The Possessions of a Lady (20 page)

'Already got the lads at it, Lovejoy,' he said. 'Mr. Curthouse
said that was essential. Legal reasons.'

'Mustn't forget those,' I said. 'Anybody brewing up?'

Nobody was. They'd got hot flasks, not for sharing with the likes
of me. And everybody was going to earn a mint. I beckoned the first motor into
the gateway, ready to suss it out. Why me?

And came an answer from on high: Nick a motor, Lovejoy! Sleekie's
not far away. Remember those motorist's leathers? A heavenly brainwave. When in
doubt, bring on theft. Smiling, I realised I'd been far too honest lately,
altogether too kindly. Ta, God.

‘In the boot, Mr. Shepphard.' I smiled down at Skanner's
apoplectic face. 'And something under the bonnet. Step out, please. Strip off.
I want that statuette's heel, Skanner. And you can pay for the repairs.'

I told Briony, 'Bring me some grub, love. This'll take some time.'
She argued, but I told her that food and hot tea was a rule of the Amalgamated
Divvies' Union. Still no sign of Spoolie, East Anglia's film maniac. The only
cameras here were pretend, under black cloths. Yet was it why I'd been somehow
got here, to wreck this simple country auction?

'Next, please,' I called, trying to look confident that my
excursion wasn't going tragically wrong.

17

Briony Finch was solicitude itself. She had an elderly lady hard
at it when I came in.

'Thank you, Mrs. Treadwell!' Briony kept saying in that get-lost
tone by which women rid themselves of nuisances. The old dear plodded on.

'Is there nothing stronger?' Wanda asked outright.

Briony got flustered. We were in the main dining room. You could
hear the shouts of Wanda's lasses cataloguing. At least they had sense—weighing
items, measuring paintings, the obvious tactics that museum curators overlook.

'My sister kept a bottle of sherry. Kate loved a glass at
Christmastide. It seems to have disappeared.' Briony flapped her hands
helplessly.

Among antique dealers alcohol has zero life expectancy.

'It possibly got accidentally thrown out,' she said. 'I'm so
sorry.'

'Let us be precise, Mrs. Finch.' Bertie wanted the deal closed.
'One third, adjusted for value-added tax, of all incomings from your
forthcoming auction, once arranged, will be Wanda's. The balance will be
declared openly. You receive the money in thirty days.'

'She accepts,' I said. 'Ta, Wanda.'

'Can you not send out for a proper drink, for Christ's sake?' our
leading lady asked irritably. 'My whirlybird army of scholars, and not a
flaming drink!' Scholar's the in term for a hired crook, 'soldier', a hood
taken on for a scam.

'Whatever the level of sales,' I told Bertie.

'That's axiomatic, Lovejoy.' He didn't like me. I was happy with
that. Maybe he'd heard lies about my honesty. I couldn't imagine him and Wanda
. . .

'Axiomatic or not,' I said, 'Briony wants it.'

'Very well.' Efficient, but sour as lemon soup.

'Wanda?' Sonny, her leading whiffler, interrupted, dragging in a
terrified uniformed man. 'Listen to this.'

'Tell.' Sonny cuffed the prisoner by way of prompt.

'Lovejoy spotted the ship,' the bloke said.

Wanda stared at me. 'Ship?'

'Toy. Model of the
Lepanto
.'
My hands showed its size. 'Only tin, but valuable.'

'How valuable?' Bertie's voice rose to falsetto. So he did feel
passion, money his trigger.

'Small house, freehold, garage,' I said.

'Worth a
house
? Bertie
drained before our eyes, swayed, lips purple, and fell forward in a slump.
Sonny made a grab, managed to hold him. Mrs. Treadwell trundled off for some
sal volatile, recognising a true faint when she saw one. Wanda belted me round
the head, screaming.

'Bastard, Lovejoy! He's
delicate
about money!'

Briony was stunned. I fended Wanda off. Sonny said, 'Wanda,' and
she calmed instantly. I understood. Bertie only loved lucre. Marrying Wanda was
simply the acquisition of an asset. Needing physical solace, she had Sonny to
help in more ways than paltry. Anybody less like a Sonny I'd never seen.
Stonily malevolent of eye, and angrily fast with aggression. He'd give Wanda
solace all right.

Bertie moaned. I watched, fascinated. The prisoner, a fake bobby,
stood limply by. Mrs. Treadwell wafted a bottle under Bertie's nose. It seemed
to lift his head off. He shot up, sneezing and gasping. Good old Mrs.
Treadwell, I thought, eyeing her little green bottle. I hoped the Victorian
courtesans managed to come to with somewhat more elegance. Bertie was now
belching and retching.

'See what you've done, Lovejoy?' Wanda yelled. 'Bertie's
fragile!’

'I didn't do anything, love,' I explained patiently, pointing to
the prisoner. 'It was him.'

Wanda's eyes narrowed. 'What'd he do, Sonny?'

Sonny said, 'He let himself be vamped by some young tart. She
nicked a toy ship.'

'I didn't think, Wanda,' the man bleated. 'She said it was for her
little brother. I let her out through the walled garden.'

Wanda went quiet. I griped, looked for the exits. Wanda noisily
belligerent, or in the throes of passion was one thing. Those I could cope
with—have done. But Wanda going quiet is a frightener. As the air chilled to
sub-zero, Briony voiced her chintzy cheeriness, seeing her little tea party
running into difficulty.

'I'm sure Lovejoy has it wrong,' she gushed. 'That tin toy was
only a copy, made by that London sculptor, a friend of Kate's at art school.'
She smiled, benignly passing the biscuits. I took a handful, calories where you
can. Sex is the same but different. 'For a cinema film.'

'Shhhh, Briony,' I tried, but she went on digging the miscreant's
grave.

'It wouldn't even float!' She trilled a gay laugh. 'So they never
used it!'

'Film?' Bertie slumped back into his faint. We were all mesmerised
by Briony's saga.

'Yes!' she prattled gaily. 'They made one of those terrible war
pictures here. Because of the lake, you see. Was it
In Which We Serve
? Terribly sad. How they managed to photograph
toys instead of real ships, heaven knows!'

'Briony,' I said, as Bertie whimpered in and out of coma. 'Please
ask Mrs. Treadwell to bring her sal volatile back.'

'Of course!' she cried, and tripped happily out.

Sonny instantly let Bertie slide to the floor. He downed with a
thump. Wanda didn't bat an eye, still ominously silent, staring at me hard. My
cue.

'Look,' I said, trying to save a life or two. 'Auction prices for
Germans, the trade's term for tin toys—vehicles, vessels, horses—have soared.
The
Lepanto
model—I think the Maerklin
firm—was on this table. It's big, three-footer. Four funnels, two masts, red
keel, black hull, five lifeboats a side complete, twin screws, 1909. I told one
of Stibbert's whifflers to guard it with his life.'

'Lovejoy. What price?' Wanda's voice became sleet on a window
about to give. 'A film prop. Mint, provenance guaranteed?'

'Enough to buy a six-year world cruise, Wanda.' Barmy, but true.

Wanda winced, a pretty sight under the right circumstances, but
not now. 'Jim?' she whispered to the frightened man. 'The whiffler tipped you
off that the tin model was valuable. Did the girl pay you?'

Sonny, unbidden, felt in Jim's pockets, brought out a wadge of
notes, chucked it on the table.

'Wasn't worth it, Jim,' Wanda said. 'Who was she?'

'Some Aussie blonde, young,' he whined, shriller. 'I didn't think.
For Christ's sake

'No, Jim. For mine.' She dabbed her eyes, but making sure her
heart-felt pity didn't ruin her mascara. 'It's your legs, Jim. Lovejoy, go with
Sonny.'

For one frightening second I misunderstood. Sonny frogmarched Jim
out. He was babbling, 'Wanda. Please. I've got children . . .' I followed, my
mouth dry.

We went round the side of the house. Sonny took Jim across the gravel,
pushed him against an outhouse wall. My legs were shaking more than Jim's.

Sonny stood away. Jim said a wobbly, 'Can't we come to something?
We're mates, right?'

A car drove slowly up. Sonny replaced the driver, gunned the
engine, raised his chin to me as if in mild exasperation at the carry-on. I
wondered how to get Jim a remission of sentence, and didn't say a word.

Sonny moved the car an inch. Jim doubled in anticipation. Sonny
called advice. 'Keep straight, mate.' Jim came erect, closed his eyes.

The car moved slowly, suddenly accelerated with a spray of gravel.
It drove at Jim, crunched his legs against the brickwork. He whoofed forward,
his forehead slamming on the car bonnet from the impact. Blood spurted up the
wall. Why up? I thought, sickened. The motor lethargically dragged itself away,
idled.

'Get an ambulance, Forkie.' Sonny emerged, slammed the door. He
beckoned me. We walked back inside. 'You know the rain, Lovejoy.'

Rain and hail, tale, rhyming slang, the story for when the police
came. An accident, somebody tried to nick the car, nobody saw. Jim, poor Jim,
got in the way.

Not long back, I loved a lass who worked among antiques
periodicals. I persuaded her to list the 'WANTED' adverts. Know what
collectors, dealers were screaming for most? Answer: pond yachts. No kidding.
Little old sailing models. Plus bits of ocean-going anythings. So if you've any
photos of defunct liners, old portholes, lengths of the Mauritania s hand
rails, you are undoubtedly in the money. Who knows how these craving epidemics
start? Maybe it's the boom in air freight, bulk carriers, the dwindling-to-nil
of our shipbuilders. Or maybe nothing we know.

Wanda saw us come. Bertie dozed on.

Until now I haven't described Wanda Curthouse, because it wouldn't
have been fair, plus I wanted to show how trustworthy I am. You'll see why.
This is Wanda:

Two inches above medium height, skin like an English peach, lips
full, eyelashes a foot long, natural blonde in her late twenties, walks like a
trained dancer, shapely legs ascending to heaven, her figure a dream made for
lust, as near as any form can get to perfection. I was there once, and ruined
it by consorting with her younger sister. Wanda is an aggressive grabber, but
what man would care? Any bloke who strayed from her was a nincompoop. I have an
excuse, being a pushover.

'In a way, I was glad when you called, Lovejoy,' she said, as if
the Jim episode had never been.

'Ta, love.' I heard Bertie gag. 'He's breathing funny.'

'He's dreaming of lost money,' she said offhandedly. 'Know why I
was glad?'

'About me calling?' I thought, blank. 'No, love.'

'Because you're straight, Lovejoy, though weak as a kitten about
women. I put her in charge of an hotel, Blair Atholl.'

No prizes for guessing who 'her' was. 'Oh, right.' I added lamely,
'Wanda. About Geraldine. It was all my fault. Can we start again?'

'Lovejoy. Do me one thing?'

'Owt, love. Give or take,' I added quickly. Wanda expects you to
keep promises, a horrible habit she was born with.

'Find where that tin ship goes.'

That astonished me. I mean, here was this brilliant woman,
beautiful beyond belief, who I'd taught antiques for the best years of my
life—read three weeks—and she didn't have the sense to see that
Basil-the-Donkey would know its whereabouts in a day.

'Right. It'll take a couple of days,' I lied.

She gazed at me so long from her position by the bright window
that I felt as faint as Bertie, but less limp, as it were. My throat went
thick. Women make choices vanish. 'What's between this Briony bitch and you?'

'Eh?' That also surprised me. 'Never clapped eyes on her before.
Wants to run a chip shop.'

'And you just blundered in?'

'Honest, love.'

She said, insulting, 'She's just your type—breathing.'

'Ha ha,' I said evenly. 'Want me to stay?'

'Yes. Here will do. But no fiddling. I don't want Bertie fainting
every two minutes.'

'Hand on my heart. Wanda.' I hesitated, checked he was still
blotto. 'Is everything all right? Don't want to pry, but. . .’

She smiled. I weakened further. A woman's mouth changing shape
makes your mind change shape too. I clung to the subject, whatever it was.

'You always could tell, Lovejoy. It must be the psychic in you,
the divvy bit.'

'Psychic!' cried Briony, coming in with Mrs. Treadwell. 'That's
the word! I knew it! Lovejoy is psychic for old antiques!'

'Briony!' I said sternly. 'You've taken ages.'

'I'm so sorry,' Briony said, flustered. 'Mrs. Treadwell had put
the sal volatile back in the box and misplaced its key.'

We got Bertie round by the old dear's waft-explosion technique. As
I propped him up, I found Briony gazing fondly at me.