noticed him.
Nichole seemed to have brought her tame male along, a real weed in Saville Row gear.
The fool wore a city titfer. Honestly, some people. A hat in the Arcade's like wearing a coronet at football. You know how some couples are just not suited? Well, here was the archetypal mismatch. Her: lovely, cool, gleaming, luscious, a pure swinger. And him: neat, precise, waistcoat complete with gold watch-chain (not antique, the pathetic slob), rimless specs, glittering black shoes, and a Rolls the size of a tram. A worrier, accountant if ever I saw one. How a pill like him ever got her…
'No,' I said. Luckily Janie had reached (c) by now.
'Mr. Lovejoy is a well-known art expert,' she cut in crisply, 'and even he hasn't been successful. Sorry we can't help.'
She slipped into the Lagonda. It was sneering at the Rolls, nose to nose. The Rolls wasn't really up to noticing riffraff for the moment and gazed into the distance. She gunned the engine. They got the message.
'Then what shall I do?' the beautiful Nichole said. 'I must have Uncle's things back.
They're nothing much. But he'd have wanted me to have them.' She actually twiddled a button, one of the remaining few, on my coat.
I cleared my throat. 'Er, well…'
'Please?' Flutter, flutter.
Women intrigue me. No, they really do. Say a woman wants ten yards of lovely Thai silk. She'd expect to have to pay for it, right? Same as a bloke wanting tobacco.
Everybody knows it - you have to pay. But mention antiques and suddenly everyone wants something for nothing. Or, at the very least, a Constable or Rembrandt for a quid or two. And make no mistake, women are the worst. A man will laugh ruefully, say no hard feelings. But a woman won't. You get the whole bit, the smoulder, the come-on, derision, the wheedle, and finally everything they've got thrown into the fray. Born dealers, women. You have to be careful.
'Can you not help, please?' Her chap tried to smile ingratiatingly. 'You've been highly recommended to us, Lovejoy, as an antiques dealer. I would make it particularly worth your while. If it's a question of money…' he said.
The town stilled. The universe hesitated. The High Street froze. Nobody in the known world breathed for a few lifetimes as that delightful scent of money hung in the air.
He really seemed quite pleasant after all. Charming in fact. Then Janie hauled me, literally yanking me off balance so I tumbled back into the Lagonda.
'So sorry,' she called out brightly, swinging me round and slamming the door. I grappled to lower the window.
'My card,' the chap said. 'Phone me. Edward Rink.' We were off like a Brands Hatch start. I sulked most of the way home holding his engraved card.
It'd soon be time for Algernon's test. What a bloody day. Diddled by Dandy Jack, frogged by Beck and no nearer understanding the Bexon business, and now Algernon.
I'd reluctantly cleared away by the time Algernon arrived.
In he came, cheerful and gormless. In his own way he's an entire miracle. A trainee dealer for six long months and still thinks Faberge eggs are crusty chocolate.
'Good evening, Lovejoy!'
'How do.' I stared morosely into his beaming face. Why was somebody who gets me so mad so bloody pleased to see me every time?
'Let us anticipate that my efforts will meet with your approval this evening!' the nerk said. He reached out and actually wrung my hand. He stripped a layer of motor-cycle leathers and left them heaped in the hallway. 'I am all keyed up!' he exclaimed.
'Did you read Wills?'
'Certainly, Lovejoy! And the brass instrument book. And - ' he blushed -'the jokey book all over again. I appear to have been quite taken in!'
He laughed merrily as I led the way into the main room without a word. You can see why Algernon gets me down. He's always like this.
'On the table, Algernon,' I cut in sourly, 'are several objects.'
'Right! Right!' He sprang at them, oily fingers at the ready. I caught him in mid-air and put him back.
'I shall cover all but one with a dark cloth, Algernon. You have to identify and price whichever's exposed. Okay?'
'Ah!' He raised a finger delightedly. 'Your identification game!'
I fetched the carriage clock across.
'You're allowed one minute. Remember?'
'Of course, Lovejoy! How absolutely right to be so precise -!'
I lifted him out of his chair by the throat, struggling for iron control.
'Algernon,' I hissed. 'Silence. Clam. Shut up.'
'Very well! I follow exactly!' He frowned and glared intently. Then he closed his eyes to concentrate, heaven knows what with. Your modern intellectual at bay. I watched this performance wearily. I suppose it's meant to be like I do when I'm scanning, the idiot.
He opened his eyes, thrilled. 'Right! Ready, Lovejoy!'
