Unbelievably, there was a travelling dealer waiting with Fabio. He was a pleasant but tatty little Milanese bloke and had with him a collection of miniature early furniture, probably used for display in some furniture maker's in the 1830s. We call these geezers
'sweepers' in the trade because they do 'sweeps' through the country trying to gather up anything and everything which could be regarded as antique. They're the blokes who come knocking at your door on dark nights. (Take my tip: always send them packing. No bigger crowd of rogues exists on earth, and I should know. I was one for years.) The BBC and Sotheby's do 'sweeps' too—respectable ones, and at least as honourably, I'm sure.
I urged Adriana to buy the stuff. When the sweeper had gone we all looked at each other. It was only half past six, and I'd made the Emporium a fortune.
'We overpaid the sweeper,' Piero said sourly, the miserable sod.
I wasn't having that. 'We'll make twice the cost on his stuff.'
'Of course, we still have to sell them,' Fabio said waspishly, another ray of sunshine.
'And as for buying those little balls—'
I'd bought two balls of compressed feathers wedged inside a small fraying leather case the size of a shaving stick.
'We paid the price of two beers,' I said gently. 'We'll sell them for the price of a car.
They're early golf balls. Rare as hen's teeth. I'll bet you—'
'You haven't a bean to bet with, Lovejoy,' Fabio countered waspishly, sweeping back to his accounts.
I felt myself go red but Adriana said quickly, 'You were very astute, Lovejoy. Thank you.'
'Not at all, signora.' I hadn't meant to sound bitter but it came out different from what I'd intended. The workshop was clearly the place for me, though I was itching to go through the rest of the job lots to see what other brilliant stuff we'd got.
Time was getting short, though Adriana's rent table was coming along fast. It would soon be finished and good as new. Better still, good as old. One difficulty was not having the sketches of the Vatican Museum's period piece with me, but I'm not that daft. If Piero or Fabio found drawings like that they'd smell a rat. So I worked in the old way, from notches cut in sticks. Every morning at Anna's I tied the sticks to my calf inside my trouser leg. Once I was at the workshop an extra stick or two went unnoticed.
Another difficulty was assembly. The reproduction rent table I was making for Adriana to put on display had to be ready fairly soon or they'd be wondering what the hell I was doing down here, especially after they'd all commented, each in his pleasant little way, on my working speed. So I did a zillion test assemblies of every drawer and every joint, and never put it all together. The outer surfaces of her table I copied precisely using light plywood but giving them the same kinds of finish. These were the pieces I'd told Piero were my patterns for copying.
Like hell they were.
Somehow I made room for the two cafeteria tables, scattering bits of wood about on them to show how useful they were being. The third one I left out in the yard, allegedly ready to be returned.
A further stroke of luck came about thirty minutes before we closed for the night.
Signor Gallinari phoned us to say he was ready for swapping—we were doing a trade of chairs to make up complete period dining sets. Piero and Fabio went off in the van grumbling and sulky. I immediately put the metal saw across the tubular steel tips of one of the cafeteria table's legs. I put the four tips in my pocket, wrapped in a hankie so as not to clink, and stepped off to look. Nobody could tell. I was whistling happily and splitting some thin dowelling when Adriana came in.
'Here, Lovejoy.' She held out an envelope.
'Thank you, signora.' It was thicker than usual.
'Open it, please.'
There was money inside, besides the invitation card. I drew breath. I needed money badly, but not that bad.
'No, thank you, signora.' I kept the card and held out the notes.
'Why not?'
'We've agreed what the rules are, signora.'
She avoided my eyes. 'It gives you the choice, Lovejoy. Where to dine, what to do in the evenings.'
I tried to make light of the whole thing. 'With all this gelt I might streak off.'
'No, Lovejoy.' She sounded listless. 'Not you. You do what you want. You're here for your own reasons.'
So she'd realized too. 'But signora—'
'No more, Lovejoy. Please.' All the day's successes were forgotten. 'No more hypocrisy.
I don't ask why you stay. From now on you won't be forced into anything. I'll see you are paid money each day.'
Her eyes were wet. I was lost. 'What about Fabio? He'll realize…'
'I'll find some way. Take it out of the petty cash. He won't know.'
That seemed odd, almost as if she was apprehensive about Fabio. She was the boss, after all, and Fabio was only a hireling, like me.
'Am I to be at the restaurant?'
'Only if you wish.'
I hesitated while Adriana dabbed at her eyes. Women get me mad because you never know where you are. 'Did Signor Albanese say anything? He had me taken to his office.'
