never know, but you couldn't say this to Harry.
'Lot Seventy,' the auctioneer intoned.
This was it. My jade piece, a dark lustrous green with brown flacks and one oblique growth fault, was carved in the form of an ancient Chinese cash coin. Jade is the wonder stone, matt and oily and soft to look at yet incredibly hard. It can resist shock blows time after time. (Remember that those large but thin uninteresting jade rectangles you see are most probably nothing less than temple bells, to be struck when tuning string instruments. Very desirable. A complete set is worth… well, a year's holiday. Give me first offer.) I saw Beck glance around. The bidding started. I went in quick, too quick for some. Jimmo was prominent in the early stages. Then Jonas came in, raising in double steps to the auctioneer's ecstasy. Jonas is a youngish retired officer with money, no knowledge and determination. This combination's usually at least fatal, but Jonas has survived in the business simply by refusing to give up. From an initial dislike his fellow dealers, me included, switched to neutrality and finally with reluctance to a sort of grudging acceptance. He's silver and pre-Victorian book bindings with occasional manuscripts thrown in for luck. Lily was there but left the bidding when I started up. Patrick looked peevish when she stalled - there'd be trouble over her tea and crumpets when he got her home. Four others showed early and chucked up. That left me, Jonas, a Brummie and Beck. I bid by nodding. Some people bid by waving programmes or raising eyebrows. Remember there's no need to wave and tell everybody who's bidding. Don't be afraid your bid will be missed. A creased forehead is like a flag day to an auctioneer. He gets a percentage.
On we went, me sweating as always. I was beaten when Beck upped. Jonas must have sensed something wasn't quite right because he hung on only briefly, then folded. I saw that the Brummie bidder was the one who'd crossed to look at the kitchen cabinet.
He finally stopped when Beck showed the first sign of wavering, clever lad. The jade was knocked down to Beck.
Beck glanced triumphantly in my direction through the throng. I glared back. He would brag all year how he picked up this rare ancient Chinese jade coin in the face of organized local opposition.
'He had us, Lovejoy,' Jonas said, pushing past at the break. I followed him muttering to the tea bar.
'Hard luck, Lovejoy,' from Jimmo. 'Hell of a price.'
'Outsider!' I heard Patrick snapping at Beck.
'Things are getting worse every day,' I agreed.
Janie had our teas waiting in the brawl. We had to fight our way into a corner to breathe. Tinker kept Janie a part of a bench. I kissed her.
'Watch out, Lovejoy,' she said, smiling brightly to show eagle-eyed watchers we were only good friends. 'One of my neighbours is here.' She flashed a brilliant grimace towards a vigilant fat lady steaming past. 'I'm sorry, love,' she added, moving primly away from my hand which had accidentally alighted on her knee.
'What about?'
'The old jade.' She reproved me under her breath, 'I'd have given you some money.
Nobody need have noticed.'
'Why?'
'Then you could have got the jade instead.'
'Oh. Thanks, love,' I said bravely. 'You get these disappointments.'
She eyed me shrewdly. 'Didn't you want it, Lovejoy?'
'Of course I did,' I lied evenly. 'I always want ancient Chinese jade, don't I?'
She kept her eyes on me. 'Then why are you so pleased, Lovejoy?'
'Oh, just life in general.'
'Was there something wrong with it?'
'Certainly not!' I said indignantly.
I ought to know. It had taken me nine weeks to make, nine weeks of pure downright slavery over my old pedalled spindle. It was absolutely perfect. Authentic in every detail, except for the small point that it was a forgery.
Now calm down, gentle reader. Can I be held responsible if some goon buys a piece of jade - it really was jade, which is mined nowadays in Burma, New Zealand and Guatemala -without examining it? And if you're still wondering why I bid for a forgery I'd made and put up for auction myself, take my tip: please feel free to read on, but don't ever go into the antiques game. My name and address I'd scratched in minute letters around the margins of the inside hole, date included. If customers don't look with a handlens, it's just tough luck, and the more fools they. I couldn't exactly put my name in neon lights on a thing the size of a dollar, could I? It would spoil the effect.
'Lovejoy.' She had that odd look.
'I didn't touch your knee,' I said indignantly.
'What are you up to?'
I was narked with Janie. Right in the middle of a chattering mob of customers in an ordinary small-town auction she starts suspecting me of being up to some trickery.
Women can be very suspicious of fundamentally good honest motives. It's not very nice. I really do believe they have rather sinister minds. Where there's no reason to be suspicious they suddenly assume you can't be trusted. I find it very unsettling. They're the ones who're always on about trust, then they go and show they've got none themselves. It's basically a sign of poor character.
At Lot Two-Eighty I crossed to Tinker. The crowd had thinned. In the smoke the substitute auctioneer, a hoary old veteran who wasn't letting us get away with anything, droned cynically on. We had space to pretend interest.
Tinker made a great show of pulling out the drawer and complaining about the uselessness of the buy I'd made. The auctioneer called for quiet, please, during the bidding. I slipped the mote spoon into my pocket and relaxed.
