The Judas Pair

'Come in please.'

'No, thank you.' There was no sound of cutlery in the background this time. A gardener was shifting little plants from pots into a flower bed. 'I thought they only did that on Easter Mon-day,' I said. She looked and I saw her smile for the first time. It was enough to unsettle an honest dealer.

'Wait. I'll get my coat.'

She emerged, putting a head scarf on over her coat collar.

'You'll remember me for ruining your day if nothing else.' I shut the door behind her and we strolled to watch the gardener at work.

'These days I welcome an interruption,' she said.

'Mrs. Field—'

'Muriel.' She put her arm through mine. 'Come this way and I'll show you the pond.' We left the house path and went between a setting of shrubberies.

'I wish I could return the compliment.' A woman's arm linked with yours does wonders for your ego. I felt like the local squire.

'Compliment?'

'Nobody calls me anything but Lovejoy.'

She smiled and seemed glad to do it. 'Me too?'

'You too. Oh, one thing more.'

She looked at me, worried. 'Yes?'

'Cheer up, love. Nothing's the end of the world.'

'I suppose not.' She was about to say more, but we came upon another elderly gardener tying those mysterious strings around plant stems. I must have looked exasperated, because she asked me what was wrong.

'Beats me why they do it,' I said in an undertone.

'Do you mean the gardener?' she whispered back.

'Yes,' I muttered. 'Why can't they leave the blinking plants alone?' I was glad I'd said it, because it gave her a laugh.

The pond was a small lake, complete with steps and a boat. A heron, gray and contemplative, stood in the distance. I shivered.

'Cold?' she asked.

'No. Those things.' I nodded to where the heron waited. 'It's fishing, isn't it?'

'Why, yes.' She seemed surprised.

'Can't you give it some bread instead?' I suggested, which made her laugh again and pull me around to see my face.

'Aren't you… soft!' she exclaimed.

'I'd like the countryside, but it's so bloody… vicious.'

'Don't you like my garden, Lovejoy?'

I stared around accusingly. 'It's a county, not a garden.' I flapped my hand but the heron wouldn't go. 'Does it all belong to the house?'

'Of course. Eighty acres.'

'It's lovely,' I agreed. 'But everything in it's hunting everything else. Either that or trying to escape.'

She shivered this time and raised her head scarf. 'You mustn't talk like that.'

'It's true.'

I watched her hands tidy her hair beneath the scarfs edge. They had a natural grace to set off their own gestures, doing hair, pulling on stockings, or smoking a cigarette. She saw me gaping at her. I looked back at the water.

'Lovejoy, what do you really do?'

'Oh, very little. I'm an antique dealer, really.' I paused to let her load. Where the hell was all this kindness coming from? I wondered irritably. She said nothing. 'I'm your actual scavenger. Nobody's sacred. I even winkled out your priestly collector friend, and he lives miles away.'

'Reverend Lagrange?'

'Yes.'

'He's been a good friend. He and Eric met years ago. I don't think he collects the same things Eric did.'

Nobody else does, either, I thought enviously. We moved along a flowered walk with those trellises against a wall.

'I wasn't telling the truth the other day.' Own up, Lovejoy. Never be only half stupid. Go broke. 'You probably guessed.'

'Yes.'