Through the gloam came the strains of Handel's Water Music. Cameras flashed leaving our retinas unusable. My vision cleared. A golden barge glided upstream, shaped like an enormous swan, with Sandy in flowing golden sheets in the prow. I felt really embarrassed. Even for him this was ridiculous. All around people were applauding.
'How wonderful! Look!' Maud pulled me so we could see this shambles better. 'Isn't Sandy brilliant?'
Shimmering sparklers made waterfalls on the surface. Lights rippled along the bulwarks, spotlights playing. Sandy stood in dramatic pose, his features set into an expression he probably thought regal. He looked a right prune. I said so. Maud was irritated and slapped at my arm.
'Don't be a spoilsport, Lovejoy! He's being Queen Midas!'
Queen Midas? Wasn't Midas the king of Phrygia? Who finished up wearing donkey's ears?
The golden swan was rowed by so-say slaves, except even among the crowd I could hear the electric motor that powered the barge. Nymphs in flowing robes hung gracefully in the rigging, showering the spectators with golden petals as the monstrosity floated to the Quay. The applause was deafening. Sandy would have loudspeakers supplementing the clapping. It would be just like him.
'What's it all in aid of?'
She gazed at me in amazement.
'The award, Lovejoy! The refunding of the town's syndicate!'
Unease took me. I tried to sound nonchalant. 'What syndicate?'
'Our town's investors, Lovejoy! It's been in all the papers!'
Her eyes shone with pure admiration. Not for me, for Sandy. But how could he fund anything? It must be a scam based on promises. That old one.
The great barge, with Sandy in his daft heroic pose above the colossal swan's beak, searchlights playing on him, serenely neared the theatre. People were running from across the car park, desperate not to miss the spectacle.
Slaves, skin oiled to shine in the lantern light, hauled on ropes. A line of chanting slavettes, flaming torches held aloft, approached to welcome the hero. All wore flowing silver dresses, their faces and arms painted silver, quite macabre. Jeremiah Clark's Trumpet Voluntary crashed out, deafening us as an extending staircase rose from the swan's neck. Sandy stepped onto the stairway, gesturing majestically to the crowds beneath. The music changed to HMS Pinafore. Sandy was carried, still in his silly stance, through the dark night air above us to the balcony. Some loons, doubtless paid by the indefatigable Mel, started up a chant, 'Sandy! Sandy!' The crowd took it up, drowning out the music.
Sandy ascended – not too emotive a word – giving queenly gestures, tears of exaltation running down his gilded cheeks. He would describe this for ever now, in pubs all over East Anglia: 'Did you see me ...?' He'd send photographs to us all, then try to charge us for them when we'd chucked them away.
'Nobody else could perform like this, Lovejoy!'
Maud's eyes glistened with moisture, adoring it. I kept looking for familiar faces. My erstwhile team of actors arrived, Tina leading them into the theatre. Jules was one.
Conquistadores, on their way to new lands. I thought, once an actor, always.
On the balcony, the mayor – can you believe bloody politicians? – laid a golden laurel wreath on Sandy's brow. The background music burst into the Hallelujah Chorus from the Messiah. Lot of Handel about tonight, him and Gilbert and Sullivan busily adding to Sandy's majesty.
'Ladies and gentlemen!' the mayor shouted. 'Your saviour and mine, Sandy. . .'
Pandemonium. Ecstasy, the elation of people whose jobs were spared and wages secure. People all about shook hands and hugged. I bet they wouldn't give each other time of day on the street in the morning, but tonight was gala time. Mel – he must have run up the theatre stairs – held Sandy's hand aloft, champion boxer pose. Sandy bowed to the multitudes – see? Loaves-and-fishes talk gets even the most cynical after a bit.
The crowd roared. I saw Tex the Mighty Hex like a beaming Alp, head above the crowd.
'He could finish up emperor,' I told Maud.
'Oh, stop it!' she cried. 'Enter the spirit of the thing! Come on. We'll be late.' Impatiently she pulled me through the throng.
'Lovejoy?' Mrs Domander took my other arm. She held Peshy. It looked even more smug than usual, but I noticed it darted nervous glances at the sky as more fireworks went off. 'Could I sit with you?'
'Ta for the offer but I've to see the brigadier and Quaker.'
Her lower lip trembled a moment, though it could have been a Shimmering Cascade that just then made silver firefalls from the theatre windows.
'Only, I need to hand over your notes from the antiques sweep. Remember?'
Notes? We kept no notes. 'Did you get your motor back from Alanna?'
'Tinker brought it round.' Her mongrel snarled at me, not an all-time first. When did I ever do what it wanted?
'Good, love. Well, maybe tomorrow, eh?' I bussed her, carefully avoiding her wolfhound, and moved on.
'She's a pest, Lovejoy,' Maud said with satisfaction. We went towards the theatre with the crowd. 'You must watch her.'
Odd, though. I hadn't made any notes on our antiques sweep. Nor had she. And how had Tinker delivered her motor, when he'd no idea where she lived? Alicia was a wanderer. Local hotel owners give her a spare room, night and night about. It's pure chance where she kips. You have to leave her messages in the wall of Cramper Evans'
ruined chapel. After the pubs close she calls on Cramper to find out which bedroom she'll lodge in, giving a new meaning to the term No Fixed Abode. The thought almost made me look back, but Maud urged me on.
