilla’s neck, was bald and
The fact was, it wasn’t a picture: it was an ikon. And Simon Booker-Readman, according to rumour, had just lost an ikon, an old one.
This one, for example?
Then, should I call Bunty?
I didn’t have to. As I held it under the tap, Grover’s potty burst into song. Bunty opened the door. I turned off the tap. The potty, jingling busily, completed its modest recital:
‘Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treac… cle.
Mix it up, and make it nice,
Pop! goes the wea…sel
.’
‘Hullo,’ said Bunty. ‘You’ve found Graver’s musical potty. I say, you’ve got the nappy out of the loo.’
‘And the other things,’ I said. ‘What do you do, empty your coat pockets into the lavatory pan?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Bunty simply. ‘What’s all that, for God’s sakes?’
I spread out the fragments of unhygienic wood on some loo paper. ‘Someone’s bust up a picture. Grover?’
‘Maybe,’ said Bunty with cursory sympathy. ‘Bloody kid. Wrap it up and I’ll shove it down the disposal chute. Or his father’ll lecture him silly. Where is he, anyway?’
‘Grover’s with his grandfather,’ I said. I gave her the bundle of chippings. “How’s the scene with the parents?’
Bunty said vaguely, ‘Oh, I explained it all.’ She watched me wash my hands with a cake of Chanel No. 5 that matched the talc in the night nursery and must have tripled Bunty’s aura in the Park, whatever its virtues in cases of nappy-rash.
‘You explained the gin and orange? ’ I said. ‘No problem,’ said Bunty. ‘I said you and Hugo had shared a light refreshment. Hugo’ll back us both up. You must meet him some time. He practically lives here.’
With difficulty, I remembered that Hugo Panadek was Eisenkopp’s Design Director, and a good boy whom Bunty had kissed, according to Grover. I said, ‘Look, with you and Beverley Eisenkopp in the house, what that man needs is a sedative, not new introductions. What does he design anyway, apart from subterfuges?’
‘Never heard of them,’ said Bunty, who had no pretensions. ‘He’s Father Eisenkopp’s toy designer. Didn’t I tell you Comer manufactured toys?’
‘No,’ I said. I hadn’t seen a toy in the place apart from the plastic butterflies. ‘You mean I’m going to be sued for criminal assault by the irate mogul of a toy empire?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bunty placidly. ‘Come and see. I told him you’d just saved Sukey’s life. Grover’s always trying to do Sukey in. He tried to take off her head once with the can opener. This is where the toys are.’
She had led the way back to the day nursery, which was a large over-warm room with armchairs, TV and spotless vinyl tiles patterned like games boards. Half of one wall was blackboard and the other half pin board, covered with bits of paper scrawled on by Grover. All the other wall space, apart from the windows, was patterned with numbers, letters, animals and friezes from Disneyland. Bunty pressed a stud and the Lady and the Tramp slid aside, revealing a cavernous cupboard crammed with teddies, pandas, elephants and dogs in flare-resistant plush with safety-locked noses and eyes.
Grover’s wall let down in sections to show a complete electric railway, a farm, an Apache fort and a theatre with puppets and scenery. He had dress-up clothes and plasticine and planes and board games and jigsaws. Elsewhere there was a typewriter, a record player, paper, brushes, crayons, pencils and big pots of paint.
The last cupboard revealed party games, balloon packs and masks. Also a life-sized gorilla, angularly disposed on a shelf, who climbed down and embraced Bunty with vigour. ‘Hugo! ’ said Bunty crossly. The monkey hair, I think, had caught on her earrings.
I was thinking of Scimmia and other, associated recollections when the gorilla took its head off and turning, embraced me without warning also. His head, emerging from the gorilla’s neck, was bald and
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