Read Online Split Code by Dorothy Dunnett - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
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and tie, and a leather-trimmed alpaca cardigan.
He said, ‘Can the child hustle you back? You’ve got it made real good, haven’t you, whoever you are? Pick on a kid? Pick on a poor helpless baby? What’d you do to my poor little Sukey there? Slug her jaw if she don’t eat her waffles?’
His gaze shifted. ‘Did you bring that gin? Where’s my girl? Did you bring that gin?’ His voice, already powerful, swelled to appalling proportions. ‘Bunty! Bunty? Do you know there’s a drunk foreigner in here beating my children?’
At this point, I hand it to Bunty. She could have lain doggo. She could have pretended to be out of hearing or even, at a pinch, out of the house. As it was, she appeared, if belatedly, in her doorway, with the leaf-green mud pack all over her face.
Grover, adoring every sadistic second, peeped out from his father’s cardigan selveage and went off into a paroxysm of fresh amazement and horror. Sukey, drawing breath from time to time, continued an obbligato that would have done Bishop proud. A soft voice raised in mellow alarm impinged from the direction of the doorway calling, ‘My babies! My babies! What are you doing to my babies?’ and Mother Eisenkopp, a dead ringer for any of the Mrs Roger Vadims, floated in, capsized over the tricycle and collapsed shrieking on top of her daughter, kicking her son in the fist as she did so.
The gin went flying. Mr Eisenkopp, shouting ‘Beverley!’, leaped forward and gripped his blonde and dazzling wife. Bunty, clawing mud off her face, flew in and winkled out Sukey.
I lifted the gin, bestowed a couple of stiff cleansing doubles on the glistening patch already present on Sukey’s resting place, and then picked up Grover, who was standing with his eyes shut, emitting short breathy hoots with his cut paw dripping blood on the carpet.
Before he knew where he was, I had his hand under the cold tap in the bathroom, and the hoots were giving way to straight-up crying.
‘Grover is a brave boy,’ I said. ‘Look. Joanna has a big white handkerchief. Now, Grover show Joanna where Bunty’s bandages are.’
Bandages or band-aids: they always do the trick.
‘You get a bandage?’ he said. He had dark hair like his father’s, and maybe even his mother’s; cracked lips and red patches on both bulbous cheeks.
‘A very big bandage,’ I said. ‘Grover show the bandages to Joanna.’
They were in the bathroom cabinet, along with a half-hearted bottle of Junior Aspirin, some plasters, some lint, some cotton wool, an obelisk of assorted make-up and Bunty’s pills, all up-to-date to the minute, which tallied with Charlotte’s analysis and was good news for the Mexican yam industry.
The Eisenkopps might have been hell on hygiene, but they had missed out on the First Aid Department. Or maybe that had been cornered by the Mafia. I cut out some lint, chatting, and made a beautiful bandage, with donkey’s ears on it. Grover, his face smothered in half-dried tears said, ‘Now Joanna give Sukey a bandage.’
The fate of Sukey had been somewhat occupying my mind, not to mention the fact that if Mother Eisenkopp had broken both legs, all three of Bunty’s boyfriends were in for a hard time. With three adults already on the scene I felt the only positive contribution I could make was to keep Grover out of it. He produced a dry cough, and followed it with another. ‘Grover wants Bunty,’ he said suddenly.
I should have been more worried if he hadn’t. I said, ‘Bunty is helping Mummy just now, then she’ll come and see Grover’s big bandage. Shall I tell you a secret?’
‘I tell you?’ he said. He continued with a phased series of croaks.
‘I’ll show you something that’s nice for your cough. Where’s the kitchen?’
He was less than eager, but he condescended to show me, and he watched while I made butter balls rolled in sugar. In the middle he said, ‘That’s a topeat.’
Whatever he was describing, I was being done a favour. I looked
He said, ‘Can the child hustle you back? You’ve got it made real good, haven’t you, whoever you are? Pick on a kid? Pick on a poor helpless baby? What’d you do to my poor little Sukey there? Slug her jaw if she don’t eat her waffles?’
His gaze shifted. ‘Did you bring that gin? Where’s my girl? Did you bring that gin?’ His voice, already powerful, swelled to appalling proportions. ‘Bunty! Bunty? Do you know there’s a drunk foreigner in here beating my children?’
At this point, I hand it to Bunty. She could have lain doggo. She could have pretended to be out of hearing or even, at a pinch, out of the house. As it was, she appeared, if belatedly, in her doorway, with the leaf-green mud pack all over her face.
Grover, adoring every sadistic second, peeped out from his father’s cardigan selveage and went off into a paroxysm of fresh amazement and horror. Sukey, drawing breath from time to time, continued an obbligato that would have done Bishop proud. A soft voice raised in mellow alarm impinged from the direction of the doorway calling, ‘My babies! My babies! What are you doing to my babies?’ and Mother Eisenkopp, a dead ringer for any of the Mrs Roger Vadims, floated in, capsized over the tricycle and collapsed shrieking on top of her daughter, kicking her son in the fist as she did so.
The gin went flying. Mr Eisenkopp, shouting ‘Beverley!’, leaped forward and gripped his blonde and dazzling wife. Bunty, clawing mud off her face, flew in and winkled out Sukey.
I lifted the gin, bestowed a couple of stiff cleansing doubles on the glistening patch already present on Sukey’s resting place, and then picked up Grover, who was standing with his eyes shut, emitting short breathy hoots with his cut paw dripping blood on the carpet.
Before he knew where he was, I had his hand under the cold tap in the bathroom, and the hoots were giving way to straight-up crying.
‘Grover is a brave boy,’ I said. ‘Look. Joanna has a big white handkerchief. Now, Grover show Joanna where Bunty’s bandages are.’
Bandages or band-aids: they always do the trick.
‘You get a bandage?’ he said. He had dark hair like his father’s, and maybe even his mother’s; cracked lips and red patches on both bulbous cheeks.
‘A very big bandage,’ I said. ‘Grover show the bandages to Joanna.’
They were in the bathroom cabinet, along with a half-hearted bottle of Junior Aspirin, some plasters, some lint, some cotton wool, an obelisk of assorted make-up and Bunty’s pills, all up-to-date to the minute, which tallied with Charlotte’s analysis and was good news for the Mexican yam industry.
The Eisenkopps might have been hell on hygiene, but they had missed out on the First Aid Department. Or maybe that had been cornered by the Mafia. I cut out some lint, chatting, and made a beautiful bandage, with donkey’s ears on it. Grover, his face smothered in half-dried tears said, ‘Now Joanna give Sukey a bandage.’
The fate of Sukey had been somewhat occupying my mind, not to mention the fact that if Mother Eisenkopp had broken both legs, all three of Bunty’s boyfriends were in for a hard time. With three adults already on the scene I felt the only positive contribution I could make was to keep Grover out of it. He produced a dry cough, and followed it with another. ‘Grover wants Bunty,’ he said suddenly.
I should have been more worried if he hadn’t. I said, ‘Bunty is helping Mummy just now, then she’ll come and see Grover’s big bandage. Shall I tell you a secret?’
‘I tell you?’ he said. He continued with a phased series of croaks.
‘I’ll show you something that’s nice for your cough. Where’s the kitchen?’
He was less than eager, but he condescended to show me, and he watched while I made butter balls rolled in sugar. In the middle he said, ‘That’s a topeat.’
Whatever he was describing, I was being done a favour. I looked
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