The Grace in Older Women (14 page)

To make dealers ignore a genuine Biggins biggins, I'd need to add
silver round the hallmark skillfully enough to make it look as if the genuine
hallmark was floated on. Then, when the auction was over, I could simply remove
the silver shoulders and sell the silverware at a price justifying its pristine
original glory.

'Will you do it for little me?' Her breast stroked my face.

For a second I felt narked at being forced into doing something I
didn't really want to. I drew breath to tell her to go to hell and leave me out
of it.

'Course, love.'

She laughed a throaty laugh. My speech was silenced by her lovely
shape. She tapped my face in mock rebuke, and dropped the proofs on the carpet.
I heard them go, then she was superb, honest, truthful, and goddess of
everything.

Which encouraged me to risk burglary on Sunday night, something no
self-respecting footpad ever does, in his right mind.

12

Once, my motor was active, meaning it went. Now, it rusts in the
garden undergrowth, lamps unlit, its corrosion crackling in the evening mist,
bits crumping to the grass. I've given up hope of ever getting it going. Its
main value is a possible sale, until the sums Sabrina's accumulating for me
arrive. I asked her for a sub. She said it was out of the question.

'We can't forever disinvest for no reason, Lovejoy.'

‘I have a reason.' Namely, me, hunger.

‘An inadequate reason is no reason, Lovejoy.'

Which is where I'd been earlier, except now I was walking away
tired and despondent with three new problems. First, who was the lady from
Fenstone? Second, how to find time to do the biggins ditcher. Third, how to
burgle the Dragonsdale Guest and Resident Hotel. I'm not too bad at burglary,
but haven't the panache of the seasoned eaves walker. Some lads I know could do
the place over without breaking step, but for me it loomed like the Tower of
London.

With my last coins I phoned Margaret Dainty. She was out, her
machine politely saying to leave a message. I would have called Dolly, but she
was on holiday with her husband, the selfish swine. Janie was in the Orkneys
looking at some of the more important grass on one of her estates, thoughtless
cow. Beth was being apprehensive somewhere, and so would remain, until she felt
lust stir and would then breathlessly demand panicky ravishment out in the
untrodden wilds. Helena, my assistant, was due back soon from Brasenose
College, Oxford. She undid the erudition with me in vacations and learnt life,
subsidizing me in the process. I was without visible means.

By the time I reached town and the Misses Dewhurst's Lorelei
Sweetmeat Delicatessen and Tearooms I was dispirited. The bell clonked over the
door, going on for five o'clock. They'd soon be closing for evensong at St
James's on East Hill.

'Afternoon, Priscilla.'

'Lovejoy! You dear!' Priscilla Dewhurst clapped her hands with
real pleasure. She was behind the counter busying herself with clotted cream
for two lady customers to gossip over. 'Philadora! See who's visiting!'

They are quite like twittering birds, who could be bookends in
another life. They had arrived last summer from the northern cotton mills,
where they had worked through a million incarnations, not far from where I was
born, actually. As the mill towns collapsed, they'd joined the diaspora and
come to breathe moderately clean air here. I'd sold a collection of miniature
industrial engines for them. It had given them life security. They have an unbelievable
brother who's a town crier somewhere in Lancashire. At first I was the only one
who could tell what they were saying. Now, they tailor their dialect and haul
out their aitches.

'Lovejoy!' Philadora also came to peck my cheek. 'You're just in
time!' She lowered her voice conspiratorially. 'Reverend hates latecomers! Why,
Mrs. Whitehorn -'

'Philadora!' Priscilla's reprimand shut her sister up. 'Lovejoy
wants his tea, not gossip!'

'Actually, Priscilla, I can't stop - '

'Nonsense! What have we done, for heaven's sake?'

They made me sit and served me a nosh, which more than saved my
life. It brought me a tranquillity I don't often feel. Just listening to the
two dears battling and laughing gave me rest. They occasionally threw a
question, what about this weather, how was my cottage and weren't the nights
chilly. It was so genteel, this the one place where I'd not get caught by
Tinker. Sabrina owed me a fortune; I'd done maybe a hundred auction lots for
her. She must have culled a mint. But debts were my trademark. I didn't want to
get caught. By now I probably owed every pub in the parish. Tinker lives on ale
and the occasional meal. He can chalk up a slate faster than a football team.

The Misses Dewhurst were my one last chance of reaching
Dragonsdale and Fenstone. They were also my first chance, truth to tell,
because they would fund me any time, but you can't go cadging off the
undeceitful, can you? Different if they'd been crooks.

When the customers had left, they came to sit with me, giggling at
such boldness.

This isn't proper, Philadora!' Priscilla said, hiding her face.
'Entertaining a visiting gentleman to tea!'

'What would . . .'Philadora had the grace to colour, but managed
to get the unthinkable out '. . Mrs.
Hey
wood
have said?'

'Oh my
goodness
, Priscilla!’

They squeak when they titter, rocking on the chairs, as if they
-them, not the chairs - have wooden joins.

‘I’m grateful,' I said. 'But look. I haven't any money for this.'
They'd given me a bowl of clotted cream, a plate of scones, jam, butter, tea
strong enough to plough.

'How dare he, Philadora!' Priscilla flung her head back. She had
to clutch her mob cap to keep it on. 'How
dare
he!'

'Yes. How dare you, Lovejoy?' the other said soulfully. 'You
practically gave us this entire business!'

'Thank you,' I said awkwardly. They like to watch me eat, God
knows why. They never have any themselves. I'd come on their opening day, and
tried to pay, start them off on the right foot, but they'd threatened me with
fire and brimstone. Having to cadge off them now was making me disconsolate.

'Lovejoy, dear. Please don't mind. When is your birthday?'

Philadora inhaled at such temerity. 'Priscilla!
Should
you?'

'Thirtieth of September, last I heard.' I was fast running out of
scones. They had parkin in the counter case, but I didn't look. 'Gemini?' I
knew they were into the zodiac. They even had a window notice each dawn,
TODAY'S STAR SIGN.

'There!' Philadora was triumphant. 'Libra! I knew it! Haven't I
always said Lovejoy's a typical Libra, Priscilla?'

'You were a
little
unsure, Philadora,' her sister observed sweetly. 'You always inclined to the
view that Lovejoy was Aries.'

They set to bickering in the politest manner. I noshed and
slurped, until Priscilla saw I was down to crumbs and rushed for the parkin.
They cook it right, the oatmeal crumbly, the treacle not too sticky.
Supermarkets in the south sell it nowadays, but it's horrible. You'd think
they'd get their act together, use the right recipe or whatever.

'Lovejoy, dear. What
time
were you born?'

A think. I remembered my Gran saying. 'Ten to midnight.'

'There!' All excited. 'Aquarius or Gemini, Lovejoy!'

‘A choice?’ Nothing fills you like parkin. Its oatmeal settled in
my belly with an audible thump. I grunted with pleasure. Had they found a way
to put the clock back?

'It's our scheme, Lovejoy! From studying ancient Persia's astrological
diviners.'

'Oh, aye.' I eyed them warily, wondering if they'd gone doolally
with the strain of this teashop. 'Er, look, loves. Me and astrology aren't -'

'Oh, shush, Lovejoy!' They were really motoring. k We will launch
our New Astrology! Though,' Priscilla continued, abashed, 'it is really the
oldest
astrology, you see?'

'No,' I told Philadora. 'Sorry, I don't.'

'We've discovered people have two zodiacal signs!' Their heads
were shaking in firm negation. 'Not merely one. A main one, of course. Plus an
obverse. You have a choice of obverse.'

'Determined,' Priscilla added, 'by your Libra primary. Aquarius or
Gemini, Lovejoy.'

'Don't you know which?' And who cared? I didn't believe in the
Libra I'd already got. Why add to it?

'You
are
a problem.
Fourth sign from Libra, earlier or later. Balance, you see?'

Well, no, but what can you say when you want to borrow their motor
for a burglary? ‘Er, yes!'

'You're nearer the start of the Libra zodiacal span. More Gemini
than Aquarius.'

'Great! Well, ta for the grub, loves. Incidentally, can I borrow
your car, please? I won't be long, honest. I have to deliver a rare antique to
Harwich

They both smiled in definite refusal. Groan.

'No, Lovejoy. You can't
borrow
anything at all.'

There's always a first time. I sighed, said my thanks and started
to leave. They said wait a minute. Priscilla fetched the car keys and gave them
to me. I looked. What was going on? They'd just said no. Had I missed something
zodiacal?

'Dear man doesn't understand, Priscilla. Explain.'

Priscilla's eyes were bright. 'Lovejoy, we need a partner. A
gentleman, wise in the world's ways. We have no pretensions.'

'Oh dear, no!' from Philadora. 'None!'

'We manage well, drive hard bargains with the suppliers. And,' with
lips thinned in resolve, ‘we
savage
accounts!'

'Excellent, Priscilla. Well done . . .'

No good. I had to listen or I'd never get away.

'Needing a partner, we turned to our first love.’ She misinterpreted
my astonished look and said quickly, blushing, 'No, no! To our astrology,
Lovejoy! It proved we needed . . . you.'

'Me?' I looked about the Lorelei Sweetmeat Delicatessen and
Tearooms. 'Look, loves. Me and chintz -'

'Oh, Lovejoy!' Philadora scolded. 'Not to work here. Partnership
by merger! You do your . . .
things
,
we do ours. Sharing resources! We contribute to your wellbeing- food, use of
car. You contribute to us!’

'What?' I asked, guarded. 'Contribute what?'

'Your expertise! We could have been destitute!'

'Forget it.'

'No. The Obverse Zodiac has spoken. We require a Libra gentleman
with Gemini obverse, balanced by Aquarius.'

Lost, I said, 'My, er, obverse says I'm your partner?'

'No other, Lovejoy!' They beamed. Take the car, partner!'

They saw me to the door and waved after me fondly. They stable
their tiny Morris Minor, an extinct coughing species on four bald tyres, across
the road in a lock-up garage. I found it, got it enthusiastic after cranking
for ten minutes, and drove off to do over the Dragonsdale Guest and Residential
Hotel.

Sometimes when you expect the worst, it turns out to be
acceptable. A party you're dreading - horrible folk, feared talkers - proves
interesting, the people tolerable. The auction you're scared of proves a
doddle. The woman who finally corners you is the most exciting you've ever met,
and so on.

This isn't to say I recommend burglary instead of a pleasant
riverside walk. I don't. It scares the hell out of me. But for once I'd worried
unnecessarily. Come dusk, I drove into the village and parked the Morris Minor
in a tavern yard, and walked to the hotel. I fell in with one of the residents
returning from the pub. He was a smart, elderly bloke in a worn cardigan,
corduroys and boots, who told me interminable tales about heavy calibre
handguns and 'small modern things .

'No bloody good winging the blighter, is it?' he kept asking
fiercely. 'Sod just keeps on coming. The old wide calibre actually stops the
bugger, see? Learnt that in the Western Desert!'

'Mmmh,' I kept saying. 'I see.'

'I'm Jim Andrews,' he said. 'Displaced person, refugee from
family. Live at the Battishalls' dump now. Going to see Lily?' he demanded
shrewdly at the gate when I dithered.

'Well,' I said. Lily, she of the laden tea trolley.

'Watch his nibs,' he said, eyes alert under bushy eyebrows. 'Do a
recce, shunt in the side door, what? Word of advice. Nick's barmy as the rest
of that Battishall crew, what?'

'Right,' I said.

'Decoy, the old feint, frontal attack,' he said in a stentorian
voice for secrecy. 'Enfilade, what?'

'Ta, pal.'

'Roberta will be stuffing her fat face - fit as a pole vaulter!
Good luck. Shag the girl one for me, what?'

'Er, right, right.'

He marched up the drive whistling 'Lillibullero', swinging his
stick and making hell of a din. He stopped at the great sweep of stone steps
and shouted, 'All clear!' Daft old sod.