damage the tip so that was all right. "Just get somebody else."
"I'll see you never work again, Lovejoy!"
"Thanks." I've not done an honest day's work for years. Somebody on my side at last.
The door opened, and in wafted Lydia on a cloud of babble from the auction, her face screwed up to denote how sternly she was taking this spectacle.
"What's going on, Lovejoy?" She's only my apprentice, but you wouldn't think it from the way she goes on sometimes. She's a born nuisance, but great. Heart of sinner, soul of a nun. Martin Luther knew his stuff. This voluptuous maid wears morality like an erotic gym slip.
"You're a witness!" cried my blond. "Lovejoy attacked me."
I transformed instantly. "Mrs. Vernon wants me to go away with her, Lydia," I said meekly. "I don't want to go."
"Pull yourself together, madam," Lydia commanded, cold. "I will not have hysteria."
Mrs. Vernon stopped wriggling at the wintry tone. I'd chosen my phrases carefully. Ben, one of Gimbert's whizzers, rapped on the glass for the cane. Gingerly I relaxed pressure and passed lot 331 out of the door, spotting the relief on Big Frank's face. Women always like hearing
16 ...
that a man can't stand another bird, even if it's only one of those telly newsreaders with disastrous hairdos.
"Lovejoy's under contract to me and's trying to default." Mrs. Vernon rose to do battle. I was happy to see she was now furious at Lydia instead of me. I edged out of the door. Women, especially real ones like Lydia, have this knack of quelling opposition by simple turns of phrase. It's a gift. God really knew His stuff with spare ribs.
Jeb Spencer and Chris were closer to the glass partition than they needed be, and moved aside with studied casualness. The sods had been trying to listen.
"A rich London buyer," I lied casually.
They tried to nod disbelief but I could see they were unsure. Pleased, I saw Margaret leave carrying a bag. Tinker must have nobbled the job lot with the Arita dish. That meant ten percent, say, a week's living expenses from the VOC plate alone after the split. I'd see Margaret got her favorite reward. Now to con the near-Constable oil sketch out of Gwen Pritchard before husband Bernard pleasured it off her and gambled it on some lame nag, and I'd be laughing.
There was a commotion by the door. Algernon was arriving in his Martian-style bike rig. Algernon's my other apprentice, buck teeth, clumsy and mindbendingly slow, for whom I'm paid a pittance to teach antiques. He has the brains of a rocking horse. He was looking pleased with himself as he blundered through the door and fell over a small escritoire with a crash. The dealers laughed. He's never done anything right yet, so why change the habit of a lifetime?
"Lovejoy!" he yelped, grinning delightedly as an old dear hauled him to his feet. "That pewter!"
Disbelievingly I thought, I'll cripple him. It was sup-
posed to be a secret deal, the nerk. Subtle as the blitz. This was obviously turning out to be one of those days. I darted through the mob at a breathless run into the safety of Gimbert's yard.
Fourteen pubs within a stone's throw. One gulp of the town's exhilarating smog and I headed toward the Three Cups and perdition.
*
Ten minutes later I was pulling Owd Maggie's leg about being a witch. She drinks foul black stout until the pub closes.
"Madame Blavatsky, I presume," I joshed. "What'll Cardew have? Pint?"
She spoke without animosity, contentedly hunched in the inglenook. "You can scoff, Cockalorum. But he's as real as you or me."
I pretended to be impressed. "Is Cardew always right?"
"Never wrong, dear." She rattled her glass. I scraped together the odd groat and fetched her a bottle. "He was right about you," she pointed out. "Told that lady straight, Cardew did. Said you were not to be trusted."
"Then Cardew's a cheeky sod. Anyhow, he got it wrong. I'm not going."
"Lovejoy." Breathlessly Lydia slid into the seat beside me as I spoke.
"Got rid of her, eh?" I was really
"I'll see you never work again, Lovejoy!"
"Thanks." I've not done an honest day's work for years. Somebody on my side at last.
The door opened, and in wafted Lydia on a cloud of babble from the auction, her face screwed up to denote how sternly she was taking this spectacle.
"What's going on, Lovejoy?" She's only my apprentice, but you wouldn't think it from the way she goes on sometimes. She's a born nuisance, but great. Heart of sinner, soul of a nun. Martin Luther knew his stuff. This voluptuous maid wears morality like an erotic gym slip.
"You're a witness!" cried my blond. "Lovejoy attacked me."
I transformed instantly. "Mrs. Vernon wants me to go away with her, Lydia," I said meekly. "I don't want to go."
"Pull yourself together, madam," Lydia commanded, cold. "I will not have hysteria."
Mrs. Vernon stopped wriggling at the wintry tone. I'd chosen my phrases carefully. Ben, one of Gimbert's whizzers, rapped on the glass for the cane. Gingerly I relaxed pressure and passed lot 331 out of the door, spotting the relief on Big Frank's face. Women always like hearing
16 ...
that a man can't stand another bird, even if it's only one of those telly newsreaders with disastrous hairdos.
"Lovejoy's under contract to me and's trying to default." Mrs. Vernon rose to do battle. I was happy to see she was now furious at Lydia instead of me. I edged out of the door. Women, especially real ones like Lydia, have this knack of quelling opposition by simple turns of phrase. It's a gift. God really knew His stuff with spare ribs.
Jeb Spencer and Chris were closer to the glass partition than they needed be, and moved aside with studied casualness. The sods had been trying to listen.
"A rich London buyer," I lied casually.
They tried to nod disbelief but I could see they were unsure. Pleased, I saw Margaret leave carrying a bag. Tinker must have nobbled the job lot with the Arita dish. That meant ten percent, say, a week's living expenses from the VOC plate alone after the split. I'd see Margaret got her favorite reward. Now to con the near-Constable oil sketch out of Gwen Pritchard before husband Bernard pleasured it off her and gambled it on some lame nag, and I'd be laughing.
There was a commotion by the door. Algernon was arriving in his Martian-style bike rig. Algernon's my other apprentice, buck teeth, clumsy and mindbendingly slow, for whom I'm paid a pittance to teach antiques. He has the brains of a rocking horse. He was looking pleased with himself as he blundered through the door and fell over a small escritoire with a crash. The dealers laughed. He's never done anything right yet, so why change the habit of a lifetime?
"Lovejoy!" he yelped, grinning delightedly as an old dear hauled him to his feet. "That pewter!"
Disbelievingly I thought, I'll cripple him. It was sup-
posed to be a secret deal, the nerk. Subtle as the blitz. This was obviously turning out to be one of those days. I darted through the mob at a breathless run into the safety of Gimbert's yard.
Fourteen pubs within a stone's throw. One gulp of the town's exhilarating smog and I headed toward the Three Cups and perdition.
*
Ten minutes later I was pulling Owd Maggie's leg about being a witch. She drinks foul black stout until the pub closes.
"Madame Blavatsky, I presume," I joshed. "What'll Cardew have? Pint?"
She spoke without animosity, contentedly hunched in the inglenook. "You can scoff, Cockalorum. But he's as real as you or me."
I pretended to be impressed. "Is Cardew always right?"
"Never wrong, dear." She rattled her glass. I scraped together the odd groat and fetched her a bottle. "He was right about you," she pointed out. "Told that lady straight, Cardew did. Said you were not to be trusted."
"Then Cardew's a cheeky sod. Anyhow, he got it wrong. I'm not going."
"Lovejoy." Breathlessly Lydia slid into the seat beside me as I spoke.
"Got rid of her, eh?" I was really
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