Doubtless all that bird-watching.
'Four selected individuals – Tina is the leader – will face a range of items. They will each unerringly identify the priceless antiques from the fake. Now,' he smiled disarmingly, 'this could be a set-up. But you know the auction houses I'm associated with. I guarantee this little interlude is unflawed.
'Can I introduce Tina ... ?'
Applause began, politely interested, as Tina led Wilhelmina, Larch the tree hugger, and Jules the ex-con on stage. They stood in line. The backdrop rose revealing an array of antiques on stands, on benches, maybe thirty or so in all. I felt one chime, a lone belling in my chest, from one direction but nothing much else. This scam was the goldie, the one deception that convinces when all else fails. So called from an old con trick that evolved back when people were easily hoodwinked. You'd show a seemingly gold statue, then allow the mark – the buyer you're tricking – to examine it, scrape off a sample for analysis. It's pure gold (of course). But it's only gold leaf, put there minutes before on the corner of the statue that you allowed the mark to touch, feel, use a microscope on.
'Look, love,' I whispered to Maud. 'I'll be back in a sec.'
'Now? Can't it wait?'
'I said I'd meet Florence. She's late.'
'Be sharp, then.'
Below, Lanny was describing the supposed antiques. His actors stayed gravely listening, occasionally glancing thoughtfully at the items. I eeled out, hissing apologies like you do, and hurried down to the main entrance. The commissionaires were having a smoke, cigarettes cupped in fingers.
Tinker was nowhere. I whispered his name into the dark. Nothing. I'd throttle the idle old soak. I'd distinctly told him to be here. You can't depend on anybody. Okay, so I'd not paid him for a few months. Was that a reason to let me down?
'Good evening, Lovejoy.'
I jumped. 'Evening, Countess. Seen Tinker?'
'Yes.' She gave a throaty laugh. 'He had to leave.' Her suited hulk who'd chucked me out of her Antiques Emporiana gave a snuffle of mirth. I could see their features only in the sheen of the theatre's foyer lights. Funny how still and quiet it was outside, when from inside there came the roaring of the audience. My actors, re-enacting my feeble scam with which I'd tried to please Susanne Eggers.
'Is Tinker okay?'
'Temporarily.' She moved. 'Come, Lovejoy. Stroll with me.'
'Countess, any other time—'
The hulk shoved me. Obediently I strolled. The Countess moved through a slice of silver light. She looked lovely. Other women would say she was too florid, tarty even. But what's wrong with tarty? Glamour's sensible when it's aimed in my direction. I call that real logic.
'Jules was mine once, Lovejoy.'
'I heard.'
'Like you, Lovejoy. Except, unlike you he leaped at my offer of... renewal.'
'I've had problems, Countess.'
She gave her throaty laugh. A bloke doesn't stand much chance. My resolve faded.
'Poor helpless Lovejoy. Your own scam is being used against you. You know that?'
'I'm guessing as I go.'
She sighed. 'It's my poor Russia. It always is poor Russia. You know, Lovejoy, Russia wounds herself. Tranquillity? Pshah! We Russians abhor it!'
'Look, er ...'
'You know how to find tragedy? Follow the nearest Russian. With the instinct of a moth, he will dive into the flame with a cry of bliss.'
I'd heard her speak like this before. After we'd made smiles, she would become so morose that you became sad too. I found it hard to take. I knew her next line. No good explaining—
'—to the moth that it need only wait until morning, then it can enjoy all the light it desires. It simply seeks its catastrophic fate. All—'
'Moths are Russian?'
'You remember!' She gave a cry of delight.
'What do you want me for?'
'I want a little betrayal, Lovejoy. You and I will rescue a fragment of civilization from those barbarians!'
'Who?'
'Those in there,' she said with detestation. The hulk walked behind, feet going crunch crunch when we were on the greensward. Why did his steps go crunch? Mine didn't.
The Countess's didn't. 'They will buy anything from those Muskovites. You know all Muskovites are oafs?'
'Not from St Petersburg?'
'Hah! You remembered!'
She turned. We were about two hundred yards along the riverbank, the theatre glowing like hot embers in the distance, lights reflecting in the water, the great gold swan barge still shimmering. The hulk stepped round us so he was behind.
