The Grail Tree by Jonathan Gash Page B

me up on his trusty bike and booked me for drunken driving.
    I went in the tavern for a drink. Driving’s thirsty work.

Chapter 6
    I WOKE UP in a foul mood with a headache. My usual health-giving breakfast seemed even lousier than usual so I abandoned it and fried everything I could lay hands on. Tomatoes, celery chunks, carrots, cheese and two eggs. It was a grisly business but after that I tottered to the phone.
    I had to get to town and catch Jed and Marion during this morning’s summit conference in Woody’s. If I couldn’t unload Liz Sandwell’s antique glass I’d be selling matches by the weekend. I dared not risk the Ruby now Constable Jilks had his teeth into me.
    Margaret was frosty. I tried to put a cheerful grin in my voice. ‘We must introduce ourselves some time,’ she said.
    ‘Er, look, love,’ I croaked. ‘Any chance of seeing you?’
    ‘You haven’t seen me for days, Lovejoy. And not a word of explanation.’
    ‘Well, love, it was like this –’
    ‘I know for a fact you were in the Arcade yesterday.’ She has a booth there. I tried to cut in but she wouldn’t let me. ‘What do you want this time, Lovejoy?’
    That really hurt. As if I’d only ring a fellow dealer– with whom I am on very friendly terms, I might add – when I wanted something. Women can be very cruel.
    ‘Er, any chance of a lift?’
    ‘If you think I’m going to leave my shop just to cart you about after the way you’ve ignored me lately –’
    ‘But, sweetheart –’
    Click. Burr. Another social triumph. There’s a typical woman for you. Why they can’t be calm and friendly all the time I just don’t know. I phoned Marion’s number, then everybody else I could think of. Jean Evans was in but just on her way to the day institute to teach sculpture. She sweetly suggested I ring Betty (‘You could, shall we say,
ride
together, Lovejoy’). before banging the phone down. I even toyed with the idea of ringing Honkworth, but there’s a limit. I was stuck, marooned. And I’d used up all my chances of rescue.
    I stood up and shook the tablecloth for the robin. He cackled angrily for some cheese so I went and got the bit I’d saved. A right dogsbody.
    ‘Don’t you start,’ I told him bitterly. ‘That old couple really had me yesterday.’
    The trouble is I’m too soft. If I’d just told Martha to get lost and kept her money as a deposit I’d not have got sloshed with old Henry in his crummy barge.
    Nothing for it. I kicked the Ruby’s tyres and went in. I dialled miserably.
    ‘Well, well,
well
!’ Sandy shrilled. ‘Do I detect Lovejoy’s dulcet tones?’
    ‘Cut it, Sandy. Can you give me a lift today?’
    ‘For you, dear,’ Sandy gushed, ‘no. Unless,’ he added firmly. We listened to the silence. I gave in.
    ‘Unless?’
    ‘Wait, cherub.’ His receiver clattered noisily. I heardSandy call in the distance. Mel must be upstairs. They have an open-floored barn behind their house, which stands back from the road at the other end of our village. Mel is modern art, glass and porcelain as far forward as Art Deco. Sandy is Eastern items, and Continental household ware up to Edwardian days. They share Victoriana because Sandy says they have to meet somewhere. Despite their oddity they’re a formidable pair of antiques dealers. ‘Mel, dear. It’s that hunk Lovejoy, positively
squirming
with embarrassment.’
    ‘What’s he want?’ Mel’s voice.
    ‘A lift. What shall we do?’
    ‘Exploit him to the uttermost.’ There was some low-voiced – well, high-voiced – muttering.
    ‘Hellow, Lovejoy dear?’ Sandy cooed. ‘Mel says he’s all for charity, but it will cost you. Your peculiar little knack with some of the rubbish we’ve got here.’
    Typical. Sandy and Mel were saying they’d reached their limit of knowledge with their supposed antiques and wanted me to divvie their stuff.
    ‘No,’ I told him. I get sick of wasting my time working for others.
    ‘Then goodbye, sweetie.’
    Click.