'Why is she still his doormat?'
That made her smile. 'When a woman goes overboard for a man, Lovejoy, she's got to keep on. To walk away admits that everybody else was right and she wrong.'
'It mystifies me.' I fiddled with a steel-soled panel plane. Just a carpenter's bench tool made of gunmetal. They are worth a new car, these Norris 50 series implements, especially when you see a variant style - a differently sited screw adjustment or suchlike. Two blokes at Needham Market made the prices soar, sharing toolmakers'
history with collectors everywhere. Deeloriss took it back, put it on her stand.
'You can't afford it, Lovejoy.'
'Women often say that they've been stupid. It's their thing.'
'You might have something there, Lovejoy. Most women would have given up after all this time. Maybe it's her Arthur, and she's grief-hugging?'
'Deel, love.' I hesitated. 'Heard of any decent scams?'
She eyed me. 'Astronomy forgeries have hit the barrows lately. Ever since that new Ophiuchus zodiac came in. Somebody out your way worked a scam before the news broke, don't know how. He used two elderly ladies. Going?'
'Er, ta, Deel, got to be off. Ta-ra.'
She called something after me, smiling, but I didn't pause. The new zodiac scam had been mine. The Ophiuchus constellation hadn't then smashed the headlines, giving everybody who watches their star signs a fright if they're born between 30 November and 17 December. My getting there first had been pure luck. If luck was a talent, I needed it now.
Hello Bates was still near the Chepstow corner. He hailed me.
'Shout 'Hello Bates', Lovejoy!'
It's his greeting and farewell. Consequently nobody ever forgets Hello Bates. I hate what Hello does - strips wooden furniture, cabinets, Davenport chests, by immersing the furniture in sodium hydroxide solution then hosing it down. Vandalism technology.
'Hello Bates!' We both shouted it like a password, people all about grinning and shaking their heads. He beckoned me over to his booth for a coffee. He had several decent pieces of Victorian furniture in - pole screens, sewing work-boxes, ink standishes.
'Heard you're looking for a decent scam, Lovejoy.' I wasn't surprised. Words have fleet wings on the Portobello. 'Everything's paintings lately. Them Russians—'
'No, Batesy.' I'd recently been involved in war loot in Guernsey.
'That Munch picture The Scream? he suggested. 'Grammy's done a couple, very decent.
He'll be in today, Talbot Road.'
'Paintings are getting the screws on.' It was true. Old Masters received more attention than the national debt. 'That American two hundred million dollar job at the Isabella Stuart Gallery in Boston set everything alight.'
We considered the world's unfairness, sipping his horrible liquid. He makes it with coffee essence from a bottle. The things I do for friends.
'That Munch, though, shows it can still be done,' Hello persuaded earnestly. 'All Norway came unglued. Gluck would fall for it like.'
'Here, nark it, Batesy.' I was really irritated. Did the universe know of my hopes for Gluck?
He was off into reverie. 'Brilliant robbery, that Scream. Ninety seconds. Wire cutters, a ladder, window open, off in a motor, beautiful.'
Bravely I finished my coffee. The street was filling with gazers. Time I too went wandering.
'No, but ta. Too many ifs.'
Hello looked downcast. 'I'll help if you're stuck, Lovejoy. Here,' he called after, as I started towards the Portobello Silver Galleries. 'Gaylord Fauntleroy's been asking after you. Try him. Say 'Hello Bates', Lovejoy!'
'Hello Bates,' I called back, feeling a nerk.
Daft as a brush he might be, yet Hello had managed one amazing thing. With no knowledge of antiques worth a light, monumental laziness, nothing more than a porcelain bath and a hosepipe, Hello not only made a living but had me and hundreds of others shouting his name. A lesson in there somewhere.
Gaylord Fauntleroy? At least it was somebody asking for me instead of me simply blundering. I ploughed on among the arcades. I deliberately avoided mention of Dieter Gluck, just chatted, drifted, listening, listening. All the time my mind was shrieking how to do Gluck down. Surely it wasn't much to ask? Two more dealers said Gaylord wanted me. I'm good at ignoring genuine offers of help, useless at providing any.
Getting nowhere, I turned left after Denbigh Terrace, leaving the corner pub behind me. And there in all its shabby glory was Gaylord Fauntleroy's gaudy caravan, him beside it arguing with a traffic warden.
Gaylord isn't as exotic as he sounds. Okay, he is highly mannered, and given to shrill denunciations when there's an audience. He loves malicious gossip. But I know he funds a hospice ward in the Midlands. He takes his ancient Auntie Vi everywhere with him, hence the trailer, when he could have dumped her. If we were all so exotic the world wouldn't be in such a mess.
'It's my calves, officer!' Gaylord was screaming, doubled with pain. 'They're agony! I missed my mint tea yesterday!'
People all about were grinning, enjoying Gaylord's show.
'Yes, sir,' the warden intoned. 'Please move your vehicle.'
'How can I?' Gaylord appealing to the heavens. He wears the robes of an Orthodox priest, biretta as well, with trailing capacious sleeves. His pink sandals have Aladdin toes like you see in pantomimes. He carries a diamante-
