'Was there much stuff?' I snapped, but saw her pout and had to slow up. 'I have to ask, love, or I get in trouble,' I said, desperate. 'You do understand.'
'It's all right,' she said bravely. 'It was really quite pitiful. I happened to be, well, passing when the van arrived. It was so sad. He only had a few old things.'
It was so bloody sad all right. A few pitiful old things? Belonging to an old genius who could forge Restoration with such class? Moaning softly I was off the sofa like a selling-plater.
'Goodness!' I yelped over my shoulder. 'Look at the time!'
She trotted dolefully after me towards the door. 'Do you have to go? Will you come again, Lovejoy?' she said.
'Yes, yes! Thursday. Is a town bus due?' I babbled.
'Not for two hours. Better Monday,' she cried. 'Safer on Monday. Peter's golfing then.
Like today.'
'Right, Brenda. See you Monday.'
'I'm Mary,' she said, all hurt.
'Mary, then.' I could have sworn she'd said Brenda.
I was out of the street and running in a sweat through the village towards the main road. Women are born quibblers. Ever noticed that?
CHAPTER II
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NOTHING on the main road. Never a bus when you want one. We used to have Nathan's Fliers, three crackpot single deckers which ran fast and on time between the villages, operated by a corrupt old lecher called Nathan.
Then we were amalgamated with the nearby big towns, since which all buses have become either late or extinct. I stood there, cursing.
I tried thumbing a couple of cars but no luck. That's the trouble with East Anglia, too much countryside. Nothing but undulating countryside, mile after mile of rivers, lush fields and woods dotted with small villages. Merrie England. I sometimes feel as if Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. is the only outfit keeping this particular bit Merrie, especially after a week on the knocker. When I'm reduced to going on the sound (that's banging at doors and asking if people have anything old for sale, the surest sign of impending failure in the antique business), I stick to towns if I can. Countryside gives me the willies. Everything in it seems to eat everything else, preferably alive. It can get you down.
You'll have guessed I'm a real townie. As things get worse, though, you have to go further afield. Villages are best for antiques. They're antique themselves. So there I was in Great Hawkham, two villages from home. Stuck. Bexon's forgery the only good link I'd had for months and no chance of a lift. The situation called for desperate remedies.
The pub called.
I knew it a little, the Goat and Compasses, built in King Stephen's reign while his mob were scrapping with the volatile and exotic Empress Matilda. Paid for, I shouldn't wonder, in those ugly hammered silver coins of his - now so rare and prized it's no good even dreaming about them. I sprinted over. Maybe I'd get one in my change.
I entered briskly, hoping to create an impression of a dealer who had just come from doing a deal for everything the National Gallery wanted this year. A dozen or so people were de-stressing from the village's hectic social whirl, including Lennie. He's Victoriana, bygones, glass, crystalware and clueless. I swiftly borrowed a coin off him, partly because I had no change and partly because it's cheaper. I rushed through to the phone and dialled like a maniac.
'Hello?' I put my voice on. 'Is that Mrs. Markham's residence?'
'Yes. Who is it, please?'
'This is Doctor Chenies of the hospital,' I said, sounding really good. 'Could I speak to Mrs. Markham? It's urgent. About her friend, Mrs. Witherspoon.'
'Oh, right.' He sounded suspicious. People who don't trust people get me really mad.
Why is there no trust these days? Where has it all gone?
'Hello, Doctor?' Janie's voice, thank God. 'I'm afraid you must have the wrong -'
'It's me. Lovejoy.' I heard her stifle a laugh. 'Come and get me.'
'Is it really urgent, Doctor?' she said, doing her hesitant friend act. 'My husband has guests -'
'Stuff his guests,' I snarled. 'I'm stuck out in the bloody wilds here. The pub at Great Hawkham crossroads. I'm in a hurry.'
'Very well, Doctor. I'll try to come -'
'Be sharp.' I slammed the blower down. I honestly don't know what women think they're playing at sometimes. Full of wrong priorities.
I readjusted my face to a casual smile and strolled back to the saloon bar where Lennie waited. I told him about a wonderful deal I'd just made, buying a Georgian embroidery frame and an early Sheffie. He was all ears and plunged further into his natural gloom.
Not that there's such a thing as really very early Sheffield plate. The term's relative. It was only invented in the 1740s by Thomas Bolsover (please don't spell his name with a
'u' stuck in there - he hated it). Elkington finished off the boom in fused sheets of copper and silver by inventing electroplating in 1840.
