Free Gold by Gemini by Jonathan Gash Page A

will laugh ruefully, say no hard feelings. But a woman won’t. You get the whole bit, the smoulder, the come-on, derision, the wheedle, and finally everything they’ve got thrown into the fray. Born dealers, women. You have to be careful.
    ‘Can you not help, please?’ Her chap tried to smile ingratiatingly. ‘You’ve been highly recommended to us, Lovejoy, as an antiques dealer. I would make it particularly worth your while. If it’s a question of money . . .’ he said.
    The town stilled. The universe hesitated. The High Street froze. Nobody in the known world breathed for a few lifetimes as that delightful scent of money hung in the air.
    He really seemed quite pleasant after all. Charmingin fact. Then Janie hauled me, literally yanking me off balance so I tumbled back into the Lagonda.
    ‘So sorry,’ she called out brightly, swinging me round and slamming the door. I grappled to lower the window.
    ‘My card,’ the chap said. ‘Phone me. Edward Rink.’ We were off like a Brands Hatch start. I sulked most of the way home holding his engraved card.
    It’d soon be time for Algernon’s test. What a bloody day. Diddled by Dandy Jack,’ frogged by Beck and no nearer understanding the Bexon business, and now Algernon.
    I’d reluctantly cleared away by the time Algernon arrived. In he came, cheerful and gormless. In his own way he’s an entire miracle. A trainee dealer for six long months and still thinks Fabergé eggs are crusty chocolate.
    ‘Good evening, Lovejoy!’
    ‘How do.’ I stared morosely into his beaming face. Why was somebody who gets me so mad so bloody pleased to see me every time?
    ‘Let us anticipate that my efforts will meet with your approval this evening!’ the nerk said. He reached out and actually wrung my hand. He stripped a layer of motor-cycle leathers and left them heaped in the hallway. ‘I am all keyed up!’ he exclaimed.
    ‘Did you read Wills?’
    ‘Certainly, Lovejoy! And the brass instrument book. And –’ he blushed – ‘the jokey book all over again. I appear to have been quite taken in!’
    He laughed merrily as I led the way into the main room without a word. You can see why Algernon gets me down. He’s always like this.
    ‘On the table, Algernon,’ I cut in sourly, ‘are several objects.’
    ‘Right! Right!’ He sprang at them, oily fingers at the ready. I caught him in mid-air and put him back.
    ‘I shall cover all but one with a dark cloth, Algernon. You have to identify and price whichever’s exposed. Okay?’
    ‘Ah!’ He raised a finger delightedly. ‘Your identification game!’
    I fetched the carriage clock across.
    ‘You’re allowed one minute. Remember?’
    ‘Of course, Lovejoy! How absolutely right to be so precise –’
    I lifted him out of his chair by the throat, struggling for iron control.
    ‘Algernon,’ I hissed. ‘Silence. Clam. Shut up.’
    ‘Very well! I follow exactly!’ He frowned and glared intently. Then he closed his eyes to concentrate, heaven knows what with. Your modern intellectual at bay. I watched this performance wearily. I suppose it’s meant to be like I do when I’m scanning, the idiot. He opened his eyes, thrilled. ‘Right! Ready, Lovejoy!’
    ‘No,’ I said.
    He concentrated hard. ‘Ah! The Sights!’
    ‘Good, good, Algernon.’
    We lit two candles and the oil lantern before switching the electric off. I suppose there’s no point in rubbing these details in too much or you’ll not read on but I have to say it. You’ll all have made this mistake. What’s the point in looking at Old Master paintings by neon or tungsten-filament glare? Dolphins don’t do well in pasture land. Stick them in an ocean and you’ll never see any living thing so full of beautiful motion. Give antiques the kind of light they’re used to and you’rehalfway there. And for heaven’s sake space the flames about the room. Never cluster natural flamelight. It’s no wonder people get antiques wrong.
    I sat myself down and took