“Then what?”
Veronique smiled. She was worn out, quite on edge. I felt my spirits lifting by the minute now it was starting.
“Then you report to me.” Guy looked worse than the pair of us put together, and he’d had a good night’s sleep. I wondered what he looked like without his wig, his coloured contacts, his meticulous make-up. He was beyond hearing, all senses stultified. “I’ve planned for us, Lovejoy.”
“Right. How long’ll I be?”
“Until Monique says, Lovejoy. We’ll be here. Guy.” His name was like an order. Obediently he tried to pay attention, but it was a sorry show.
The driver was one of the hulks who’d guarded Marimee’s briefing. He said nothing, flattened me against the upholstery by the force of his acceleration. I felt lonely, odd to relate, legitimately free of my watchdogs for the first time.
“Far to go, have we?” I tried, but got nothing from Suit. His neck was roll upon roll of fat. Underneath would be solid gristle. I’d never tangle with such as he. I sighed, settled back for the ride. Another giver of orders, for immediate compliance.
It was not all that long. Countryside abounds in Switzerland. Mind you, after Lysette’s tour of Zurich’s grotty grottoes I found that I wasn’t as animose to the boring hills as usual. The Alps can be seen from the city, and I was pleased to get glimpses as we drove. Sherlock Holmes, though, said there’s more sin in pretty countryside than in any sordid town.
A small village or two out, the motor pulled in and I was transferred to an even huger motor. It contained Monique.
“Morning,” I said. The Suit shoved me. I almost fell in. No reply. I sat as far away from her as possible. Never disturb a wasps’ nest. A glamorous nest, though. Bonny hair, with a small hat bordering on insolence. You know that sort of encased, sheathed look some women achieve in a smart suit? Well, Monique achieved exactly that. The despond I’d felt when seeing her the first time, at Mentle Marina, returned in waves. Seeing a brilliant woman you know you’ll never have always gets me down.
“Lovejoy,” she said, speaking slowly as if to an idiot. I was surprised. My name had never sounded nice before. Now I quite liked it. “You have one task this morning.”
“To agree.”
“To obey.” A pause for it to sink in. We were driving along a narrow road. I could glimpse a lake, very beautiful. “The Repository. You know it?”
“Of it, yes.” Taking the silence as invitation to continue, I went diffidently on. “The world’s great auction houses need a place where antiques can be safely stored. It charges buyers, vendors, antique dealers, so much a month.”
“Yes.”
More silence, so okay. “It’s security city, really. Vast. You buy an antique anywhere in the world, ship it to the Repository, and simply leave it there. Then sell it, raise loans on it, barter it, all without it moving it an inch. The bills of sale are currency among legits and crooks alike, like dollars.” I began to wax eloquent. “They say that the world’s drug money is laundered via antiques in the Repository while the antiques simply remain there under lock and key. Great scheme. And legal! I’ve seen a possession note change hands for almost half a million pounds, for a George III bureau owned by a SARL—that’s a
Her eyes held me. I managed silence at last. I’m like this, stupidly unable to stop gabbing, a puppy trying to impress its luscious mistress. Pathetic. Plus I was scared.
She looked out of the window. “Who is the woman. Lovejoy?”
“Woman?” She knew Veronique, because Veronique was her employee. Therefore… “She’s a bird — er, a girl I met.” I didn’t say where. Lysette, she meant Lysette. And Gobbie?
“Where?” She was indifferent. The motor slowed on a steep incline, turned at the top. Lake, trees, distant snow.
“Actually in Paris. She’s moving to Switzerland, with, er, her grandad. She’s here in Zurich now.” I felt stripped, started a cringe of evasion. “Look, Monique. You don’t know what it’s like. I’m living like a monk. She’s the only chance—”
“Veronique.” Flat, bored. “You’ve had Veronique.”
“Yes, well.” I tried hard for moral rectitude. “I don’t want to say things about her when she’s not here, but I think sometimes… I think her bloke Guy’s on drugs. It puts me off. Maybe she shares the habit. You understand?”
“Brother.”
“Eh?” That made me draw breath. Then exhale. Then inhale. Then exhale. “Eh?”
“Her duty was to maintain you.” Was it still mere flat indifference, or was malevolence creeping in?
“Oh, she did! She did!” I chuckled, only it came out octaves wrong. “Honestly, we’ve had a whale of a time…”
“Stop it, Lovejoy.” I stopped it, listened soberly. “Today, we are dealers sending in a mass of antiques. They are of course the fakes, reproductions, simulants of the type you approved in Paris. The best of our manufacture. You will mark them for storage. Any that are authentic, genuine antiques, you will mark as requiring shipment. Understand?”
“Forgeries into store, trues for shipment. A bar?” Her eyebrows rose a fraction. I explained, “Do I cut off the process at a certain number?”
“Gambling term.” Her mind, classifying away. She must find scruffs like me fascinating specimens. No wonder she was bored by everything. I was narked. I’m no arthropod. Time to tell her.
“Because”, I found myself giving out nastily, “we don’t want them stealing the wrong lot, do we?”
