“Where the hell’ve you been?” I said, not bothering to open my eyes. “I said come straight away. East Anglia’s only forty minutes, for Christ’s sake.” But I’d not heard a wheelchair.
“I had to see to Jan first,” she said, which would spring anybody’s lids. Lysette, no less. “He needs special care.”
“You’re no use,” I said. This is typical. First time in my life I’ve ever asked anybody for help, and they send me an ignorant tart. “Jan give any message?” The least he could do.
“Yes. He said to rely on me, Lovejoy.”
“Get lost, love.” I’d a splitting headache. I made to leave. What she said stopped me.
“I would have waited at your hotel, except for your company.”
What did she know? “How much do you know, love?”
She was smaller than I thought, pale, composed. I felt a strong urge to tell her to clear off, but bonny women make you lose your gommon.
“Jan was hired to advise on antiques. There’s heavy buying in East Anglia, France, all over.” She hesitated. “He made mistakes. You can’t be right all the time, can you?”
Well, yes. “A divvy can. Antiques are easy, love. It’s people queer the pitch every time.” She was trying not to tell me Jan started defrauding the rollers, Big John included.
“You’re hateful! I can see what you’re thinking, Lovejoy! My brother could no more cheat —”
“
“My brother. Jan’s the gentlest, kindest, most honest…” Et sisterly cetera.
Wrong again. How was I to know? I’d honestly seen Lysette as Jan Fotheringay’s bird. My shimmering vision tried to focus on her anew, without listening to her defensive dross. Jan had pulled the old Nelson, as the trade says. You are supposed to approve a multitude of fakes and genuine antiques—that is, decide if they’re good enough to pass most scrutineers, like I’d just done—but he’d then condemned a few beautiful pieces as dross. Secretly, of course, he’d snaffled them, and made a fortune. The problem? It was the rollers’ fortune, not his.
“Where’s it heading, Lysette? Am I right, Switzerland?”
“Yes. I don’t know when.”
That didn’t matter. The square seemed clear of familiars still, but for one. I almost got better with relief.
“Look, Lysette. Good of you to come and all, but you’re no use. I wanted Jan. He could tell me the backers, whose scam it is. You can’t.”
“I can, Lovejoy. Some, anyway.” She named the ones I expected: Jervis, Almira Galloway, Monique Delebarre, Corse, Big John (she didn’t call him that) Sheehan, and Paulie of course. And took my breath away by adding, Jan told me Mr Anstruther was frightened, but his wife drove him. She’s Monsieur Troude’s woman, you see, and got her husband’s firm to invest everything.”
Cissie and Troude? My headache had only been teasing until now. Across the square, Gobbie spat with laconic skill.
“Got a car, love?”
“I can easily hire one. You want me to help, Lovejoy?”
“Please,” I said, nearly broken. “Get one, and follow. We leave tomorrow, if I’ve guessed right. You’ll have a travelling companion. An old bloke I know.”
Lysette smiled, suddenly bright and beautiful. “I’ll be there ahead of you, Lovejoy. If
We made a detailed plan. She left, me watching her edible form move across the cobbles out of the square. I gave her a few minutes, then went to where my real helper sat, thank God.
“Wotcher, Gobbie.”
“Hello, son.” He hawked up phlegm, rheumy old eyes watering. “Who’s the bint?”
“On our side. You’ll be travelling with her.” I launched into money, surreptitiously gave him what I had to cover expenses. He’d told his daughter he was going to a regimental reunion, a laugh. I had to ask him, though. “You sure you want in, Gobbie? It’s okay if you duck out. I’ll manage.”
“Like hell you will, son,” Gobbie said, grinning. “You’ll squirrel off and hide. I know you. You’re a cowardly sod.” I had to laugh. A gappy geriatric grin and a brilliantly beautiful smile, both within a few minutes. Plus a home truth. And allies! Things were looking up.
“It’ll be rough, Gobbie.” I paused. What had he said at the boot sale? “Bring old times back—they were dangerous, remember.”
His smile was as beautiful in its way as Lysette’s. “Them’s the times I wants, Lovejoy. One more, worth anything.”
“Remember you said that,” I warned him. I’m glad now I said that, too. “Here, Gobbie,” I said on impulse. “Want to brighten your day? Well, night? See a giggle?”
“A robbery? Here?” He was surprised.
“It’ll be about two in the morning,” I warned. He fell about at that, guessing what it would be. And he was right.
Well, he would be right, with his million years of experience. He got a motor car, as I’d asked, and we sat there in the darkness looking out at the street. Gone two o’clock, and so far nothing. Odd how some people, especially older ones like Gobbie, seem at home wherever they are. I would have sworn the motor was his own, so familiar did he seem with—
