'Moscow will sell anything. War loot. Rubbish. Dross from China. Among its shipments of garbage there will be some exquisite antiques. These they will sell without compunction. Icons. Furniture. Jewels. Porcelain. Holiness,' she added unexpectedly.
'The sanctity of generations, Lovejoy. And these idiots will buy them, to save their miserable skins.'
Wary of the hulk, I didn't heave a sigh of dismay. She wasn't speaking of merely one antique, or even of a trickle. She was talking of a tide, a great unstoppable flood. Out of control.
'Look, Countess. That syndicate has sources beyond imagination. The world is awash with money looking for a home – investments, antiques, securities. Russia has access to valuables. When unlimited money meets countless antiques, a deal is inevitable. That syndicate is nasty, so it's invincible.'
'Yes, Lovejoy.' She went calm. 'But we can betray!' Her face was in shadow as we began to retrace our steps towards the theatre. I could hear the smile in her voice. 'Our tactic!'
I can't believe these national characteristics. I once met a Yank who wasn't a millionaire. Unbelievable, but true.
'Got an idea how?'
'What were you and Tinker going to do, Lovejoy? Something truly pathetic, like try to upset the syndicate's first auction? Use your divvying talent to expose those infantile actors who're in there pretending they have the same unique gift?'
She made her explosive sound of scorn. It sounded an audible pout.
'Well, yes.' I was narked. 'It might have come off.'
'You think like a midget, Lovejoy! For true perfidy, you need my breeding, my genius.'
I'd thought I'd been really brainy, working out where the syndicate's first auctions would be held. They would do it in secret, of course, for a very specialized clientele of shady buyers. These things are easily arranged. They go on all the time, stolen stuff from country houses and auction rooms.
For something this big, though, all their items would have to be passed off as possibly tainted wartime loot, or antiques stolen from Asia Minor or India, the Persian Gulf states, the Far East, all those countries where embargoes had been placed on antiques.
That would only be the start. Central and South America would come next within a twelvemonth, then West and Central African states would be denuded of their heritages. It was happening now, but disorganized. On the dripfeed, so to speak. This syndicate would establish regular channels.
She trilled a laugh. I wanted to see her face, her mouth. I always like to watch. Women have such mobile features, so expressive in laughter or dismay. And their eyes ... What on earth was I thinking?
'You don't mean tell the Customs and Excise?'
'Silly!' I liked her arm through mine. 'I mean us! You and I! Not contemptible clerks.'
Her old accent had come back to accompany her rage. Contemp-teebell clerrr-kkess.
'Safely?'
She laughed. 'Safety is silly, Lovejoy. You know the Tsar's definition of safety? Safety is when you see the guns before they fire.'
Fat chance for me, then. I never even know what's happened afterwards.
'Who'll set it up?'
'You. Your skill is well known. Enough to be trusted by buyers.'
'Well, yes. If I know the buyers, and they know me.'
'I already have lists.'
The theatre music suddenly played. Doors opened sending huge swathes of light through the darkness. People spilled out onto balconies. Lights came on. Interval time, with celebration in the air. I could see the Countess's goon's silhouette. God, he was enormous. I was glad I hadn't made a run for it. Was I was better off taking the Countess's offer than trying to bubble the syndicate on my own? Maybe I'd save somebody's life. I'd not done too well so far.
'Right, Countess. Equal partners?'
Maybe I could start eating regularly, pay Tinker a fortnight's back wages.
She froze. There was enough light for me to see her face suddenly chill. 'Do not presume. I am nobility, Lovejoy. You are a serf.'
'Yes, Countess.'
Well, she was right, right? That we'd once been lovers wasn't to count. I heard a faint whirring sound. An electric motor? The river made a faint lapping sound. Doubtless some boat, perhaps a lucky lad drifting to bliss out there in the reedy darkness, jammy sod. There was a series of soft susurruses among the bulrushes, the swift near-silent sort that you try to ignore but can't. Luckily the Countess hadn't noticed. It's always a bit embarrassing, others making love especially if you're with a bird. Dunno why. The velvety sounds stilled. The gentle whirring stopped. The lovers had clearly decided to stay there a while, switched off their engine. I didn't blame them.
The Countess had been explaining her fiscal policy, something about percentages. I dragged my attention back from passion.
'I shall apportion your share when the syndicate's brought down.'
'Who will you get to do the damage, Countess?' I asked humbly, as if I didn't know.
'There is a bandit, one Mr John Sheehan,' she said, cool. I warned myself off using that description in Big John's hearing. Or, indeed, anywhere on Planet Earth. 'My agent works for the syndicate. I placed him there very early. Almost, you could say, before the scam began. He is my contact with Mr Sheehan.'
Jules the actor? I thought but did not say. I vaguely wondered what might have happened if I'd not picked him
