too.'
'Well, yes,' she said, 'but he was—'
'Eccentric?' the sardonic note struck.
She swung on me. 'How did you know I used to—?' she blazed, looking momentarily more frightened than angry.
I kissed her lightly. 'All wives call their husbands that, Muriel, love,' I said, smiling.
'Oh.'
'Beware of collectors,' I warned again.
She glanced obliquely at me as we walked. 'And what about you, Lovejoy?'
I gave her my frankest avaricious leer. 'I'm the worst dealer there ever was, as far as you're concerned,' I said hoarsely.
'I doubt that.'
'The greediest, the cleverest, and the randiest,' I admitted, thinking, What am I doing? 'So don't trust me, especially me.'
'I don't believe that, either,' she said. 'But I'll do as you say.'
'Right,' I said with finality, disengaging my arm. 'That's it, then. Madam, before I rape you under this elm tree, show me the door.'
'I like you, Lovejoy,' she said.
'Don't push your luck, Muriel.' I watched the heron stab and crook in a swallow again. 'You've only been safe so far.'
She tried to laugh again, but something had gone from the day. We waited for the next ripple to reach the steps, then set off back toward the house as the boat slowly began to tug at its mooring.
Seddon's, I was thinking. They sent his antiques to Seddon's for auction.
Chapter 8
Sheila said Dandy Jack had phoned but left no message, that Margaret had too but said not to bother.
'And a strange gentleman who seemed annoyed,' she added.
'Pansy?'
'He had that… mannerism.'
'Adrian.'
'Will you call, please. And that's the lot.' She made coffee better than I did, but only Yanks do it properly in my opinion. I drank it for appearance's sake. 'What's she like?'
'Who?' On guard, Lovejoy.
Sheila curled on the divan. 'Whoever it was you've been to see.'
'Oh.' A measure of truth was called for, I thought. Always dangerous stuff to handle. You know where you are with a good old fable, so much more adaptable.
'Pretty?'
'Yes. Her husband died in odd circumstances some time back.'
'Was it a box gambit?'
'Sort of.' I eyed her unkindly. 'You're learning too much for your own good.'
She blew a kiss. 'I won't split.' Dated slang, I noticed. Pity there's no market for it.
'Finish up,' I told her. 'We're going to the arcade, then Adrian's.'
Instantly she was all about getting ready. Now, there's a difference for you. I knew a dealer in Manchester once who said that the only real difference between us and women was that they strike matches in an away direction, while men did it in a cupped hand toward themselves. But you can list a million things. Say to a chap, 'Come on, I'll give you a lift. It's time to go,' and he'll say, 'Fine. Thanks,' but not move for a while. A woman's immediately all bustle, hardly bothering to listen to the destination. Funny, that.
We pulled up near the arcade, doing the 'Delivery' bit. I was proud of Sheila. She looked good enough to eat, as some of our local Romeos perceived. I went straight to Dandy Jack's. He was tilting a bottle.
'For my chest,' he explained, grinning. 'Hello, Lovejoy. Sit down, love.'
His tiny shop was a ruin as usual. Everything lay under a coating of dust. He had two fire screens which would have been superb except that filth made them look like pieces of cladding, all that splendid granular coloring obscured.
'Why don't you spruce your place up, Dandy?' I couldn't help asking.
'Oh.' He grinned. 'Well, I would, but it takes time, doesn't it?'
Sheila sat gingerly on a Victorian piano stool, knees together and heels off the ground, with the air of a quack in an epidemic through no fault of his own.
'Bonny girl you got there, Lovejoy,' he said.
