Saturnalia Part 16

'We were all out having a drink at the Three Clams,' the legionary confessed. 'Unfortunately, the eyes outside will have seen us rolling home later.'

'Anacrites knows you're seconded to me. And I dare say he can guess you are all reprobates and drunks. The Three Clams is a dump, by the way. If you don't want to walk all the way up the Hill to Flora's, try the Crocus or the Galatean. Did the Guards tell Helena why they came?'

'Looking for her brother. Have you got him, Falco?'

'Who, me? Kidnap a state prisoner from the Chief Spy's house?' 'Yes, it's a shocking suggestion... I hope you've put him somewhere they won't look,' said Scaurus.

I went hunting for a snack, but the marauding Guards had cleaned out the pantry. Then I went to bed. The bed was empty.

I found Helena in the children's room. Favonia had a fever and had been vomiting all night. Helena, pale and puffy-eyed, was probably catching the same illness.

'What did I buy a nursemaid for? Where's Galene?' 'Too much trouble to bother her.'

I sent Helena to bed and took over. It is not in the informers' manual, but sitting up with a sick child is a good way to organise some thinking time. In between sponging the hot little head, administering drinks, finding the lost doll that has fallen on the floor, and wielding the sick-bowl when the drinks you had enticed down hurtle back up again, you can generally work out your next day's plan of action, then sit back mulling over what you have learned so far on your case.

Never enough, of course.

Breakfast was late; someone had to go out for rolls, as the Guards had raided the bread basket. Helena and I spent the wait disputing my refusal to say where her brother was. If she did not know, she could not be pressurised. She failed to see it. We ate in silence. Eventually Helena broke in with the old questions, 'So where exactly did you go last night, and who were you drinking with?' To which I gave the customary answers.

She flounced out to do the daily shop, taking two soldiers called Lusius and Minnius, together with the centurion's servant, Cattus.

Lentullus tagged along with them though he was due to peel off un.o.btrusively. I had covertly given him a map and a money-bag, telling him how to find Justinus and saying to stick with him, if possible for a week.

'I'm sending you because you know him, Lentullus.'

'That's nice.'

'Maybe not. May be hard work. Keep him indoors. He's been told to lie low, but you know what he's like. If anyone can make him stay put, Lentullus, it's you. You fetch food and drink and anything else he needs; stick around the local neighbourhood. Whatever you do, don't come back here, in case you're spotted by the Spy's men. Here's a tunic--' The legionaries were in plain clothes, which only meant that instead of all wearing red tunics they had been issued with identical white. I gave Lentullus a brown one. 'As soon as you get there, change your togs, then go to the barber at the end of the street where the apartment is.' Plain clothes for soldiers also meant growing their hair. 'Have a close crop.' Anyone looking for a soldier in white with curls would be thwarted by this transformation into a shaven-headed civilian in inconspicuous brown. Well, anyone Anacrites employed would be fooled. 'Tell him to put the price on my slate.'

Lentullus was a big child at heart. 'I'll get a free haircut? That's great, Falco.'

'No, you'll get a long complaint about me. I used up my credit about three years ago. But he'll charge you the real price, not the stranger's special.'

'Is the tribune going to be a problem?' Lentullus then asked warily. 'I hope not.'

'Can I bop him one?'

'I'd rather you managed to control him some other way.'

'Oh thanks, Falco. I'd better not use a sword on him.'

'No, please don't!'

So Lentullus tagged along after Helena, while I stood on the doorstep talking to Clemens, offering a more interesting target in case Anacrites' observer thought of tailing the shoppers. Petro and I had warned Justinus last night that he would be given a minder. It might work. He had no clothes, other than his now battered turnip costume. No senator's son with hopes of a career wants to appear in public with roots dangling around his legs and ridiculous leaves coming out of his ears. On the other hand, there was a laundry on the ground floor of the apartment block where we had left him. Washed tunics were just hanging on lines. If he decided to bunk off, he would manage it, even though he might end up a bit damp around the armpits. We could report him to the vigiles as a clothes thief, but they had so many of those to chase, they would never get around to him.

'Stay friends with him,' I had pleaded with Lentullus. 'If he skips, make sure that you go with him.'

'When he skips.' The young legionary was cynical. He hadn't been like that when Quintus and I first knew him as a scared recruit in Germany. But it tended to happen to people who spent time around us.

Now I had to ensure that by the time Quintus did skip, I would have found Veleda and placed her out of his reach.

Easier said than done. But a breakthrough was not far away.

x.x.xVIII.

We had reached the seven days of Saturnalia. I was almost at my deadline and now the family hara.s.sment began.

I was still on the step with Clemens (who rapidly removed himself) when festive visitors arrived: first my sister Allia, the flabby, exhausted one who was married to the corrupt road contractor, followed by Galla, who was leaner and weepier. Her water-boatman husband periodically deserted her or was thrown out by Galla, and since barmaids were extra-friendly during festivals, Saturnalia was inevitably one of the periods when Lollius went missing.

These virtuous Roman women wanted to spread the gossip that Junia and Gaius Baebius had had a tremendous row. That was unusual, since the snooty, sanctimonious couple were made for each other and doted on their harmonious image.

I looked pious. 'What's a quarrel to me?'

'You're head of the family.' Only when it suited them. Only because Pa ignored such obligations. 'Is it of absolutely no interest, Marcus Didius, that your sister was carried home across the Aventine last night by her husband--raving and uncontrollable?'

'Dear thoughtful ones, thank you. I certainly want to avoid that bore Gaius Baebius, if throwing the wine-soaked Junia over his shoulder has given him a bad back; he'll maunder on about the pain for hours... So it's a quiet festival all round?' I suggested hopefully.

'We are all coming to your house.' Allia had a harsh, unfortunate manner. 'You've got the s.p.a.ce.'

'And you can afford it!' Galla a.s.sured me. All my sisters knew far too much about the contents of other people's bank chests.

'How fortunate. I can upbraid Junia with fraternal bile, like Cato the Censor... Good of you to tell us.' Perhaps Helena had heard about it. Probably not, or she would have made some comment this morning, when lists of my faults had formed much of her repartee. 'You don't mean tonight?'

'Marcus, don't you ever pay attention? You are doing the last evening.' That gave us a week to emigrate. 'We want ghost stories and a really big log for the fire. Make sure you have enough cake too. We all agreed.' All except me. 'Tonight we're dragging out to Papa's spread on the Janiculan. He's got a tale-teller coming, with puppets, to amuse the children. Maia's refused to have anyone round to hers this year, selfish cow; she says she hasn't forgotten the unpleasantness last time... I blame that man she's got now. I never liked him when he was chasing poor Victorina, and I was dead right!'

'It's my best friend Petronius you're insulting, Allia.' Not to mention Maia, my favourite sister--generally the friendly one.

'Well, you never had any judgement.'

As Allia denounced us all, Galla said nothing; her half-starved, virtually fatherless children would get their only decent meals of the month at Saturnalia feasts. In thrall to a serial adulterer, Galla was f.e.c.kless and hopeless--but she knew how to get free food.

'Well, if I'm hosting, I look forward to my thrilling cache of guestgifts. '

'You are joking!' chorused my sisters, without missing a beat.

They moved off together, patrolling the street like carrion crows staking out a flyblown lamb's carca.s.s. They were on their way to Mother's apartment, where the first cataract operation was to take place that morning. I was credited with persuading Ma to knuckle under--no doubt a prelude to piling blame on me if anything went wrong. I turned down an invitation to the eye operation, then I told Allia and Galla that if n.o.body had thought of a Saturnalia present for Pa yet, he was desperate to have his haemorrhoids fixed. 'Don't give him any advance warning; he'd much rather you just turned up with the doctor as a big surprise.'

'Are you sure that's what he wants?' 'Trust me. I'm your brother.'

Can they have forgotten our evil elder brother Festus, the best trickster on the Aventine? They looked suspicious, but for sharp-witted women who had known plenty of two-timing, sweet-talking, earnest-looking cheating b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, they were easily swayed. I even gave them the address of Mastarna, the dogmatist doctor, who advocated surgery. They said they would go to ask his fees.

Bliss. Pa was in for the pile-pincers. As a lord of misrule, I had my moments.

I spent the morning helping out Clemens with the street searches. Ten men had seemed like plenty when we started, but resources were now stretched. Lentullus was minding Justinus. Minnius and Lusius were out scavenging with Helena and would be on pot duty when they returned; Gaudus was already in the kitchen, concocting treats for Favonia. Like all children our invalid had recovered fast, but she knew how to sit wide-eyed, begging to be spoiled. t.i.tus (there is always one called t.i.tus, generally a loafer) and Paullus were taking turns on the roof, watching Anacrites' men. Granius had gone to the Forum, to squat near the notice that Anacrites had put up for Veleda; if she appeared, Granius was to warn her that Justinus had left the Spy's house, and to bring her here. They could use the back entrance--not that it was likely. From what I remembered of the priestess, even if Granius found her, I couldn't see her meekly agreeing to come. Gaius was sick; apparently it was traditional. The only day Gaius was fit to leave his bed was payday. The centurion's servant thought most duties other than lightly brushing down a cloak were beneath him. So that left Clemens with only Sentius and Scaurus. When I joined them, he thought I was checking their methods. He was right too. They were demoralised by failure and needed pepping up.

At our mid-morning break, I made him relieve t.i.tus and Paullus. Anacrites' watchers were tailing us, so we could keep tabs on them just by looking over our shoulders. Paullus joined us. We put t.i.tus on rotation with Granius in the Forum, which pleased t.i.tus, the loafer, since all he had to do was sit in the shade eating a stuffed vineleaf. Granius was less glad, because he had been chatting up a hot-pie seller, and after two hours of banter had believed he was getting somewhere. I warned him she was leading him on; he didn't want to believe it, but when he went to take over again from t.i.tus later, t.i.tus told him she had gone off with a man with a ladder towards the Clivus Argentarius.

'That's life!' we cried, but Granius stuck out his lower lip, still convinced he had narrowly lost the chance of a hot date.

Clemens pulled Granius off observation when we all went for lunch in a small bar at the back of the Curia. Normally I wouldn't be seen dead there, but the Curia was closed for the festival so the hang-out was empty of senators and their parasites. We were in a quiet mood. The chances of us meeting up with Veleda were slight. She had now been on the loose for over two weeks. She must have found somewhere good to hide up. I had just another six days to find her and complete my commission from Laeta, but if she continued to keep her head down, she would be safe. The legionaries were not alone in feeling demoralised.

We had been searching markets and bars between the Forum of Augustus and the old Suburra district. It had filled in a blank on the map, where all the central areas had now been explored. Clemens and the lads had already spent five days searching the west and the south of the city street by street. Unless I ordered them to widen the circle and start enquiries in the outer districts--the Esquiline, the High Lanes, the Via Lata and Circus Flaminius, where gardens, public monuments and high-cla.s.s homes tended to predominate--then it was time to admit we had drawn a blank. We raised our beakers sociably to Anacrites' men: a couple of short hairy idiots who looked like brothers--Melitans maybe--and who were sitting uncomfortably by an empty stall opposite, since our bar was too small for them unless they came and shared our table. Which they might as well have done.

Clemens and I, and Scaurus who seemed to be a man of the world, tried to explain to Granius, who was still sulking, that no pie-seller or other sophisticated Roman woman was ever going to opt for a serving soldier, who was bound to be sent back abroad soon, when she could pick up a man with a ladder. He He was just as likely to abandon her, but if she had the forethought to chain up his ladder, he would leave it behind when he skipped. A woman who owns her own ladder is always popular. Both professional handymen and normal householders would be popping in to 'borrow her ladder' at all hours. Even if their wives saw through it. was just as likely to abandon her, but if she had the forethought to chain up his ladder, he would leave it behind when he skipped. A woman who owns her own ladder is always popular. Both professional handymen and normal householders would be popping in to 'borrow her ladder' at all hours. Even if their wives saw through it.

For some reason Granius suspected we were winding his spindle. He was twenty-one, had gone straight from childhood on a farm to the navy, then the young barnacle had been plucked from the marines, still with seaweed behind his ears, to become part of the newly formed First Adiutrix legion. All he knew of adult life on land had taken place in a permanent army fort in Germany. He was a Roman legionary but knew nothing of Rome. He had no idea of the social essentials in a hectic city neighbourhood.

'Just believe us, Granius. A big long ladder puts a twinkle in any woman's eye.'

Even Lentullus would have got that. Well, he would do nowadays.

I wondered how he was doing. There was no chance of going to ask him, with those two Melitan brothers just waiting to track me to the hideaway... Nonetheless, after I survived a throat-etching beaker of Campanian red at the bar, I decided life was for taking risks. I left the others to it and without looking behind me, set off across the Capitol end of the main Forum, skirted the beast market and cut around the Circus Maximus starting gates. I climbed the Aventine, where I made my way to a particular grimy alley called Fountain Court. This dead end on the rump of society was the only street in Rome where not one building had festive decorations. It had been the haunt of my carefree bachelor years. I stopped by at the barber's for an unguent comb-through and a shave. The beetle-browed Melitans duly tailed me, kicking their heels opposite while I took my time; when I left, I dropped in at the funeral parlour. 'If a couple of losers come and ask what I just said to you, tell them I was ordering a memorial stone for someone called Anacrites.' I waved an arm to Lenia, the frazzle-headed laundress at myoid tenement; the baggy hag was now so short-sighted, she just peered after me, baffled as to who had greeted her. That saved me having to listen to an hour-long monologue on her ex-husband Smaractus, and it saved Lenia from having me remind her that I had always told her so.

I did not cast my gaze up to my old apartment.

Since I was in my home area, I dutifully went to see my mother. As I arrived, I met Anacrites coming out of the building. I should have known that swine would beat me to the patient's bedside; he had probably brought grapes as well as creepy solicitude. He and I stood on the steps, engaged in meaningless chat. His watchers would be very confused when they had to report that they saw me talking to him. And he was furious when, as I went indoors, I pointed a finger at his men: 'I see you're still employing top quality!'

Maia was in the apartment, morosely pulling grapes from their stems and squashing them. I gave her a hug, but did not discuss Anacrites, with whom she had once had a misguided fling that had ended very badly. Petro and I would get even with the Spy one day. Maia did not need to know.

'Our house was full of Guards this morning, Marcus; I gather I should blame you for that.' I went cold. Maia had once had an apartment violently trashed by Anacrites, after she sent him packing. She saw my expression and said quietly, 'I was here. Lucius dealt with them.' So, fortunately, he had not rejoined the vigiles' party last night. He would have kept the Praetorians in order. Maia would have gone to pieces if she had to face a second house invasion. This mission was coming too close to home all round.

Allia and Galla had both left Mother's earlier, hysterical after the operation. It had taken five hours, during which Ma, who usually whizzed around like a demented fly, had had to sit in her basket chair and remain absolutely still. This would be hard, even without the man poking a needle around her eye. She had refused narcotic drugs. n.o.body even dared suggest tying her to the chair.

Of course Ma endured it all with determination, even forgoing her customary scowl. The oculist had been amazed by her ability to sit like marble. Apparently he thought she was a dear old lady. 'Jupiter, Maia. How come you and the others found the only oculist in Rome who's blind?'

It had been intended that only one cataract should be cleared with the couching needle today, but Ma insisted that the man did both. My sister thought our mother was afraid she would be unable to find her courage a second time. She wanted to see. She hated not being able to keep a fierce eye on everyone. Besides, the oculist had said she would be the first patient who coped with both operations the same day. Well, that saved him a double visit. Ma must have been weak by then. She fell for it.

Even Maia looked strained now, but she was staying on watch overnight. Ma was resting. I looked in on her; she was lying straight on her back, with her hands neatly at her waist and her lips set in a straight line. It implied that somebody was for it. That meant nothing. She looked like that whenever she looked at me. Lamb's-wool pads covered both eyes, so someone would have to help her with everything until they came of[ 'Where's--' I turned back to Maia, chilled. Where was Ganna?

'Oh we all knew your mystery woman was here,' scoffed my sister.

'Allia stormed in on her. You know what Allia's like. She couldn't bear to watch the operation, so she thought she'd cause trouble instead. Galla and Allia had got it into their head you'd stashed your tribal tootsie here so you could visit her secretly.'

'Oh yes--and Ma would go along with that liaison?'

'Do you want the story? In tramps Allia, loudly suggesting that Ganna comes out, puts some effort in, and helps us look after Ma. The girl shrieked, Allia grabbed her by the hair--' Allia had always been a bully and a hair-puller. As a child I kept well out of her way. 'So Ganna pulled free and ran out of the house. n.o.body has seen her since. Well, apart from a big clump of blonde hair that Allia dragged out. Juno, I hate those mimsy little pale types!'

I swore. Maia (a vibrant, energetic girl who had a thicket of dark curls, jauntily bound with crimson ribbon) managed to look guilty about letting the acolyte run away. Then a tremulous voice came from Mother's bedroom. She had been awake and listening all the time. 'I'm just a helpless old woman, racked with suffering Someone must go after poor Ganna!' That order came out crisp enough.

Annoyed, I demanded a clue where to start. In a little whisper, which fooled no one, my mother named the Temple of Diana on the Aventine. Diana: virgin G.o.ddess of the moonlit groves, with the big thighs and the over-excitable bow and arrows. Well, that made sense. Any woodland priestess would feel well at home with the haughty huntress. One thing I ought to have remembered right at the start of this mission was that the Temple of Diana was by tradition a safe haven for runaways.

When pressed, Ma meekly admitted young Ganna had regularly prayed at this temple... 'Oh Hades, Ma; didn't you suspect something? Why would Ganna want to pray to Diana? No one from Germania Libera honours the Twelve Consenting G.o.ds!'

A nagging recollection came to me: 'You keep her in?' 'Except when we make a little trip together to a market or temple.' 'Has she said anything?' 'You keep her in?' 'Except when we make a little trip together to a market or temple.' 'Has she said anything?'

'She fooled you plenty. There's a lot she's holding back.'

Stupid! I should have picked up the clue. At the very least, messages were being pa.s.sed. At worst, Veleda herself had been in hiding at the temple, and Ganna had been colluding with her. If that had been true, probably neither Ganna nor Veleda would be there now.

'Why didn't you say something?' 'Oh son, I never interfere.' Dear G.o.ds. 'I have to leave.'

'Don't rush!' cried Maia. My sister had a fast, angry way of dealing with crises. 'First off, I can read the auguries. As soon as Mother owned up what a scam the girl had been pulling, I nipped to the temple myself, Marcus. The priests denied all knowledge. They will only say the same to you. In any case--' This was the clincher; my sister knew it--'Helena wants you back at home. She said to be there prompt, good-tempered and clean. t.i.tus Caesar has invited you two and her parents to the official feast tonight at the Temple of Saturn. So you'll go--or you're d.a.m.ned to the memory.'

I closed my eyes in dread. An endless official banquet, in the presence of a G.o.d's effigy and those two stiffs, the imperial princes gamely pretending to be men of the people while flying nuts. .h.i.t their gold braid and drunks spewed on their orbs of office--was not my idea of a social life. Even t.i.tus and Domitian would probably prefer a night in with a game of draughts.

'Look on the bright side,' Maia consoled me. 'It gets you out of puppets up at Pa's house.' A thin wail of agitation came from Ma at the mention of our absconding father. Maia and I exchanged wry smiles.

Oh flying phalluses, stuff the priestess.

Since it was a festival for ending grudges, I kissed my sister tenderly, kissed my mother even more devotedly, dodged Ma's flailing arm as she tried to box my ears, and went home to take my wife out to an alfresco dinner with the ancient G.o.d Satumus.

x.x.xIX.

'I am sorry, Marcus. But avoiding the invitation would be impolite. '

Helena meant, it would be too political. When the Emperor called, no one was otherwise engaged. Refusal would finish us. We would not be asked again. Our public life would end. Once, I had not given a stuff about my career in public life; now I had a family.

I even had slaves to provide for. They liked to enjoy the full spectrum of Roman life. Galene and Jacinthus had now completely abandoned their duties. They were playing Soldiers on a board marked in the dust in the entrance hall. It was true the dust would not have been there if I had bought a cleaning-slave. So I might not have minded--but they were using my best dice.

'What will you do about Ganna and Veleda?' Helena fretted, as I brought her up to date on my day. I had sent all our legionaries to observe at the priestess's Aventine sanctuary. No point making too much of it; I strongly doubted Veleda was there. Helena thought the men had just gone out drinking. In case she decided I was planning some manoeuvre with the soldiers, I let her think it. I was a thoughtful husband. 'This is typical,' she said with a sigh. 'There is action at a temple--but you will be stuck in the wrong temple!'

'True, my darling.' I concentrated on fastening my party shoes. Glancing up, I saw her expression suddenly still. For a beautiful woman with a mainly placid temperament, Helena Justina had a stare that could bore holes in stone. Parts of me felt molten. I loved her as much as a man could love anyone, but I wished that girl would occasionally consent to be bamboozled.

She had detected that I was hoping I would not be in the wrong temple for long.

The Temple of Saturn is the oldest in the Forum provided by a private sponsor. If you stand where the stairs used to come up from the Tabularium--I mean, where the Temple of Vespasian and t.i.tus has since been squeezed in, under the shadow of the Capitol, forming that squash with the Temple of the Harmonious G.o.ds and the Temple of Concord--that's a.s.suming you can bear to be in an area of so much suffocating harmony and goodwill- then Saturn's antique shrine juts out straight in front of you. Clad in marble, hexastyle, adorned with Tritons, it will be blocking your view of the Basilica and the Temple of Castor. The ship's prows celebrating naval battles and the Golden Milestone with the distances to the world's major cities will be visible in front of it, if you are waiting for a friend and want a distraction to stop you attracting the notice of prost.i.tutes.

The heavy vaults beneath the podium guard the civic treasury. The platform is high, to accommodate the slope of Capitol Hill, and the front steps are unusually narrow, to fit in against the sharp angle of the Clivus Capitolinus as it comes into the Forum, around the Tarpeian Rock. We arrived that way on foot; I glanced up as I always did, just in case any women traitors were being flung off the rock that night. With Veleda in town, it was a possibility. In the sharp night air, sounds carried; I even thought I heard honking from the Sacred Geese of Juno right up on the Arx, public birds whose official guardian I had once been, in a mad period of civic responsibility. Above, anxious crows and other birds were wheeling about the dark sky, upset by the mult.i.tude of lights that filled the Forum.

On the steps and in front of the temple, the banquet had been set out. Saturn's image, a large hollow statue, was made from ivory, so to keep it from cracking it was kept full of oil. The statue had been brought out from the interior. The ancient deity had his head veiled and was holding a hooked sickle. His feet were normally bound together with wool (no idea why; perhaps the sacred one is p.r.o.ne to absconding to seedy bars). The wool had been ceremonially unbound for this occasion. Oil had leaked out around the couch when he was put in position. The public slaves who moved him every year were efficient and reverent, but just you try shifting an outsize statue filled with viscous liquid. The weight was appalling, and as the oily ballast started slopping to and fro, the deity wobbled dangerously. The priests always got in the way trying to supervise, so the slaves grew ratty and lost concentration, with inevitable leakage. They would fill him up again, but not until they took him back indoors.

Helena and I, and her parents, were privileged, in theory. The whole city was supposed to attend tonight, but fitting them in would be ridiculous so hungry crowds were cl.u.s.tered in the darkness all around the periphery. Vespasian was a parsimonious emperor who loathed his obligation to supply endless public banquets. This feast was a lectisternium, lectisternium, a banquet offered to the G.o.d in thanks for the new harvest; Saturn's oversized, h.o.a.rily bearded, goggle-eyed image presided on a giant couch, before which were placed tables laden with rich fare. Traditionally, the fare was rich enough--and had been hanging around in kitchens long enough--to cause severe stomach upsets in the human diners who would eventually devour it (paupers, who were already queuing hopefully at the back of the temple). There were other tables, less opulently covered, where mediocre lukewarm foodstuffs in meagre quant.i.ties were available to us lucky invitees. a banquet offered to the G.o.d in thanks for the new harvest; Saturn's oversized, h.o.a.rily bearded, goggle-eyed image presided on a giant couch, before which were placed tables laden with rich fare. Traditionally, the fare was rich enough--and had been hanging around in kitchens long enough--to cause severe stomach upsets in the human diners who would eventually devour it (paupers, who were already queuing hopefully at the back of the temple). There were other tables, less opulently covered, where mediocre lukewarm foodstuffs in meagre quant.i.ties were available to us lucky invitees.

We had been told to come in informal Saturnalia dress. That still meant looking smart because the Emperor, t.i.tus and Domitian would be present. They would patrol among us, pretending to be part of one giant family. So we had to concoct a reversed-rank version of formality, dressing up as we pretended to dress down. Most of the women had just borrowed their slaves' frocks then piled on as much jewellery as they could. The men looked uncomfortable because their wives had chosen their dinner robes and, according to recognised domestic rules, had chosen dinner robes their husbands hated. I had been put in blue. On men, blue is for floor designers and second-rate sh.e.l.lfish suppliers. Helena, who often wore blue and looked gorgeous, tonight was in unaccustomed brown, with rows of crimped hair that must have taken all afternoon to set. Unless it was a wig; I did wonder. She looked like a stranger. The ridged hair had added five years to her and seemed to belong to some impoverished orator's parchment skinned spinster sister.

'That's certainly a disguise.'