Every Last Cent

37

HE SPOKE HIS introduction so calmly, with such accomplishment, that I almost came to share Maud's adoration.

'This is a celebration. Our backing syndicate is secure,' he began, immediately raising his palms to quell the gratitude that rose from the audience. 'This gala night celebrates

– let's not put too fine a point on it – wealth.'

The wave of admiration was too warm to be suppressed even by his grandiloquent gestures. The audience stood and cheered. Numbed, I thought, but this is East Anglia for Christ's sake. We don't do this kind of thing. This behaviour creates political coups, guerrilla warfare, bodies beside dusty roads. It simply doesn't happen here. Maud's eyes glistened. Everybody sat and rustled to stillness. Lanny's voice resumed quieter.

He was good value, for a scam.

'I mean your wealth, the town's wealth. No!' It was a gunshot command for silence.

The audience didn't move. 'Please listen.'

He stood in the spotlight, smart evening suit, tall, elegant, everything you'd want a leader to be.

'Our syndicate promised to underwrite your new developments – town centre, housing, leisure complex. Then.' He paused, voice mellifluous and falling an octave, and held it.

'Then the rumours began. People began to doubt. That the syndicate – your syndicate

– was unable to stand by its commitment.' He sneered, holding attention, gazing round the auditorium.

'We are here tonight to renew our undertaking. We have a source of valuable antiques to back up every claim we ever have made.' His smile moved row by row. 'We present a short demonstration, more as entertainment than to convince. But you are bright enough to realize the consequences.'

'Isn't he wonderful?' Maud whispered. 'We were at school together!'

'Wonderful.'

'And to think Dad doesn't trust him!'

I looked at her in the gloaming thinking, eh? Lanny was going on, a master of timing.

Doubtless all that bird-watching.

'Four selected individuals – Tina is the leader – will face a range of items. They will each unerringly identify the priceless antiques from the fake. Now,' he smiled disarmingly, 'this could be a set-up. But you know the auction houses I'm associated with. I guarantee this little interlude is unflawed.

'Can I introduce Tina ... ?'

Applause began, politely interested, as Tina led Wilhelmina, Larch the tree hugger, and Jules the ex-con on stage. They stood in line. The backdrop rose revealing an array of antiques on stands, on benches, maybe thirty or so in all. I felt one chime, a lone belling in my chest, from one direction but nothing much else. This scam was the goldie, the one deception that convinces when all else fails. So called from an old con trick that evolved back when people were easily hoodwinked. You'd show a seemingly gold statue, then allow the mark – the buyer you're tricking – to examine it, scrape off a sample for analysis. It's pure gold (of course). But it's only gold leaf, put there minutes before on the corner of the statue that you allowed the mark to touch, feel, use a microscope on.

'Look, love,' I whispered to Maud. 'I'll be back in a sec.'

'Now? Can't it wait?'

'I said I'd meet Florence. She's late.'

'Be sharp, then.'

Below, Lanny was describing the supposed antiques. His actors stayed gravely listening, occasionally glancing thoughtfully at the items. I eeled out, hissing apologies like you do, and hurried down to the main entrance. The commissionaires were having a smoke, cigarettes cupped in fingers.

Tinker was nowhere. I whispered his name into the dark. Nothing. I'd throttle the idle old soak. I'd distinctly told him to be here. You can't depend on anybody. Okay, so I'd not paid him for a few months. Was that a reason to let me down?

'Good evening, Lovejoy.'

I jumped. 'Evening, Countess. Seen Tinker?'

'Yes.' She gave a throaty laugh. 'He had to leave.' Her suited hulk who'd chucked me out of her Antiques Emporiana gave a snuffle of mirth. I could see their features only in the sheen of the theatre's foyer lights. Funny how still and quiet it was outside, when from inside there came the roaring of the audience. My actors, re-enacting my feeble scam with which I'd tried to please Susanne Eggers.

'Is Tinker okay?'

'Temporarily.' She moved. 'Come, Lovejoy. Stroll with me.'

'Countess, any other time—'

The hulk shoved me. Obediently I strolled. The Countess moved through a slice of silver light. She looked lovely. Other women would say she was too florid, tarty even. But what's wrong with tarty? Glamour's sensible when it's aimed in my direction. I call that real logic.

'Jules was mine once, Lovejoy.'

'I heard.'

'Like you, Lovejoy. Except, unlike you he leaped at my offer of... renewal.'

'I've had problems, Countess.'

She gave her throaty laugh. A bloke doesn't stand much chance. My resolve faded.

'Poor helpless Lovejoy. Your own scam is being used against you. You know that?'

'I'm guessing as I go.'

She sighed. 'It's my poor Russia. It always is poor Russia. You know, Lovejoy, Russia wounds herself. Tranquillity? Pshah! We Russians abhor it!'

'Look, er ...'

'You know how to find tragedy? Follow the nearest Russian. With the instinct of a moth, he will dive into the flame with a cry of bliss.'

I'd heard her speak like this before. After we'd made smiles, she would become so morose that you became sad too. I found it hard to take. I knew her next line. No good explaining—

'—to the moth that it need only wait until morning, then it can enjoy all the light it desires. It simply seeks its catastrophic fate. All—'

'Moths are Russian?'

'You remember!' She gave a cry of delight.

'What do you want me for?'

'I want a little betrayal, Lovejoy. You and I will rescue a fragment of civilization from those barbarians!'

'Who?'

'Those in there,' she said with detestation. The hulk walked behind, feet going crunch crunch when we were on the greensward. Why did his steps go crunch? Mine didn't.

The Countess's didn't. 'They will buy anything from those Muskovites. You know all Muskovites are oafs?'

'Not from St Petersburg?'

'Hah! You remembered!'

She turned. We were about two hundred yards along the riverbank, the theatre glowing like hot embers in the distance, lights reflecting in the water, the great gold swan barge still shimmering. The hulk stepped round us so he was behind.

'Moscow will sell anything. War loot. Rubbish. Dross from China. Among its shipments of garbage there will be some exquisite antiques. These they will sell without compunction. Icons. Furniture. Jewels. Porcelain. Holiness,' she added unexpectedly.

'The sanctity of generations, Lovejoy. And these idiots will buy them, to save their miserable skins.'

Wary of the hulk, I didn't heave a sigh of dismay. She wasn't speaking of merely one antique, or even of a trickle. She was talking of a tide, a great unstoppable flood. Out of control.

'Look, Countess. That syndicate has sources beyond imagination. The world is awash with money looking for a home – investments, antiques, securities. Russia has access to valuables. When unlimited money meets countless antiques, a deal is inevitable. That syndicate is nasty, so it's invincible.'

'Yes, Lovejoy.' She went calm. 'But we can betray!' Her face was in shadow as we began to retrace our steps towards the theatre. I could hear the smile in her voice. 'Our tactic!'

I can't believe these national characteristics. I once met a Yank who wasn't a millionaire. Unbelievable, but true.

'Got an idea how?'

'What were you and Tinker going to do, Lovejoy? Something truly pathetic, like try to upset the syndicate's first auction? Use your divvying talent to expose those infantile actors who're in there pretending they have the same unique gift?'

She made her explosive sound of scorn. It sounded an audible pout.

'Well, yes.' I was narked. 'It might have come off.'

'You think like a midget, Lovejoy! For true perfidy, you need my breeding, my genius.'

I'd thought I'd been really brainy, working out where the syndicate's first auctions would be held. They would do it in secret, of course, for a very specialized clientele of shady buyers. These things are easily arranged. They go on all the time, stolen stuff from country houses and auction rooms.

For something this big, though, all their items would have to be passed off as possibly tainted wartime loot, or antiques stolen from Asia Minor or India, the Persian Gulf states, the Far East, all those countries where embargoes had been placed on antiques.

That would only be the start. Central and South America would come next within a twelvemonth, then West and Central African states would be denuded of their heritages. It was happening now, but disorganized. On the dripfeed, so to speak. This syndicate would establish regular channels.

She trilled a laugh. I wanted to see her face, her mouth. I always like to watch. Women have such mobile features, so expressive in laughter or dismay. And their eyes ... What on earth was I thinking?

'You don't mean tell the Customs and Excise?'

'Silly!' I liked her arm through mine. 'I mean us! You and I! Not contemptible clerks.'

Her old accent had come back to accompany her rage. Contemp-teebell clerrr-kkess.

'Safely?'

She laughed. 'Safety is silly, Lovejoy. You know the Tsar's definition of safety? Safety is when you see the guns before they fire.'

Fat chance for me, then. I never even know what's happened afterwards.

'Who'll set it up?'

'You. Your skill is well known. Enough to be trusted by buyers.'

'Well, yes. If I know the buyers, and they know me.'

'I already have lists.'

The theatre music suddenly played. Doors opened sending huge swathes of light through the darkness. People spilled out onto balconies. Lights came on. Interval time, with celebration in the air. I could see the Countess's goon's silhouette. God, he was enormous. I was glad I hadn't made a run for it. Was I was better off taking the Countess's offer than trying to bubble the syndicate on my own? Maybe I'd save somebody's life. I'd not done too well so far.

'Right, Countess. Equal partners?'

Maybe I could start eating regularly, pay Tinker a fortnight's back wages.

She froze. There was enough light for me to see her face suddenly chill. 'Do not presume. I am nobility, Lovejoy. You are a serf.'

'Yes, Countess.'

Well, she was right, right? That we'd once been lovers wasn't to count. I heard a faint whirring sound. An electric motor? The river made a faint lapping sound. Doubtless some boat, perhaps a lucky lad drifting to bliss out there in the reedy darkness, jammy sod. There was a series of soft susurruses among the bulrushes, the swift near-silent sort that you try to ignore but can't. Luckily the Countess hadn't noticed. It's always a bit embarrassing, others making love especially if you're with a bird. Dunno why. The velvety sounds stilled. The gentle whirring stopped. The lovers had clearly decided to stay there a while, switched off their engine. I didn't blame them.

The Countess had been explaining her fiscal policy, something about percentages. I dragged my attention back from passion.

'I shall apportion your share when the syndicate's brought down.'

'Who will you get to do the damage, Countess?' I asked humbly, as if I didn't know.

'There is a bandit, one Mr John Sheehan,' she said, cool. I warned myself off using that description in Big John's hearing. Or, indeed, anywhere on Planet Earth. 'My agent works for the syndicate. I placed him there very early. Almost, you could say, before the scam began. He is my contact with Mr Sheehan.'

Jules the actor? I thought but did not say. I vaguely wondered what might have happened if I'd not picked him at the audition. She'd have simply got a replacement. I'd only chosen him, I remembered with chagrin, from sympathy because he'd done porridge and was looking for a job. I must be transparent.

'What will you get out of this, Countess?'

'I shall not tolerate insolence. I am above such questions, Lovejoy.'

'Yes, Countess.'

Her amusement returned. 'However, since you agree my demands, I reveal that I shall own one of those importing channels for myself.'

'I see.'

'It is not to be compromised by anyone.' So I was to keep out of it while she made hay?

Well, nothing ventured.

'Very well, Countess.' I was fed up with agreeing. 'Do I get Tinker back?'

'He is at the Marquis of Granby on North Hill.' The hulk's snuffle irritated me further.

Her early hint that Tinker needed rescuing was a ruse. 'He is trinkink, Lovejoy. He was given money sufficient.'

'Thank you.' Thanking her for not marmalizing my barker? Pathetic.

'I shall let you know when we strike. Meanwhile, Lovejoy, join the celebrations. Maud is waiting. She is not for you. Such shoes, and that hair.'

'I think she's nice.'

She carolled laughter. 'You poor fool. You know nothing.' She sobered. 'Three weeks from now the Names will fall into bankruptcy when their illicit antiques import scheme fails. All their imports will be delivered to me. I shall celebrate.'

'What about the town, Countess?' I had some friends who lived in the area. They'd suffer. I didn't want her to bring the whole Russian mafia invading.

'Ah, you mean the developments, Lovejoy? The mall, the leisure, the housing?' She trilled. 'There might be other syndicates. They will take it over. As long as the terms are highly favourable. To me!'

'You've already worked it out.'

'Once I heard from your friend Quaker, that his father-in-law's syndicate – the one busily pretending in the theatre there – was close to ruin in Lloyd's insurance risks, of course I did.'

The theatre's two-minute bell sounded. The music was about to start celebrating the phoney success. She smiled, searching my face for doubt.

'My syndicate does not take unnecessary risks, Lovejoy. Greed is for peasants, not one such as I. One last thing, before we part.'

'Yes, Countess?'

'No disloyalty, no?'

'No disloyalty, yes.'

She simply remained there. The hulk strode for her motor. She didn't speak to me. The motor came. She embarked. It drove off in virtual silence.

The audience was returning. I went towards Maud, working up a smile.