'Thanks,' he said modestly. 'I go for decor. Like the place? I've only been here a month.'
'Hymie!' Honor burst out, furious. 'I've warned you! Lovejoy's a hood.'
'Nark it,' I grumbled. 'I'm just Wrinkle's pal.' I gazed round open-mouthed. 'Are these all yours, Hymie? Congratulations!' I wandered, acting like I couldn't bring myself to touch.
I know next to nothing about old electricals. Dealers call them Vintage Communications and Tellyana. They're made-up words, but add to the mad prices.
'It's not bad.' Hymie was delighted.
'Not bad?' I surged on. 'It's the holy of holies! My God! Isn't that a Rockola?' Lucky it was labelled.
'It sure is!'
Hymie started showing me round while Honor tried to get him to shut up. Wrinkle morosely went through into the back. I heard a door slam, and a distant hum begin as he switched on his power lighting. Lighting is almost everything when faking. I knew the feeling. Restore your spirits by delving into forgery.
'Hymie, you've a fortune here!' I was bored stiff.
This is the trouble. Antiques now being so costly, folk move into 'antiques of the future'.
Vintage Communications, mere bygones, leads the way. The trouble is they're so bulky.
You can only get two Hi-Fi Wurlitzer Stereo jukeboxes in the average living-room and still breathe. Also, some people - include me, please - wouldn't want them at any price.
On the other other hand, though, they're soaring in value. Get a hand-cranked gramophone for a few pence, varnish the wood, give the turntable a quick wipe, you can sell it for a good week's wage. The best vintage gramophone shop is at Mildenhall, in Suffolk, beloved of American buyers. Jukeboxes? Well, Hymie here had a good supply, but he'd got real competition in Berkhamstead. Me? I was hard put to keep awake. Crud isn't real antiques.
'Ever go to the National Vintage Communications Fair, Hymie?' I asked with reverence.
'Sure do, Lovejoy!' He almost fainted from the thrill, another living person having heard of it.
'I'd love to go myself,' I said, wistful. 'Except, you need to go with somebody who knows the difference between a BAL-AMI and an Ecko Portable TV, what, 1958?'
'Three years out, Lovejoy,' he chuckled. 'Nearly right! I'm restoring a genuine Philips 834 radio!'
'Not…?' I gasped, nearly yawning. I could hear Wrinkle hauling something across the workshop floor. An extractor fan began its whirr.
'Indeedy!' Hymie cried. 'Historic 1933 vintage!'
'You clever swine,' I said, with envy. Nobody can resist admiration plus envy. Even the Emperor Nero was desperate for underlings to admire his inept warblings. So desperate, indeed, that when Nero fell from his chariot early in the race they actually declared him victor.
'Come with me, Lovejoy,' Hymie said airily. 'In a couple of months we're going to do a mighty big spend.'
'Hymie.' Honor's quiet word felled Hymie's pride like an axe. He paled, gave me a look of sorrow, and vanished into his office.
'What?' I was indignant. 'This stuff is rare. They're tomorrow's antiques!'
Honor drew me to the window, her hand a clasp of iron. We stood there. Traffic moved past. People looked in, drifting by. It was some beats before she spoke.
'Lovejoy. Learn something vital.' She gazed at me, small and venomous. I felt a scary twinge. This lady was attractive, but on a crusade. 'I've scoured Europe for a treasure like Wrinkle. Don't think your goodness-gracious act with Hymie will do you any good.
Wrinkle's collection is mine. So is Wrinkle. Understand that.'
Stoically, I didn't shiver. 'Fine by me, Honor. It's just that I'm broke. Wrinkle owes me.
His collection. If I got somebody interested, would you pay me commission?'
'On a sale?' She almost laughed. 'You've a nerve, Lovejoy.'
'Look, love. What if somebody paid up, and you didn't deliver?'
She breathed, 'You mean, sell the collection twice?' A smile began, widened.
'First, to a mark I want to hurt. Then you can sell it again after I'd gone.'
Her smile dazzled as understanding lit from within. 'Lovejoy, that's beautiful! We sell Wrinkle's collection to some idiot, then default?'
'It would only leave me legally liable,' I said modestly. 'Not you.'
'Leaving me with Wrinkle's valuable collection!' She was thrilled. 'I get the profit, you take the risk?'
'That's it.'
'Glorious, Lovejoy.' She would have come closer, except we were in the window. 'It's a deal. Do you have to show them to the mark first?'
'One or two pieces at least, to hook them.'
'I want forty per cent commission, Lovejoy.'
'Ten,' I gave back.
We settled on 30 per cent, which was criminal extortion. I was narked, even though I'd no intention of going through with it, because even a duckegg like me has pride. What worried me was that Honor talked as if Wrinkle
