my guts out over the photographs and sketches. I've never seen anybody look so sorry for himself, the pillock.
No use asking Anna for a loan after the argument we'd just had, though I wouldn't need much. I'd have to work on Adriana, which was a nuisance because being a bird she'd be as mistrustful as Anna. But there was another problem, just as serious and far more urgent. What did Lovejoy do now hubby was home? So far there hadn't been a single bad vibe—not more than usual, anyway— but it had to be faced.
'Look,' I began when Carlo mournfully started on his second bottle of wine. (Naturally, I'd been offered none.) 'Do you think Carlo's up to it?' As is the way with invalids present I spoke over Carlo's head to Anna.
'Of course he is.'
Carlo straightened up briskly. 'You questioning my ability, Lovejoy? You can't do without me.' Well, I'd been told that by indispensible allies, and they'd been just as wrong as Carlo.
Nastily I demanded, 'Has he ever done anything before?'
'Tell him, Carlo.'
He got up to stride the room, obviously full of beans. Clearly a good recovery. 'I've ripped off every film crew which has ever come to Rome.'
'Great,' I said drily. That meant pinching a plug or a bulb and selling it back to the cameramen. 'Anything with cars?'
'I can drive faster—'
'No,' I told Anna flatly. 'You tell him he's to drive like a fifty-year-old, not Fangio. Get that into his thick skull or it's off.'
Anna smiled, but I could tell she was annoyed. 'It's not off, Lovejoy. You know it. I know it. Carlo will do anything you say.'
'He'd better.' I moved towards the door.
'Hey,' Carlo called, now mirror boxing and admiring himself. 'You've not said what the plan is.'
'If we get it right, Carlo, you'll never know.'
'You going back to work, Lovejoy?' from Anna.
'Yes.' I hesitated to give Anna time to follow me into the gloomy passageway. 'Erm, what's the arrangement for tonight, Anna?'
'Arrangement?' she was honestly puzzled.
'Well, now your bloke's back…“
She pealed laughter and clapped hands. 'You mean… Carlo?
'Yes,' I said irritably. 'What's the joke?' Women like Anna nark me.
'He's my brother.' She fell about some more. 'He sleeps on the folding camp bed.“
'Oh, right.' I felt even more of a nerk and backed out into the alley. 'See you tonight, then.'
'Ciao,' she called, slamming the door on me. 'Cretino!' I heard her laughter as I walked the uneven alley towards the Castel.
* * *
That same day I had luck, which was important. By nightfall I had become practically independent in Adriana's business. A trustee instead of a convict.
The antiques game's the queerest on earth. Some days—weeks, months, even years—
you come across nothing worth a second glance. Then they roll in, and everywhere you look there is some genuine wonderment, preening its lovely feathers and shrieking to be bought.
We hit a purple patch. Adriana had reluctantly agreed to visiting a small antiques bazaar about a mile away. I'd felt vibes almost like never before while passing on a bus.
The dazzling spiritual glow from beyond Piazza Argentina all but blinded me. I was almost certain I'd glimpsed a monk's chest—neither a chest nor for a monk—being unloaded in a small street. The funny thing was I could have sworn I'd seen its photograph in one of Adriana's catalogues where a great deal of miscellaneous items, arranged as job lots, had been listed. (This in itself is a serious mistake and argues a cataloguer too idle or inexperienced.) I persuaded Adriana to come and see if they had picked up any of these items as well as the monk's chest. It turned out like Christmas.
It was a small quickie business run by three lads and their birds, You know the kind of place, everything for speed. They had bought indiscriminately, and hadn't even unpacked the smaller stuff. So eager to display their larger pieces, they let me go through and buy four small cardboard boxes of stuff practically without doing much more than unwrap a couple of top items in each. I made out I was in a great hurry, wanting stuff to trade for period reproductions in Turin the very next morning. It was a steal. Of course it cost Adriana more than the same pieces would have done had she attended the auction itself, but that was okay.
Adriana waited round the corner in Piero's car with him while I did the deal. She'd collected enough money for me to buy outright, and I came haring across the Piazza Argentina practically crowing with delight. I was so chuffed I nearly downed a fat bloke ambling across the road. The youngsters had been hugely pleased—we always say the first profit is the best, and best means fastest—but I'll bet they weren't as pleased as me. I swear I'd felt the clamouring of the eighteenth-century malachite green decorative jewellery inside among all those newspapers, and nobody could help feeling that ringing emanation from the Chien Lung agate-tiled silver box. The only William IV
lead funereal marker I've ever bought was among them,— and you know what's happened to the price of those. Ten years ago these flat lead pieces were thrown out with the beer bottles. Practically everything was worthwhile, and some pieces—like the little box of early model French soldiers—would pay for the rest.
She took the receipt while I hugged the stuff to me on the way back to the Emporium.
