The Grace in Older Women (37 page)

Time for loose ends. I remembered a bloke called Fish from
Halstead who forges copper tokens - halfpennies, farthings, even silver ones. I
got him on the phone, third try, told him to mount a display.

'I've only ninety, maybe a hundred, Lovejoy,' he said.

'Everything you've got, Fish, okay? Bring your bleeper along.' We
call him Fish because he uses a Fisher metal detector, trespassing away merrily
through the candle hours. He supplements his field finds by forging Georgian
trade tokens in his brother's workshop. The populace was short of change three hundred
years ago, so shops struck token coins to help trade along. 'Tinker'll set you
up in a cabinet. No need to give proper identifications. Let them be mystery
finds, see?'

'But forging, Lovejoy . . .'He's always nervous, from run-ins with
gamekeepers.

'They're tokens, not coin of the realm, Fish. And who's to know?
You only
found
them, see?'

'That's right, Lovejoy!' He brightened, said he'd be along.

Three more calls brought a promise of an old ship's figurehead,
1795, that I'd last seen Peter Duck finishing in Lowestoft. I wasn't too lucky
with some Edwardian jewellery - Pinner Joe'd just sold a load of his forgeries
to some German antiques collector, but he said he'd bring what he had left. I
managed to threaten, bribe, inveigle Hulldown from Wolverhampton to bring his
forged insurance firemarks; he's the best faker of these copper/lead plaques
for showing Georgian London that your business was insured and by what company;
the 1800s began the real heyday, and Hulldown was the best in the business. The
loon didn't really want to come, Wolverhampton Wanderers playing at home. I
lied that Big John Sheehan wanted his support personally. After that I didn't
need rhetoric.

'Chemise,' I said awkwardly as we got ready, 'thanks, love.' She
said nothing. We hit the road to the exhibition - where as it happens the first
person we clapped eyes on was Tinker, paralytic but focused, sitting under an
old mulberry in a ring of tins and bottles, some still awaiting their turn.

'Lovejoy,' he said, slurring. 'See them cars?'

There must have been four hundred, all over the grass and two
adjacent fields. We'd been stopped by a bobby, made to park three furlongs
away. Chemise was furious, like women are, wanted to argue. I'd walked on
alone.

'Aye?' No people, he meant.

'Know where the folk are, Lovejoy? In a frigging queue waiting for
tickets, that's where.' He cackled, started coughing, spewing phlegm onto the
grass and tumbling over. I propped him up, shaking sense into the old sod.

'Tickets?' I asked. 'God above, what tickets?'

'The big auction, Lovejoy. I’ve announced you're going to auction
the whole exhibition off in private this evening, see? First three hundred get
tickets, the rest get told to piss orff!' He did another roll in the aisles. I
dragged him vertical to explain, but Chemise came storming to his rescue,
What-are-you-doing-hurting-that-poor-old-etc, etc.

'He's cruel, missus,' Tinker croaked. 'Me an old soldier, all the
work I've done while he's been shaggi - '

'Here.' I gave him two notes and the bent eye. 'What auction,
Tinker?' I smiled innocently at Chemise, confiding, 'He needs his chest
thumping when he coughs.'

Tinker wheezed, 'You didn't show up much while me and this lass
were arranging things. I reckoned you'd be shagging that gold-coloured Yank
bird, so - '

'His mind wanders,' I told Chemise weakly.

'I told the dealers you was auctioning everything, no chop no
chip, no paddles.'

'Paper?' I wondered should I slay him now or later.

'Paper, Lovejoy. Then it'll all be done today, see?' His rheumy
old eyes were weighing me up, which way would I go.

Paddles is the growing Continental habit of issuing little wooden
bats with numbers stuck on. Each bidder has a distinct number. No cheating,
therefore. The absence of paddles is a plus to the trade. So Tinker'd earned
one point for survival.

To chop is to share in the deal when buying an antique. A
fraudulent auctioneer might well ask for a 'chop' - a fraction of the price
paid - to be slipped illicitly to himself. This is strictly forbidden and
illegal, but, like rain, is perennial in East Anglia. Tinker's 'no chop'
promise to the dealers who'd already arrived meant each dealer would keep all
resale profit. Two-nil for Tinker.

'Chip' is the auctioneer's slang for Value Added Tax, currently at
17.5 per cent. Tinker's promise that there'd be 'no chip' meant that fraction
would go into the dealers' already overstuffed wallets. Three thumbs-up to nil
for Tinker. And 'paper' meant IOUs would be welcomed. This is always a problem,
because somebody would have to seek out those antique dealers still owing after
thirty days - the limit of patience, after which the ground war begins, with
blood-soaked motors being found abandoned on the M25 road.

No wonder the dealers were queuing. Well, I'd wanted them to see
my exhibition. But I also wanted them buying, in huge numbers. I realized
Tinker had now won four-nil, the cunning old soak. Every single visitor would
be a dealer, since Tinker's lads would now exclude the public. And they'd all
keep silent about the looming auction. The important thing was to keep the news
of the auction from the exhibitors. I was being rushed into risk when I wanted
time. I hoped the Dewhurst sisters were in arranging flowers or something.

‘Thanks, Tinker,' I said. 'You did really well.'

'Anything for you, Lovejoy,' he said. 'Are we for it?'

For a second I stood looking down at him, sitting there on the
damp grass. Filthy, decrepit, still with his old army medals, greasy, drunk,
stubble obscuring his stained face. But friends don't come better. He could have
legged it, could be tottering along the bypass thumbing a lift to safety, but
he'd stayed in spite of my rotten temper, and knowing that the worst was yet to
come. I gave him the rest of my gelt.

'Chemise? Give him your money.'

She opened her bag. 'Yes, darling. How much?'

Tinker brightened at the option of a more slotniks. ‘I need a
drink about now, missus,' he said, choking with one careful eye on her handbag.
'Clears me windpipe, see.'

'Cheers, Tinker. See you at the auction, eh?'

'Right, Lovejoy.'

Inside it was bedlam, but gradually nearing order. The Dewhursts
were there, fussing. Old Jim Andrews was in the foyer, wearing his campaign
medals, barking instructions, only falling silent when Ashley happened by.
People were arranging display cases, anxiously saying hello when catching sight
of me. Notices were being arranged on easels. Some of the forgers were already
standing by their products, worry mounting at the thought of close scrutiny
from possible buyers. From upstairs came the sound of hammering. Some
exhibitors waved, beckoning, wanting me to tell them they'd done right.

'Lovejoy!' Priscilla said, all floral and lace. 'Isn't this
exciting
? The whiffling gentlemen are so
nice!
’

Philadora blushed becomingly. 'One
whistled
at us, Lovejoy! What on earth would Mother have said?'

They tittered. I watched them. Tinker had promised the dealers
that the entire exhibition would be auctioned off later. I'd have to plan.

'A cross lady rang up, Lovejoy.' Their humour faded. 'She had some
silver for you at her home. Mend its shoulder, I think she said, or else!'

Sabrina, wanting her genuine silver made into a let's-pretend
fake. Which made me think of auctions, and those terrible words, genuine and
fake, so ve-e-e-ry similar, don't you find? Tonietta's lovely antique
tortoise-shell fan would go brilliantly. I'd make sure of that. Must remember
to tell Tinker to go to Tonietta's stall for it.

'Lovejoy!' Ashley stormed up, brimming with fury. 'Where have you
been? I have sixty-seven instances of damage to my hotel! Your hoodlums have
knocked a wall down in the terrace room! Furthermore, hundreds of indigents are
queuing the length of the conservatory -'

'Knocked a wall down?' I yelped in anger. ‘I’ll put that right,
sir! I'll follow you there in a trice! I must just give an instruction to my
ladies.'

'Just make sure you do, Lovejoy!'

'Oh, Ashley. Remember that colander? Would you please lend it to
that fifth pottery display, evidence of a
real
antique? Tinker will see you get a certified receipt.'

He nodded, strode off for it.

'Ladies,' I said quietly, watching him march away, 'you and I have
a truly horrid task before us.'

'We . . .
we
have,
Lovejoy?'

'Get your coats. Meet me by the servants' entrance. If anybody
asks, say your cat's ill.'

They looked doubtful. Priscilla said, 'We have no cat.'

'No, Priscilla,' I said wearily. 'Just pretend.'

'A deception, Prissy!' Philadora breathed. 'Like when we did
Father's waistcoat buttons the wrong way on Grotto Day!'

My patience had finally cracked. I slid off, shouting to the
exhibitors standing by that I'd be back in a sec, just going to the loo.

We drove into town at speed, meaning we notched up double figures
near Thunderford where the A12 trunk road finally shows willing and becomes a
sensible dual carriageway. I was all but screaming with impatience when we
reached Roman Road. I parked outside Sabrina's house. Let the chintz curtains
twitch, see if I cared.

'Now, ladies.' They were all serious. 'Be seen.’

'Seen?' they asked together, apprehensive.

'I want to create an impression of reliability, honesty, truth,
patience, decent family values.'

'How very pleasant, Lovejoy!' said Priscilla.

'With you here, I'm in my sinless phase, okay?'

Alone, I went to knock on Sabrina's door. She herself opened it,
alarmed. I stood to one side, and she looked past me.

Her husband was on the stairs. 'Who is it?'

'Lovejoy Antiques, Inc.,' I said. 'Me and my partners are to
collect a silver - '

'Shhh, Lovejoy!' he said. 'She's got it here. No delays for
Christ's sake.' Sabrina winked openly at him, and he retreated upstairs.

'Come in for a second, Lovejoy. I'll see it's wrapped.'

She closed the door, wrapping herself hungrily round me so I could
hardly breathe. We grappled, Sabrina groaning with lust and setting me off
doing the same but scared to death in case hubby came a-prowling. I was saved
when the door behind me opened. We sprang apart, gasping, me trying to
straighten my garb, to see the Misses Dewhurst there, so sweet.

'We wondered if you needed assistance with the silverware,
Lovejoy,' Philadora said gently.

'No,' I managed to get out, mopping my brow. Sabrina, instantly
pleasant smiles and not a hair out of place, was cool as a cucumber, but then
women have this knack of covering up, literally and metaphorically, in a
millisec. She brought the biggin, already packed.

'Thank you, Lovejoy, in anticipation,' she said with meaning.
'Payment is the usual rate. Agreed?'

'Er, yes. Ta.'

We left, me driving. At the traffic lights Philadora said,
'Lovejoy? Was that lady inviting
undue
attentions
?'

'Sabrina?' I looked at them both in the rearview mirror.
'Certainly not! She's a married woman!'

'Our apologies, Lovejoy.' They sounded unsure.

At Beth's house I made sure the Dewhurst ladies were first up the
garden path. I let them do the knocking and introducing, safe because I'd
phoned ahead. Beth invited us in. I graciously allowed the Misses Dewhurst to
pack the Bilstons. They approved because the packing cloths had been boiled
clean.

Thank you for letting your Bilstons be used as display items,' I
told her formally. No sign of her husband.

'Not at all, Lovejoy,' she replied with equal formality. 'It's a
pleasure to meet someone whose interests have passion.'

'You are so very kind,' I said, regressing to a St James's level
of foppery. 'I am indebted to your good self for your inestimable generosity.
Please believe me, madam, we shall have your antiques back with you before ten
o'clock tonight.'

'I have every trust . . .'

Sickening, but we kept it up, flowery assurances tripping lightly
off the tongue until I almost puked. The Misses Dewhursts loved it. I let them
carry the enamels to the car, hung back for a swift grope, Beth greedier even,
clawing at me behind the door until I heard somebody give a light cough. I
stepped out, getting enough breath to say decent thank yous.

And, on the return journey to Dragonsdale, the Dewhursts didn't
speak. By the time I'd collected up seven more antiques, all on the understanding
that they would be returned by the evening, they'd begun to freeze, hands
primly folded in accusation.

In fact, their disapproval got me seriously narked. I pulled in a
mile short of the hotel. By now, cars were streaming along in the same direction,
but I ignored the honking and shouts of abuse and gave the two ladies a
mouthful.