giving me orders with complete disregard of the consequences – for me.
‘Will I?’ I said sourly.
‘You will.’ He smiled with benevolence. ‘Mrs Heindrick will meet you at the destination.’
His missus clapped her hands – and I do mean actually clapped them, as they once did for slaves. Instantly a rather surly bird appeared with a tray of those small cakes. She had already done one circuit but I’d had all the savouries. I was still famished and tried to be casual reaching for the fresh plate. God knows who invented manners. Whoever it was had never felt hunger, that’s for sure. It’s desperately hard taking less than you want in other people’s posh mansion houses – and everybody, honest and dishonest, knows that’s the truth.
‘The terms will be excellent, Lovejoy,’ Lena said. She had spotted my glance at the retreating bird’s shape, which is typical of women’s sly behaviour, but I was only interested because I’d never seen another slave before. Mrs Heindrick’s lips thinned with displeasure. She must have detected the same kind of lust when I glanced at the oil painting, but she wasn’t as narked at that. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s—’
‘A copy.’ I wasn’t really glad, but it was one in their eye. The pair of them exchanged significant looks.
‘But laboratory tests show it to be an original early eighteenth-century oil of a seafarer, Lovejoy.’ That from connoisseur Kurt, whose untold wealth had always gained perfect grovelling agreement to any banal utterance he chose to make. Until now.
‘Oh, John Tradescant was a seafarer all right.’ I rose, touched the oil’s surface reverently and found myself smiling as the warmth vibrated in my fingers. ‘And it’s old. But a famous building off Trafalgar Square’ll be very cross if you go about telling fibs, mate.
They’ve
got the original.’
‘John who?’
I was enjoying myself. ‘Tradescant only sailed about to nick seeds, bulbs, plants, anything that grew. His dad was as bad. He even raided the Mediterranean pirates to get a bush or two. Between them they introduced a load of stuff – apricots, Persian lilac, Michaelmas daisies, the larch. They did Russia, the American colonies, North Africa. Tradescant’s collection became the Ashmolean at Oxford.’ The old copyist had got Tradescant’s wryly wicked smile just right, but the date of 1612 was a shade earlyish.
‘A
copy
?’ Lena Heindrick spat out a vulgar curse, which made me blink.
‘Don’t knock copyists. Turner himself started out as one.’ It’s a daft joke we play on ourselves, really. Find a genuine flower painting by Palice and it’s not worth a fiftieth of the price of a Turner copy. ‘Copy and original are linked by greed, Mrs Heindrick.’
‘Don’t be so bitter, Lovejoy.’ She was smiling again and the thought crossed my mind that she had only been goading me. ‘Let’s get back to that subject, then, shall we? Money.’
‘A good daily rate, all expenses paid, and a share of the profits.’
I weakened at the thought of money – which meant antiques and food, in that order. ‘Four days? Why so soon? You said I could get better first.’
‘Because if you stay here you will be in even more trouble.’ Kurt exposed his pearly teeth. I just couldn’t imagine him ever growing stubble. The hair follicles just wouldn’t dare.
‘I’m not in any trouble.’
‘Oh, but you are. Detective-Sergeant Ledger’s phone call to your . . . consort Janet this morning was quite explicit.’
The mansion was plushily furnished with a skilled admix of antiques old and new. I couldn’t help feeling sad, having been at the original auction some years ago. The old East Anglian manorial family had sat there in pained dignity while us dealers and auctioneers had robbed and fiddled them blind. Here’s a free lesson: promise me you’ll never, never,
never
sell up by means of an in-house on-site auction. This or any other doorstep
‘Will I?’ I said sourly.
‘You will.’ He smiled with benevolence. ‘Mrs Heindrick will meet you at the destination.’
His missus clapped her hands – and I do mean actually clapped them, as they once did for slaves. Instantly a rather surly bird appeared with a tray of those small cakes. She had already done one circuit but I’d had all the savouries. I was still famished and tried to be casual reaching for the fresh plate. God knows who invented manners. Whoever it was had never felt hunger, that’s for sure. It’s desperately hard taking less than you want in other people’s posh mansion houses – and everybody, honest and dishonest, knows that’s the truth.
‘The terms will be excellent, Lovejoy,’ Lena said. She had spotted my glance at the retreating bird’s shape, which is typical of women’s sly behaviour, but I was only interested because I’d never seen another slave before. Mrs Heindrick’s lips thinned with displeasure. She must have detected the same kind of lust when I glanced at the oil painting, but she wasn’t as narked at that. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s—’
‘A copy.’ I wasn’t really glad, but it was one in their eye. The pair of them exchanged significant looks.
‘But laboratory tests show it to be an original early eighteenth-century oil of a seafarer, Lovejoy.’ That from connoisseur Kurt, whose untold wealth had always gained perfect grovelling agreement to any banal utterance he chose to make. Until now.
‘Oh, John Tradescant was a seafarer all right.’ I rose, touched the oil’s surface reverently and found myself smiling as the warmth vibrated in my fingers. ‘And it’s old. But a famous building off Trafalgar Square’ll be very cross if you go about telling fibs, mate.
They’ve
got the original.’
‘John who?’
I was enjoying myself. ‘Tradescant only sailed about to nick seeds, bulbs, plants, anything that grew. His dad was as bad. He even raided the Mediterranean pirates to get a bush or two. Between them they introduced a load of stuff – apricots, Persian lilac, Michaelmas daisies, the larch. They did Russia, the American colonies, North Africa. Tradescant’s collection became the Ashmolean at Oxford.’ The old copyist had got Tradescant’s wryly wicked smile just right, but the date of 1612 was a shade earlyish.
‘A
copy
?’ Lena Heindrick spat out a vulgar curse, which made me blink.
‘Don’t knock copyists. Turner himself started out as one.’ It’s a daft joke we play on ourselves, really. Find a genuine flower painting by Palice and it’s not worth a fiftieth of the price of a Turner copy. ‘Copy and original are linked by greed, Mrs Heindrick.’
‘Don’t be so bitter, Lovejoy.’ She was smiling again and the thought crossed my mind that she had only been goading me. ‘Let’s get back to that subject, then, shall we? Money.’
‘A good daily rate, all expenses paid, and a share of the profits.’
I weakened at the thought of money – which meant antiques and food, in that order. ‘Four days? Why so soon? You said I could get better first.’
‘Because if you stay here you will be in even more trouble.’ Kurt exposed his pearly teeth. I just couldn’t imagine him ever growing stubble. The hair follicles just wouldn’t dare.
‘I’m not in any trouble.’
‘Oh, but you are. Detective-Sergeant Ledger’s phone call to your . . . consort Janet this morning was quite explicit.’
The mansion was plushily furnished with a skilled admix of antiques old and new. I couldn’t help feeling sad, having been at the original auction some years ago. The old East Anglian manorial family had sat there in pained dignity while us dealers and auctioneers had robbed and fiddled them blind. Here’s a free lesson: promise me you’ll never, never,
never
sell up by means of an in-house on-site auction. This or any other doorstep
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