'Oh Gawd,' Tinker muttered. 'Scarper, Lovejoy.'
The scattered drinkers were simply looking. That is, all except one. And he was smiling, clapping his hands together gently in applause. Pigskin gloves, London-made. Clap-clap-clap, standing by the door.. His two goons were there but simply watching.
I slid past Chris and out of the side door. Tinker's hunched form was just shuffling round the side of the pub on to the snowy slope of East Hill. I wisely took the other direction, slushing past the small timber yard and the Saxon church into the little square where the Three Cups pub stood. I took my time, stopping in the bookshop to price an Irish leather binding, but their prices read nowadays like light years.
Alfred Duggins wasn't in the Cups when finally I reached there. He'd probably given up.
But the big stranger was waiting for me just inside the taproom.
'Look, mate,' I said to him. 'If you're narked about the auction, say so and let's get on with it.'
'Drink?' His voice was man-sized, cool and full of confidence.
'What's the catch?'
'Catch?' He gave a lopsided grin. 'No catch. I just thought you deserved one, that's all.'
Without thinking, I said, 'Well, ta,' and we pushed in to the fug.
* * *
Arcellano was instantly at home in the Three Cups, exactly as he'd been at home in Seddon's crummy auction rooms, and just as he had seemed in the spit-and-sawdust Ship. While he ordered at the bar I glanced at him. This bloke was a hard nut and no mistake.
Jason and the delectable Jane were just settling down in one snug corner, which failed to cheer me. I glimpsed Big Frank over among a huddle of barkers, all of whom glowered my way. Nobody waved. I guessed my popularity was lower than ever because of spoiling the auction.
'Here, sir.' The stranger passed me my pint. I crossed to the fireplace to dry my shoes.
I noticed we were out of earshot of the others. A careful geezer too.
'My name's Lovejoy, Mr Arcellano,' I told him. Oddly, my name caused no screech of merriment. It always had before.
He said slowly, 'You know my name?'
'You bought at Seddon's, remember.' That was the name he had given Millon. Too late now to wonder if he'd made the name up. 'You a collector?'
He shrugged my question off and cautiously he tasted the beer before drinking properly. 'You're pretty definite about antiques, Lovejoy. Other dealers aren't.'
'Most dealers are like Chris, can't tell an antique from a plastic duck.'
'You're famous hereabouts.' He smiled as he spoke but with no warmth. I began to see why his tame goons did as they were told. 'Lots of people gave me your name.'
I didn't like the sound of that and said, all innocence, 'Me? Oh, you know how people are.'
'Yes, I know.' He said it with utter conviction. 'And people say if there's an antique to be got, Lovejoy's the man to get it.'
'Do they indeed?'
'Sure do. In fact,' he added, 'they seem to talk pretty guarded when I asked about you.'
I didn't like the sound of that, either. In fact, I wasn't at all sure I liked the man, but he seemed like a customer with money and I was sick of living on fried tomatoes and what I could scrounge from bored housewives when I was forced to go on the knocker.
Things had been really terrible lately. So I smiled affably. 'Take no notice.'
'Oh, but I have, Lovejoy. You're hired.'
'I am?'
He smiled at the irritation in my voice. 'For lots and lots of money.'
The dull world exploded in a blaze of gold fireworks. The muted mutter of the taproom soared into heavenly cadences. The entire universe was once again a magnificent carousel of dazzling lights and brilliant music. I was suddenly aware of how pleasant a bloke he actually was. I cleared my throat and squeaked, 'Have another, Mr Arcellano?'
I reeled back to the bar and gave Jean a weak grin. She's the barmaid, sometimes co-operative. 'Trust me, love. Stick it on the slate. I've a deal on. Pay you back tonight.'
She drew the pints and slid them over, holding my stare. 'I'll hold you to that, Lovejoy.
I finish at eleven.'
'You're wonderful, Jean. I'll come, love.'
She smiled mischievously. 'I might hold you to that, too, Lovejoy.'
The big man was lighting a cigarette when I rejoined him. I'd never seen so much gold in my life. There were rings, the lighter, watch, tiepin and collar clips, teeth. He didn't offer me a smoke. So I was already one more minion. I'm no smoker, anyway, but the message was there.
'Hired for what?'
'To get me an antique.'
He probably meant for me to bid for him in an auction. 'You want it valued?'
