Mrs Pargeter 03; Mrs Pargeter’s Package

∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧

Five

When she got back to the table, their food had arrived. Joyce was toying with a lamb kebab on rice and in front of Mrs Pargeter’s place was a crisply grilled fish with garnish of a few chips. Between them on the table was a bowl of Greek salad, topped with feta cheese. Joyce was working her way through yet another ouzo.

Mrs Pargeter attacked her fish with relish, while Larry Lambeth further defined his relationship with her late husband.

“Fact is, I worked with him a great deal. I mean, I was never one of the big boys, but I done kind of little jobs for him.”

“Ah.”

A look of modest pride came across his face. “I was involved in, er… Welwyn Garden City.”

Mrs Pargeter looked suitably impressed. “And now you’re living out here, are you?”

“Yeah, well, I always said I’d come back to Greece. I am Greek, you see. My parents was Greek, but I was brought up in London. Lambeth, actually. Where I got the name from.”

“Really?”

“Well, growing up in London, like I did, you had to make a decision. You know, when you go into business, do you play on the ethnic bit or do you just gloss it over? I had to ask myself – do I want to spend the rest of my life known as Nick the Greek? And I decided I didn’t, so I made up Larry Lambeth. Reckoned it was less conspicuous, and the sort of work I do, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself too much.”

“Ah, no, I see.”

“So, you know, at home I was Greek, spoke Greek with the parents and all, but professionally I was, well, just London. So long as I done my work all right, nobody was that interested in where I come from.”

“Right. And now you’ve retired, have you?”

“Yeah, well, in a manner of speaking. Fact is, I always did fancy coming out to Greece at some stage… you know, roots and that. And, not to put too fine a point on it, there was a moment when staying in London suddenly didn’t seem too brilliant an idea.” He leant towards her confidentially. “Fact is, Mrs Pargeter, I got mixed up with a rather dubious bunch. This was after your husband died, of course. I mean, Mr P. was always a great organiser, you run no risks working for him – well, no risks other than the ones naturally associated with our line of work – but after he’d gone, I got mixed up with a real bunch of villains. And, fact is, the moment come when either I had to get out of London sharpish or I might not be able to get out of anywhere for a few years… if you catch my drift?”

Mrs Pargeter nodded. She caught his drift all right.

“I had my savings, and I still had my Greek passport, and I thought, well, maybe this is the moment to change all that London fog for a bit of the old Greek sunshine. So, like, end of story – here I am.”

“And you’ve given up work completely now, have you?”

“Well…” Larry Lambeth smiled modestly. “I do run a small business on my own account… very small, like, but I kind of keep my hand in.” In response to Mrs Pargeter’s quizzical eyebrow, he continued, “Probably better if I don’t go into too much detail, eh?”

She gave him a nod of complicity, as she negotiated a fishbone out of her teeth.

“Anyway, as I say, anything I can do for you while you’re out here, no problem. That’s a catchphrase out here, actually – ‘no problem’. Got it on all the T-shirts and that. Mind you, with the Corfiots, sometimes there is problems. With me, none – promise you that, Mrs Pargeter. Anything you need, you just say the word – OK?”

“Thank you very much.”

“I mean, like, if you want to use the telephone, I got a telephone up my villa.”

“Oh? Aren’t there that many telephones around?”

“No. I think Spiro’s got the only telephone in Agios Nikitas. Could be one at the hotel, but, anyway, you might not want to use either of those.”

“Why not?”

“Could be a bit public. Things get overheard in a place like this. You want to make any kind of private call, you do better using mine.”

“Oh, well, thank you very much.”

“No problem. And the same goes for you, Mrs Dover, if you…”

He tailed off as he saw Joyce’s expression. Mrs Pargeter looked at her friend, whose face was white with shock, and followed her eyeline to the opening of the taverna.

Spiro stood in the doorway with his back to them, but over his shoulder could be seen the man in uniform. His face was now squared off by the peaked cap and his expression was stern.

Joyce Dover was staring fixedly at him, mouthing soundlessly. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.