‘Then you’d better let me handle her. I have a very nifty line with women on the telephone.’
I shied a cushion at him as I picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
A male voice asked, ‘Is that Mr. Malloy?’ A voice that would send an immediate prickle up most women’s spines. A voice that conjured up a picture of a tall, powerfully built man, probably sun-tanned and handsome, who would rather drop in for an afternoon cup of tea when her husband’s at the office than look in the evening when he’s at home.
Perhaps I was doing him an injustice, but that was the mental picture I got of him from the vibrating baritone voice.
‘Speaking,’ I said. ‘Who is that?’
‘My name is Lee Dedrick. I have been trying to get you at your office. There doesn’t appear to be anyone there.’
‘I’m sorry. The office closes at six.’
‘And sweat-shop hours at that,’ Kerman muttered, punching the pillow at the back of his head, ‘Tell him we’re in bed with the croup.’
The voice said sharply, ‘But surely you have a night service?’ ‘You’re talking to the night service now, Mr. Dedrick.’