The Saint in the Sun (26 page)

He stood in the bathroom doorway, holding a Polaroid camera with flash attachment in one hand.

“I was beginning to be afraid you were never coming, Saville,” he murmured genially. “But I kept telling myself that you were clever enough to realize that you ought to get rid of me and my tape record, no matter what, if you ever wanted to sleep well again. Or I hoped you would; because a picture like this would clinch any ambiguities in the sound track, which you might have been just slippery enough to think you could explain away.”

Wakerose stood frozen in a kind of catalepsy, while Simon deftly changed the bulb in his flash and snapped one more after-the-crime souvenir, admittedly not an action shot, but just for luck.

“Of course, this washes out the previous deal,” he said. “I don’t want to spoil Rowena’s day tomorrow, so I’m not going to play the tape to her till we come home. By that time I hope your air-conditioned juggernaut will have been repaired so that you can have taken off, leaving behind a signed confession which I think I can persuade her not to use as long as your accounts are in order and you never bother her again. Otherwise, chum, you may find yourself trying to sell Gourmet some novel articles on prison cuisine.”

•••••••

“Yes,” said Rowena Flane. “Yes, now I understand-everything except why you’ve done so much and wouldn’t take anything when you could have.”

“Because,” Simon said, “one day I’ll get so much more out of it when I see you as slim and lovely as you should be, and I can think that I made it happen.”

“Like in a fairy tale. So the prince kissed the toad, and broke the spell, and it turned into a beautiful princess. Oh, it’s hard to believe it’s coming true.” But she was sad. “Only by then you won’t be threatening to marry me any more.”

“Why don’t we wait a couple of years,” said the Saint gently, “and see whether you’re still single too?”