For a bloke with a quiet voice his words could penetrate. Jennie drew breath.
“Sheraton’s the antique maker, Nicko. A couple of centuries back.”
Wrong dates, but I shut up in case Nicko disagreed. Might is right in these situations.
“What steps?”
Jennie hesitated. She didn’t know. I carefully opened the Pembroke table to show them it was phony clever, as made by the immortal Sheraton. “See? This table’s really steps. Sheraton often did that trick. Made them like leather-covered stools as well.” Hadn’t they ever looked, for heaven’s sake?
Nicko glanced down. It might have been a plank, instead of the most beautiful furniture ever made by the hand of man. A cret, though a scary one.
“Has he excuse to be here?” he asked the air beside Jennie.
“Something about a mark on the surface, Nicko.”
“You crept in here? To check a scratch?”
I showed him that too, him staring off into the middle distance. Jennie examined it.
“Shouldn’t we rub it off?” she asked.
“No. Leave it. Rub it well when it’s hard, never straight away. It might not need repolishing, with luck.”
Nicko turned away, but like a fool I opened my mouth.
“Er, excuse me, sir. It was the lady with the zircons did it, not me.
Jennie’s sharp intake of breath should have warned me, but I’m basically thick. So I went on to describe how she’d put the glass down and moved away to talk to the Spanish gentleman…
Nicko inclined his head and Jennie went with him as they talked. Me standing beside the Sheraton, worrying what I’d said wrong. I was barely ten feet from them and couldn’t hear a word. She returned as Nicko went to the study, the door closing behind him. The two Suits evaporated.
She looked at me. “You’re from Fredo, Lovejoy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I paused, not quite knowing what was going on. “You can check.”
She paced a step or two, not quite wringing her hands. For a happy supper party there was a lot of anguish here. I was tired enough to fall down. And us serfs hadn’t been offered a bite, not even with tons left over.
Then she said, “Zircons? Mrs. Brandau wore zircons?”
“Yes. The lady in the blue velvet dress, ma’am.” They paid me, got me a taxi back into Manhattan, making sure I had all my things.
Simple as that, and I’d earned a few dollars on the side. I was so pleased with myself. Like a million others, me and Americans were an instant success.
When I’m stupid I go all the way.
CHAPTER THREE
« ^ »
NEW York’s a collection of islands, then?”
Rose laughed, vivacious. The breeze along the boat kept blowing her hair. I’d have told her she was bonny, but she believed she was ordinary. They’re full of daft ideas. We were just docking after a circular trip round Manhattan.
“The song, Lovejoy! To the New York Islands…” She pointed across the Hudson River, singing about this land being her land or something.
“Oh, aye,” I exclaimed quickly so she’d know I’d only forgotten for a sec. “That barge?”
“Every day, Lovejoy. Garbage goes out on barges, dropped into the ocean. The city’s almost blocked with the stuff we New Yorkers throw out. Unbelievable.”
“I’m struck by the buildings.” And I was.
Everything in a new country’s astonishing, I know, but New York is beyond belief. Until then I’d only seen New York in rain. My images had been formed from cinemas, that skyline they always show you—skyscrapers, tugboats, traffic on those bridges, the same old longshot of people crossing that long street between blocks.
I now saw New York was beautiful, kaleidoscopically and mesmerizingly lovely.
Most of Manhattan’s buildings are no more than three or four storeys, all different. And the ferryboat had steamed between forested hillsides and cliffs studded with lovely houses, chalets, countryside so colourful it could have been Tuscany. I was so taken aback I’d asked Rose, “Are we still in New York?” when I’d run out of landmarks. Several people standing along the boat’s railings had turned and laughed, made jokey remarks.
“Not often New York gets such a good press, Lovejoy,” Rose said as we watched the docking. “Especially from a Californian.”
“Why not?”
She gazed at me. “East Coast and West Coast. Sibling rivalry.”
