“Will Mr. Boy, er, Tony, agree to share?”
“Lady,” Trembler said gently. “He sent off six grubby old doorstops hoping for a few quid. And gets a fortune. Wouldn’t you agree to fork out the expenses?”
“Sod the explanations,” I interrupted. “How far’d I get?”
“Did it all, mate.” Tinker was pouring himself another pint of beer. From the tomato sauce on his mittens he must have had a meal or two while waiting for me to rouse.
“Lady here hardly kept up.”
“I got all of it,” Michelle said, glaring at Tinker.
“Kiss, then,” I ordered. “Chance of a bite, Mrs. Buchan?”
“I beg your pardon!” Michelle exclaimed indignantly, then quieted when she saw Trembler and Tinker marking an X on each of her pages. I did the same. God, I felt stiff. Something happens to your muscles. I saw her staring and smiled.
“A St. Andrew’s cross used to be put at the bottom of legal documents as a sign of honesty. That’s why it’s still a valid mark from people who can’t write. It degenerated over the centuries into a love kiss. We use it in its original sense.”
“Truth and honesty!” Tinker laughed so much, one of the girls had to bang his back to stop him choking to death.
“The dolls, Lovejoy.”
“For heaven’s sake, split them into single lots, Trembler. Who the hell boxed them into one?”
“Bleedin’ toys,” Tinker grumbled. My answer.
“That tall French bride doll’s the one to milk on the day, Trembler, but there are some good German bisques. Incidentally, d’you reckon that mohair-wig character doll’s by Marque? One went at Theriault’s for over twenty thousand…” We chatted as my grub came. Tinker was by then really enjoying himself. The girls pretended to refuse his request for another jug of Mrs. Buchan’s home brew, liking the scruffy old devil. The divvying had been a real success for him, because the stuff was exactly what I’d asked for. By dusk he’d be justifiably drunk in celebration.
Trembler and me went on, Tinker spraying us all with mouthfuls as he put in an occasional word and Michelle making notes. The set of wooden decoy ducks, retain as likely in this area. The collection of twenty-six fans, accept. The sixty pieces of lace, retain but split into different-sized lots. And the William Morris furniture look-alikes, put into one motif room. The alleged early Viennese meerschaum pipe was a fake, but leave in because some collector might be daft enough…
Late that same night Michelle came across me in the conservatory.
“What are you reading?”
“A real cliffhanger.” I held out the book. Dame Wiggins and Her Seven Wonderful Cats.
I like Kate Greenaway. Can’t help wondering if she had an affair with George Weatherby. Co-authors and all that.” She sat opposite me, composed, hands clasped.
“Yonks ago”— she used the slang self-consciously —“I’d have said you looked ridiculous sitting in that old bath chair. Now it seems so natural, you reading an old book by candlelight when there are comfortable chairs, new books, electric light, television.”
“It’s pleasanter, love.”
“Is it always like that?” She meant divvying.
“Not long back I divvied a few things for a fairground. Took it in my stride. This was a bit of a marathon.”
“And payment, Lovejoy?” First time she’d used my name.
“Money? You fixed the percentage.” I shrugged. “It never sticks to my fingers. A woman I know says it’s because deep down I hate the stuff. Pay me in Roman denarii, love.”
She showed no inclination to go. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I said, “You must be very proud of Elaine. Sad that James Wheeler didn’t live to see how she turned out.”
Women who delay a reply are usually opting for truth. It’s unnerving, like all rarities.
Michelle’s face was pale when finally it lifted.
“I suspected you’d guessed, Lovejoy.” She looked away for the crunch. “He took his…
wife to the Continent. I went as companion.”
“Because you were pregnant with Elaine.” Good planning. “The wife condoned everything?”
“Of course.” She was faintly surprised at my astonishment. “The importance of a clan heir overrode everything. Duncan didn’t know. He stayed to help Robert run Tachnadray.”
“All these dark secrets put you in my power,” I threatened. “Now I’ll exploit you rotten.”
She smiled at that, really smiled. “Anyone else, yes. But not you, Lovejoy.” She rose, hesitated as if seeking something, then bent over and put her warm dry mouth to mine.
“Thank you, Lovejoy.”
“Don’t say thanks yet, love,” I said sadly. “Unless you know what’s coming.”
Her eyes, so close to mine, showed doubt an instant before her woman’s resolve abolished it. She decided I meant gain.
