The Trouble With Dead Men - Part Two

I knew nothing about Elina. However, I could sense uncertainty beneath her enticing self-confidence.

‘My husband, Giorgio, is half Spanish, and half cocker spaniel – only joking!' she exclaimed, leaning over to pinch my cheek.

I feigned a smile. Her body was adorable. I couldn't keep my eyes of her long, graceful legs.

‘You must learn to chill out. I’ll help you.’ She moved to the back of my chair and started to massage my shoulders. Usually, I have to pay. Elina’s masterly display confirmed what was absent from my life—a woman.

‘My husband, Giorgio, is half Italian, and half Spanish on his mother’s side. He’s a painter and an author. He was educated at Oxford in England, and practiced as a physician in Portugal.’

‘He certainly gets around.’

‘Of course, he is extremely handsome, lean, rich and generous. Despite his imperfections I love him dearly.’

I was starting to despise Giorgio already, but I needed the case and the money. Just then my left leg decided to go to sleep. I sat back suddenly, and rubbed my leg in an effort to restore circulation. Elina turned my chair round. ‘Here, let me do that.’

As I tried to control my knees she asked. ‘Where did this dentist live?’

‘What dentist?’

‘The halibut—’

‘Oh, the dentist ...Yes. He lived above a jewellery store.’

‘You don’t give much away.’

‘I don’t have much to give …’

‘You’re too modest.’

When my trousers involuntarily moved Helen’s soft, freckled face flushed. ‘You’re line of work must be hard?’

I gripped my notebook, and tried to fake manliness—a trait my mother had down to perfection. Elina had met Giorgio in Paris where he was exhibiting his work. ‘He found me sexy. Do you?’

I dropped my pencil. ‘I never mix love and sex—extreme passion blinds me. That’s why I simultaneously wear contact lenses and glasses. I’ve always had extremely poor eyesight. I once dated a shrub for two weeks. On the upside, it was a great kisser.’

‘Love is a mystery.’ Elina became thoughtful; her perfume engulfed me like a cigar smoking a cigarette. ‘One day he asked, and I said—well, you know ...’

She kept caressing my knee, and didn’t notice I was hyperventilating. ‘Everything changes—the nature of excitement alters as we progress through live.’ I bit my elbow and sang an old church hymn. I was going to faint, or have the greatest out-of-body-experience of my life.

‘What excites you?’ she growled.

‘Tarzan … the novels, not the movies.’ I began biting both elbows. ‘And hairstyles—French plaits, ringlets … I’m currently reading a book called My Life as a Hair-Piece by Bob Bouffant. I think he’s French, and the toupee is English?’

I cleared my throat, and in a high-pitched whimper suggested it may be beneficial to continue our conversation over lunch.

‘Have you a photograph of Giorgio?’

She took a snapshot from her handbag. He was undeniably handsome, and I was sure he had a wandering eye. My instinct told me if I could find his eye I would find him. It was worth a shot.

I gently touched her arm. ‘We’ll leave by the back entrance’.

End of Part Two