She was in tears. 'What about us, Lovejoy?'
'You and me, doowerlink, are just beginning,' I said mistily. 'And I do mean that most sincerely. Can I borrow your motor? I'll bring it back at two.'
Well, I needed it more. I think that deep down people like to share. She could always hire one. She had magic plastic, and I had none.
30
CORA is the best female burglar we have. Women are twenty per cent of all burglars, a fifth, save working it out. Most are men, except for shoplifters like Alicia Domander. I don't know the statistics on kleptomaniac mongrels, so I don't count Peshy. Not that women burglars aren't any good, because when they happen along they're superb.
Cora is a quality thief, only you've to choose the right job. To remind you, the ulk –
robber's word meaning the place to be burgled – was Eleanor's garage in my lane, and the stuff already addressed to me c/o baby Henry's mum. If I'd wanted, say, the British Museum done over, maybe I'd choose myself, even, like I did once. Cora, incidentally, doesn't look like a cat padder, just a plain lass about thirty with freckles and long hair and neat feet.
'It's right up your street, Cora,' I told her. We met in a motorway service complex. She watches her bloke give out parking tickets. He's a traffic warden and she loves him.
Could anything be more sickening?
'No, Lovejoy. It's right up yours!' I got the joke; it's my lane.
'Ha ha,' I said gravely. 'No hassle, love. Understand?
The babby's safe, the lady's safe. The husband works the shore watch, so careful, okay?'
'I lift the torn from her garage. Then?'
'There's about thirty postal packages, some quite big, all addressed to me. Take them to Dedham. The publican's wife there keeps a cran for Tex.'
'Tex the wrestler? Oooh, I like him!'
A cran is a place to drop antiques – hole in a wall, derelict shed, an eel-catcher's pool, some old warehouse roof, anywhere nobody would think of.
'How much?'
This is typical. People don't trust anybody nowadays. Aged five, I'd been at school with her third cousin. I tried reminding her of this close family link but Cora has a heart of stone.
We agreed on a price. She said she'd take it 'on the arm', as antique dealers say for something owed. I watched her go. She never carries tools, always does a clean job.
She used to be a convent housekeeper, even went into Holy Orders as a novice nun, but finally decided to forsake piety for a career in theft. I like happy endings. It takes character to realize the error of your ways. I should know.
That job arranged, I drove to the hospital, where to my alarm I learned that Florence Giverill had been discharged. The nurse gave me the address. I looked at it a long while before asking, 'You sure this is right?'
'Certain.' She eyed me. 'Only, she'll need help.'
'Is she still poorly?'
'Her and her husband went bankrupt the day of the accident. Bailiffs took everything, their house, savings. She's gone to her friend's. Take the slip road towards—'
'I know it.'
I ought to. It was my home.
She was asleep when I arrived. It was getting on for dusk, about the time Cora should be filing her jemmy and coiling her ropes, whatever she does. I deliberately didn't look down the lane. There was a candle burning in my window. Welcome home? I made a deal of here-I-come noise, and went in.
'Wotcher, love.'
'Lovejoy?' Florence sounded scared. She was on my one upright chair like waiting for an interview. 'I'm so glad to see you.'
'Brewed up?'
'Nothing works,' she said. 'No water, no electric, no telephone.' She caught herself. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean ...'
'Course you did. It's true.' I always joke at penury. What else can you do? 'Here.'
I pulled out my divan and led her to it. She sank on it. I took off her shoes and gingerly lifted her legs, expecting her to yell but she didn't. Telling her to stay put, I drew water from the well in my frying pan. I filled my battered kettle and boiled it using petrol from Alicia's motor. Make a hole in the ground, drop in some petrol, light it – stand back –
and balance the kettle over the flame. If I hadn't learned these tramp's tricks early on I'd not be here. We had tea.
Sensible of me to bring provisions on the way from the hospital, except I always forget something vital. Like, I'd no butter or margarine though I'd bought nine loaves. The thing about shopping is that I'm easily hoodwinked in supermarkets. Their come-ons con me: 'Special offer! Four for the price of two! Six for the price of three!' So I'd got enough skimmed milk ('Ten pack for the price of five!') to have a bath in. I'd got six fresh mackerel with no freezer to preserve them. And I'd to slog through ten cream cakes or let them go bad. See? I'm taken in.
