keep out of this, Lovejoy.'
'I'll have to think about it, Lovejoy.' Adriana's tone was finality itself.
I watched them return to the showroom. What the hell was upstairs?
Anyhow, I began sketching rough plans for the rent table. I'd got Anna to collect the photographs so I should have more precise dimensions to go on. The amount of wood in a rent table is relatively huge. I'd already expected that, but the final estimate made me gasp.
Especially when I multiplied it by two.
Locking up that day, Piero caught me staring up at the rear of the building. The wall looked solid, and the drop was vertical.
'It looks on, Piero,' I offered, to break the awful silence. 'See—take a drop from above the top window—'
'Lovejoy,' he interrupted, quiet and dangerous, 'when we need extra storage space Signora Albanese will rent it. Okay?“
I shrugged. 'Just remember I tried to save us money, that's all.' Let him guess.
Fabio was inside the showroom entrance, smiling and listening. He said nothing, which was another odd thing because he was practically obsessional about money. Its roof was within reach of the lower upstairs window which was near the drainpipe…
I got my usual paper from Adriana, with a restaurant's name and address for that evening, and tried it on as usual, asking her for the money so I could eat where I liked.
As usual she said no, but avoided looking at me. Usually she managed at least a withering glare at that point. Still, I didn't mind watching her nosh for an hour or so, if that was the rule.
I departed, whistling.
Until then I thought I'd seen all possible kinds of cramped antique shops. But I'd never seen one with space left begging.
* * *
The problem was getting time to study the Vatican, among other things, because it was only open for a limited period each day. What with that and the Easter rush looming, Anna and I were on a tight schedule.
One thing I had to admit: as a caser Anna was brilliant. She recognized most of the guards, where they lived, their shifts, relatives. She was good at distances, too. Never guessed worse than five per cent error in every measurement—length of corridors, heights of walls, thickness of brickwork. Marvellous. More than once I foolishly found myself telling her she was great, but nipped it in the bud. A rip's no time for friendship.
Just because we were living together was no reason to become close.
I started to get up as soon as she did, and even began tidying the room up while she put on her make-up to become Old Anna. The old thing really was endearing once she reappeared, but the actual process of watching that beautiful young bird transmute inch by inch made me feel physically ill. I asked her once what had given her the idea, and got a surprise. She laughed, really laughed, for the first time.
'An old woman isn't an obvious predator,' she said, smiling her head off. 'A young one is.'
'You don't like me doing this, Lovejoy,' Old Anna croaked that day, on her way out.
'Once the rip's done I'll be able to stop. We'll have our villa.'
'Villa?' Presumably she meant Carlo.
'It's what I'm saving for.'
So she still thought we were going to make a fortune from the rip. Her place was utterly frugal, and she ate only sparingly. No clothes to speak of. Never seemed to go out. She lived on a shoestring. Well, nothing wrong with optimism.
I called her back. 'Here. Anna. One thing.' I'd practised the casual air. 'Am I still being followed?'
'No,' she said levelly, in her young voice. 'Not since that man got injured. The night you went for a walk by the river.'
'Thank heavens for that,' I said with innocent relief. 'Have a good day.'
'Ciao, Enrico.'
* * *
By the end of that week I was ticking off my progress. Enough wood to make two rent tables—much of it matured, bought from various idiots who had ruined antiques by making them into something of greater apparent value. Workshop fully functional.
Vatican nearly sussed out enough.
'And I'll need two tables.' I'd told Anna. 'The sort you see in cafeterias, the typical modern tavola calda table. Tubular steel and all that.'
She promised to take me round a couple of supply firms at the weekend to see which I liked. She counted on her fingers. 'You need a white plastic collar, two silk ropes, a disposable razor, a pencil torch. A new tie. An ambulance. Squares of cloth. That it?'
'Oh. And a pharmacopoeia.'
'A what?'
'A book of common drugs. But a proper one—not a granny's home guide.'
She looked doubtful. 'That might take a day or so, Lovejoy.'
'I want an out-of-date one, 1930s or 1940s.'
