right load of light-fingered dippers they are, too. Don't think Adriana was being horrid. The average antique shop loses one per cent of its costed stock per fortnight from thievery by decent members of the public who stop by 'just to look'.
We did our tray trick only once that first day, but it was a bonanza when it came off and I swear Adriana almost smiled with delight. Nearly. This time it was with a painting which a German lady was admiring. I was being a casual browser, strolling and looking at furniture, and only getting drawn in when I heard Adriana doing a lyrical exposition of a sentimental mid-Victorian scene, quite a good painting with very little restoration.
'I'm sorry, signora,' I interrupted. 'But do please advise this lady about the medium.'
'The medium?' Adriana was nonplussed for a second because we had planned to use her vaunted 'solid' Cuban mahogany hybrid. 'But oil paints are the most durable—'
'Not on bitumen.'
At one time bitumen was regarded as a splendid permanent ground matrix for oil painting, and reached a high vogue during the early nineteenth century. The only trouble is that nothing cracks or disintegrates like bitumen does. So whether you buy for love or investment, check that the painting doesn't contain it. I explained this to the fascinated customer. The crowd she was with took great interest and one or two were even eager that I should accompany them back to their hotel and pronounce on some antiques they had bought earlier. The lady wrote me her name and room number.
'Come for supper,' she cooed. 'We could have a really good chat.'
Adriana's expression said over her dead body so I hastily said I might give them a ring.
I went on to pick out a good painting for the customer, a little-known Spanish artist's work in egg tempera on laid parchment showing an early scene in industrial Milan.
Adriana invented a solid price for it and the lady paid up on my say-so. It was a bargain but I wasn't too happy because I'd had my eye on it for my wages.
As soon as they'd gone Adriana yanked me into her office. Unluckily there was no innocent browser I could use for protection.
'What do you mean by that asinine display, Lovejoy?' she rasped, slamming the door.
'We made a sale—'
'Don't give me that! Do you think I'm an absolute fool?'
'That painting's solid bitumen—'
She stormed round the desk at me. 'I'm talking about you ogling that German cow out there in my shop! And I saw you collect her hotel number from her and I heard you promise you'd deliver the painting personally—'
I reeled under the salvo. 'Look. She insisted—'
'I won't have it! Do you hear? Making a brothel out of my Emporium! Any one of the crowd could have taken offence! I'm employing you to provide—'
I bleated, 'You heard her invite me to supper—'
She practically took a swing at me as I cringed towards the door. 'You were practically down her cleavage —'
'Now, Adriana—'
'And don't Adriana me!' she yelled, heaving up her porcelain ashtray.
I ducked out fast to get that expensive glass door between us and streaked into the yard to help Piero load up the painting for delivery to the German lady's hotel. He gazed at me sardonically but said nothing. Fabio came out to watch us, his arms folded and an ecstatic smile on his face.
'Lovejoy.'
'Mmmmh?' I was preoccupied knocking up a plywood crate for the tempera. Always remember that tempera painting antedated oils by several centuries, and that to use egg tempera properly you need a relatively inflexible support—hence it is done on copper sheeting or board. You can do it on semi-rigid supports such as parchment paging but the technique is very special. Piero, a right neanderthal, was all for trying to roll the bloody thing up. I ask you.
'You really bother our dear signora,' Fabio was saying.
'It isn't my fault she hadn't priced it,' I grumbled defensively. 'I haven't stopped since I came this morning.'
'She wants you. Now.'
He didn't move out of the way to let me pass, just raised his eyebrows and winked as I hurried in. Adriana had a small card ready. She held it out without looking up from her desk. I took it gingerly.
'This is the name of a restaurant, Lovejoy. You will dine there at eight-thirty this evening. The bill will be taken care of.'
'I could eat somewhere cheaper and keep the difference—'
Her voice went low and murderous. 'Lovejoy!'
I shut up and stuffed the card away thinking, ah well, I might be able to do a deal with the waiter.
During the rest of the time until we closed at eight there was only one notable moment—notable for me, I mean. There was a small object, solid bronze, of a kind I'd never seen before. It stood only a couple or so inches high and, apart from a small flattening of its upper and lower surfaces, was almost completely ellipsoidal. It emitted strong secret chimes, so it had lived for generations in that fond symbiosis which makes genuine antiques the most wonderful things on earth. I gaped. I don't often feel an ignoramus among antiques.
She asked me, 'Well, Lovejoy? Is it genuine?'
'It feels so. But what the hell?' I was puzzled and turned the bronze solid over and over in my hands. A simple bronze solid.
