Читать книгу The Curds and Whey Mystery - Bob Burke - Страница 10
Оглавление‘Are you guys really serious about this?’ Gloria, my receptionist, had offered to give some tips on make-up and clothes, but seemed to be having second thoughts now that she’d actually seen our disguises. At that moment she was touching up my face with mascara and gloss – whatever they were – and seemed to be finding it tremendously difficult to refrain from smirking – if not guffawing loudly. ‘There,’ she said, putting her magical make-up kit away. ‘You’re done, but I have to say it: even if you put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig.’
With as much dignity as I could muster – which wasn’t a lot considering I was wearing a long blonde wig, high heels and a black minidress – I pointed out that, as ideas went, our one had legs (and probably better ones than mine) and, if it came off (insert whatever gratuitous pun you like here), would probably help hugely in breaking the case.
I stood up and tottered around the office, teetering from side to side as I tried to keep my balance. ‘How do women stay upright in these heels,’ I asked. ‘Is tightrope walking a genetic trait that all women have, or something?’
‘You’ll get used to it eventually, though I’m not sure you’ll be ready by the time you go undercover.’ Gloria paused for a second and looked even more closely at me. ‘Remind me again, who are you supposed to be exactly and, more to the point, why are you going in that ridiculous outfit?’
‘I am Harriet du Crêpe and I am the personal assistant and general dogsbody for that well-known foreign movie-director Alain Schmidt-Heye, and I’m dressed like this as there’s a distinct possibility someone may have noticed me earlier when I visited the B&B and I don’t want to be recognised. If they know I’m a detective then the game will be up.’
Gloria began to erupt into gales of laughter. ‘So let me get this right. You, a large male pig, are going undercover as a female PA to an international movie-director who can only be—’ She never got to finish her sentence. Before she could say any more, the door from my office, where Basili had been changing, opened and he entered the room. His entrance certainly had an impact, although not, perhaps, the one we might have expected. Gloria collapsed on the desk, laughing uncontrollably, tears of hilarity streaming from her eyes.
‘Is your lady assistant being most amused at my outfit?’ said a somewhat indignant Basili. ‘I am thinking that, after studying pictures of many famous directors of movies, that it is perhaps a most accurate representation.’
