Blues screamed at pinks, greens and shimmering maroons in a cascade of colour. It sounds garish, but it really is class, and incredibly underpriced at today's prices, though that only means for a second or two. Dandy was more than a little narked that the rest was mostly junk.
'Bexon's sketch, Dandy,' I reminded him. Scanning stuff really takes it out of me, why I don't know. After all, it's only sitting and looking.
'Here.'
I took the drawing from Dandy's grimy hands. Bong went my chest. Simple, stylish, very real, a tiny pencil caricature with some colour. It was her again. The artist had pencilled her name in, Lady Isabella. She was the same snooty lass, doubtless made to look starchier than in real life, riding in a high absurd one-wheeled carriage with idiotically long shafts and no horse. The wheel splashed water as it rolled through the streets. It was probably one of those crazy skits they got very worked up about before steam radio and television blunted pens and sense.
'Is that all?'
'Yes. Straight up, Lovejoy. What is it?'
'Looks like a caricature. Genuine Burne-Jones.'
'Genuine?' A long pause, during which Greed crept ominously in. 'I'll give you the rubbish for nothing, Lovejoy,' Dandy said. Oh-ho, I thought. Here we go.
'You said -'
He crouched into his whining position. 'Look, Lovejoy—'
'Bastard.' I should have known he'd let me down, though Dandy Jack's no worse than the rest of us.
'No, honestly, Lovejoy. I didn't mean I'd give you the drawing as well.'
'Sure, sure,' I said bitterly. I was unable to resist one final glance at the Burne-Jones.
He was a Victorian painter, a bit of a lad who did a few dozen caricatures to amuse Maria Zambaco, a gorgeous Greek bird he shacked up with for three years before 1870.
Maybe Maria put him up to sketching one of her bosom friends.
Dandy offered me a drink but I staggered out into the oxygen layer, as broke as when I'd arrived. That's typical of some days in this trade.
There was a blue Lagonda occupying two-thirds of the High Street.
'At last, Lovejoy.'
'Oh. Hello.' I really was pleased to see her. It's the way it gets.
'Well?' She nodded at Dandy Jack's window. 'Did you get the picture?'
'Er, no,' I said lamely. 'He, er, he wanted to hang on to it-'
'You mean he won't give it to you?' she fired back. She stepped out angrily. 'You look drained. Have you scanned for him?'
'Yes, but -'
'Right. Wait here.' I caught hold of her.
'No, love. I'm not up to a battle today -'
'You're a fool, Lovejoy,' she stormed. 'No wonder you're penniless. You let everybody take advantage -'
I turned away, meaning to walk off because people were beginning to stare. And this lovely blonde was standing beside me, breathless and pretty.
'Excuse me, please,' she said. A picture, her lovely face anxious and her deep eyes troubled. 'Are you Lovejoy? Can I have a word, please?' There she stood, nice, worried, determined. Her smile was brilliant, full of allure. Women really have it. I decided I needn't walk off after all.
'Yes, dear?' Janie cooed. She drummed her fingers on her elbows, smiling.
Now, women don't like each other. Ever noticed that? If two meet, you can see them both instantly thinking (a) what's this bitch really up to? (b) thank God her clothes are a mess, and, following on pretty smartly, (c) isn't it time this ghastly female was leaving?
'I heard you're trying to find an old picture, sold at Gimbert's auction, belonging to a Mr. Bexon?'
I gaped. You just don't ask that sort of thing in this trade. It's like asking a Great Power which other nations it really hates at a peace conference. I suddenly caught sight of Beck stepping inside Dandy Jack's. I instantly' realized why Dandy hadn't kept his promise about the sketch. Beck had heard me talking to Tinker Dill and was now arriving to buy the worthwhile stuff.
'Eh?' I responded cautiously.
'I want it,' she explained. 'I'm Nichole Bexon.' She took hold of my arm confidingly, better and better. 'I'm trying to find my uncle's things. A sketch, mainly. And two diaries. I was… away, you see, when his things were… taken to a sale. My sister cleared the house. It's so unfortunate. I heard you were trying to find them as well. A neighbour.'
Good old Mary. That's the trouble. In these remote little East Anglian villages rumour does a faster job than the new electric telegraph.
'Ah, sorry, love,' I said, smiling. 'You'll have to try Dandy Jack.' I nodded at his emporium. And, innocently thinking to get one back on poor old Dandy for changing our agreed deal in mid-scratch, I added malevolently, 'He has the things you want. He won't let them go, I'm afraid. I've offered him the earth.'
'Oh, dear.' She looked almost in tears.
'Is there no way at all?' this chap asked. He'd been listening. I dragged my eyes from the lovely Nichole and
