Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [84]
Jerry Cornelius went through the control room, and John shut off the equipment again.
Then Jerry was on his way, torch in hand, back to his boat.
Within twenty minutes he was looking up at the house as his launch throbbed towards the English coast. The house was full of light now. It looked as if the residents were having a party.
It was still an hour until dawn. He had a chance of making it back to Southquay before the new man came on watch at the harbourmaster’s office.
CHAPTER THREE
On Sunday morning Miss Brunner and Dimitri left for Blackheath. She locked the door of her Holland Park house and tucked the note for the milkman into an empty bottle on the step. Dimitri had the Lotus 15 ready and running by the time she had put on her gloves and walked daintily down the path.
Later, as they waited for the Knightsbridge traffic to move, Miss Brunner decided that she would drive, and she and Dimitri changed places. They were used to changing places; it held them together in those uncertain times.
“Mr. Cornelius had better be there,” Miss Brunner said obsessively as she drove down Sloane Street, which was less crowded than it would have been on a weekday.
Dimitri sat back and smoked. He’d had a tiring night, and he hadn’t enjoyed himself as much as usual, particularly since Miss Brunner had insisted on calling him Cornelius the whole time.
Let her work it out, he thought. He was rather jealous of Cornelius, all the same; it had taken him two cups of strong coffee when he’d got up to convince himself that he was not in any way Jerry Cornelius. Miss Brunner, on the other hand, had evidently not been so easily convinced, and she was as bad today as she’d been since Thursday.
Well, with luck it would all be over by Monday, and they could begin the next phase of their plan—a much more sophisticated phase that involved thought and little energetic action.
It was a pity that attacking the house was the only way. He hadn’t liked the idea at all when it was first proposed, but since he’d had time to think about it, he was half looking forward to it. The fact disturbed him.
Miss Brunner drove the throbbing Lotus 15 over Westminster Bridge with gusto and entered the maze of streets beyond, then went down the Old Kent Road.
She had decided that she must have Jerry Cornelius, but she knew that this was one situation in which she must act for herself and not rely on Dimitri. A savoury chick, she thought, a nice spicy chick. She began to feel better.
Mr. Crookshank, the entertainers’ agent, kissed Little Miss Dazzle goodbye. Little Miss Dazzle was quite naked and did not appear on stage like that, if for no other reason than that the public would see that she was in fact equipped with the daintiest masculine genitals you ever saw.
It was not yet time, Mr. Crookshank had decided, to reveal that particular secret; not while Miss Dazzle was still smoothing up to the number one spot in the Top Ten Girl Chart within three days to a week with every disc she cut. When number five came to be her ceiling, then a few rumours might start. Then perhaps a marriage, he thought, though he’d hate to lose Miss Dazzle.
Mr. Crookshank’s Rolls, complete with chauffeur, waited downstairs outside the entrance hall to Miss Dazzle’s Bloomsbury flat.
The chauffeur knew the way.
Mr. Crookshank lit a panatella as the car cruised off in the general direction of Blackfriars Bridge. He switched on the radio and, as luck would have it, Little Miss Dazzle’s latest hit on Big Beat Call, the nonstop pop programme, was playing. It was a moving song, and Mr. Crookshank was duly moved. The words seemed to be for him.
I am a part of you, the heart of you,
I want to start with you,
And know…
The beat changed from 4/4 to 3/4, and the guitars tumbled into the minor fifth when she sang:
Just what it is,
Just what it is,
Just what it is,
I want to know.
He looked out of the window as the car went down Farringdon Street towards the bridge. The Sunday workers all seemed to be moving in the same direction,