which always makes a woman think of firesides.
‘The message.’
She sighed, nodding and perching reluctantly on the wall beside me.
‘He gave it me just as I left the sally.’ Dealers’ slang for auction.
‘What did he say?’
‘“Give it Lovejoy,” he told me. “Nobody else, Helen.” It’s written down.’ She rummaged in her handbag while I held both ice creams. ‘Here.’
An envelope, and the words
In case
written on in pencil. I felt sick because I’d seen the words before and in the same handwriting.
‘Was he okay?’
‘A bit preoccupied.’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry. You look so shocked. But I did try to get you all last night, and I told Tinker –’
‘It’s all right.’ I remembered now. Tinker had said Helen wanted a word with me in the White Hart. But that was before they’d known Leckie was dead.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
‘Not yet.’
I made Helen describe what happened at Medham. She’d been among the last to leave Virgil’s auction warehouse, hoping to do a cash-adjusted swap with Cain Cooper. He’d got a Pembroke table and she had a Regency snuffbox. It came to nothing. Cain roared off in his Aston-Martin while Helen settled up for the two little Georgian watercolours she’d bid for. Leckie had come over and given her the letter.
‘Did you see Leckie leave?’
‘No. He just stopped to have a word with thewhizzers.’ They are the lumber men who set out the items for auction.
‘Here. You Lovejoy?’ This lad was leaning on the wall, his eyes all over Helen’s legs. He wore the clobber of the modern trainee psychopath – studded leather, wedge-heeled boots and a faint sneer between pimples.
I gave him the bent eye. ‘Yes.’
‘What a crummy name.’ He snickered. Two of his mates snickered behind him. I looked them all up and down.
‘Your gear’s out of date, lads.’ I watched the consternation show for a second before he turned sulky and cut his losses.
‘Clever, clever. Val says call.’ They melted among the people going into the Park gates. Helen gazed at me.
‘Word is, Val banished Lovejoy from her cran,’ she murmured. Despite my worries I couldn’t take my eyes off her tongue as it took the ice cream in lick by lick.
‘Word’s right.’ So now what makes Val change her mind, I wondered.
‘I’m dying to know what’s going on, Lovejoy.’
‘Me too, love.’ I gave her a peck on the cheek and dropped down. She moaned away about gallantry, reminding me to come back and lift her down. I wasted more time waiting while she brushed imaginary contamination from her skirt, though Helen even looks good doing that.
‘Here, love,’ I said. ‘Got any change? I could ring Val now.’ There’s a phone booth near the path to the High Street. She lent me some and I rushed off. I find borrowing’s cheaper.
‘Val? It’s Lovejoy.’ A pause at the other end. ‘This lad –’
‘I sent him.’ She sounded world-weary. ‘YoungHenry from next door. He’s a good boy. Going through one of these phases.’
‘What is it, love?’
‘Oh.’ She summoned nerve and rushed the words out. ‘Leckie’s cousin Moll phoned. She’s got a cupboard. Leckie dropped it off last night.’
Now Val can’t tell an escritoire from a circus tent. They are all cupboards to her. I got her to tell me Moll’s address. We then rang off, full of hesitations and politeness. It was Val’s way of making up. I find that conversations with women are crammed full of significant pauses. It’s a hell of a strain sometimes. I was shivering despite the watery sunshine, and the envelope in my pocket weighed a ton.
I sat in Woody’s nosh bar, remembering.
The letter was brief, a few words on a crumpled invoice, the sort of paper that accumulates in pockets in spite of good intentions to clear it out. Leckie’s hand had scrawled on it hastily:
Lovejoy, Take care. The side walls are even worse this time, older but of course they couldn’t be as
‘The message.’
She sighed, nodding and perching reluctantly on the wall beside me.
‘He gave it me just as I left the sally.’ Dealers’ slang for auction.
‘What did he say?’
‘“Give it Lovejoy,” he told me. “Nobody else, Helen.” It’s written down.’ She rummaged in her handbag while I held both ice creams. ‘Here.’
An envelope, and the words
In case
written on in pencil. I felt sick because I’d seen the words before and in the same handwriting.
‘Was he okay?’
‘A bit preoccupied.’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry. You look so shocked. But I did try to get you all last night, and I told Tinker –’
‘It’s all right.’ I remembered now. Tinker had said Helen wanted a word with me in the White Hart. But that was before they’d known Leckie was dead.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
‘Not yet.’
I made Helen describe what happened at Medham. She’d been among the last to leave Virgil’s auction warehouse, hoping to do a cash-adjusted swap with Cain Cooper. He’d got a Pembroke table and she had a Regency snuffbox. It came to nothing. Cain roared off in his Aston-Martin while Helen settled up for the two little Georgian watercolours she’d bid for. Leckie had come over and given her the letter.
‘Did you see Leckie leave?’
‘No. He just stopped to have a word with thewhizzers.’ They are the lumber men who set out the items for auction.
‘Here. You Lovejoy?’ This lad was leaning on the wall, his eyes all over Helen’s legs. He wore the clobber of the modern trainee psychopath – studded leather, wedge-heeled boots and a faint sneer between pimples.
I gave him the bent eye. ‘Yes.’
‘What a crummy name.’ He snickered. Two of his mates snickered behind him. I looked them all up and down.
‘Your gear’s out of date, lads.’ I watched the consternation show for a second before he turned sulky and cut his losses.
‘Clever, clever. Val says call.’ They melted among the people going into the Park gates. Helen gazed at me.
‘Word is, Val banished Lovejoy from her cran,’ she murmured. Despite my worries I couldn’t take my eyes off her tongue as it took the ice cream in lick by lick.
‘Word’s right.’ So now what makes Val change her mind, I wondered.
‘I’m dying to know what’s going on, Lovejoy.’
‘Me too, love.’ I gave her a peck on the cheek and dropped down. She moaned away about gallantry, reminding me to come back and lift her down. I wasted more time waiting while she brushed imaginary contamination from her skirt, though Helen even looks good doing that.
‘Here, love,’ I said. ‘Got any change? I could ring Val now.’ There’s a phone booth near the path to the High Street. She lent me some and I rushed off. I find borrowing’s cheaper.
‘Val? It’s Lovejoy.’ A pause at the other end. ‘This lad –’
‘I sent him.’ She sounded world-weary. ‘YoungHenry from next door. He’s a good boy. Going through one of these phases.’
‘What is it, love?’
‘Oh.’ She summoned nerve and rushed the words out. ‘Leckie’s cousin Moll phoned. She’s got a cupboard. Leckie dropped it off last night.’
Now Val can’t tell an escritoire from a circus tent. They are all cupboards to her. I got her to tell me Moll’s address. We then rang off, full of hesitations and politeness. It was Val’s way of making up. I find that conversations with women are crammed full of significant pauses. It’s a hell of a strain sometimes. I was shivering despite the watery sunshine, and the envelope in my pocket weighed a ton.
I sat in Woody’s nosh bar, remembering.
The letter was brief, a few words on a crumpled invoice, the sort of paper that accumulates in pockets in spite of good intentions to clear it out. Leckie’s hand had scrawled on it hastily:
Lovejoy, Take care. The side walls are even worse this time, older but of course they couldn’t be as
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