Gold By Gemini

CHAPTER XIII

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THE THIRD DAY I burned the flight. I know how the Vikings felt. An end, a beginning. I used paraffin to get it going and stood back. My cherry tree got a branch singed, but then living's just one risk after another, isn't it? A neighbour came running down the lane to see if the sky was falling. He breeds those long flat dogs which bark on middle F. I reassured him. He left after giving my wrapped hands a prolonged stare.

I waited for Janie. She arrived about teatime.

'Can I… have some money, Janie?' I watched her turn from hanging her coat up. I've only three pegs behind the hall door. I'd sold the mahogany stand that morning through Tinker Dill. That's Janie's best character point - never asks where things have suddenly gone. She may not care for my behaviour very much, but she accepts that it goes on. I think she tolerates me like a sort of personal bad weather, changeable and just having to be endured.

'Yes, love.'

I’ll pay it back. Soon.'

'How much?' She fumbled in her handbag. 'Will a cheque do?'

'Yes, please. Just enough for a couple of weeks.' I had to say sorry, after refusing all this time, but she said men were stupid sometimes and what were bits of paper. I'd have agreed if she meant compared with antiques.

'Keep it,' she said.

'No, no,' I said. 'A thousand times, no.' You have to be patient. She called me silly and got all exasperated. I think women have very simple minds.

I looked at the cheque. Funny that a small strip of marked paper can mean so many antiques. When you think.

'It's beautiful.' That must have been me speaking. I took it reverently off the table.

'What are you laughing for?'

'Oh, shut up, Lovejoy.' She turned away. It didn't sound like laughing.

'I love you,' I said to her.

She laughed and faced me, wobbling. Her cheeks were a bit wet.

'Lovejoy, you're preposterous!'

'Eh?'

'You get everything wrong,' she said, subsiding somewhat and smiling out of character.

'It's the other way round. 7 love you.'

'That's what I said. 'I was puzzled. Just when things seemed on the mend between us.

Women surprise me sometimes.

'Come here to me,' she said, smiling properly now.

'Just a minute.' I found a pen and paper to make a list, but Janie took the paper away.

My hands were too clumsy to argue.

'Shut up, Lovejoy,' she said, 'for heaven's sake.' So I did.

An hour later I woke from the post-loving doze. My mind instantly thought of what I should do.

Friend Rink had money. He could afford a watcher. All he had to do was wait. And if I ever made a dash for the Isle of Man he could either fly ahead or send his watcher to keep track. But nobody can move without money, and my income from Squaddie barely kept me alive. Janie's money was only for starters. I'd need more. I didn't know how long the search would take. Suddenly Janie was watching me, worried. She cheered up when I said I needed her help.

'With some antiques?'

'Yes. Cleaning and improving them.'

'For selling?'

'You're learning.'

A mischievous smile lit her face.

'Lovejoy. You… really need my help? Not Algernon's?'

'Especially not Algernon's.'

'Nor Margaret's?'

'Good heavens, no.' I wanted no dealers.

'But I know nothing about antiques.'

Careless old Lovejoy almost said that was the point, but I covered up quickly by telling her I trusted her.

'More than your friends?' she pressed. 'More even than Helen?' Typical.

'Much more,' I said. Honesty was everywhere. I felt quite moved myself.

'Then I will. On one condition.'

'Eh?'

'That you pay me, Lovejoy.'

'Pay?' I yelped, starting upright in the bed. 'What the hell with?'

'Give me one day - of your time.' She was adamant. I'd have to go carefully. What a dirty trick.

'One day?' I countered uneasily. 'You can have tomorrow. That do?'

She shook her head prettily. She's always especially attractive when she's up to no good. Sometimes I think women play on our feelings.

'No. When I say. For me to decide what we do for a change.'

'But what if -?'

'No deal if you're going to make excuses, Lovejoy. Get somebody else.' I thought hard and with cunning but there seemed no way out.

'Well, it's a bit unfair,' I said reluctantly. 'Will you give me some notice?'

She hugged me, delighted.

'Possibly, Lovejoy,' she said. 'And possibly not.' I tried wheedling but got no further.

She told me, smiling sweetly, 'All we have is time.' She fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly. I thought of the forthcoming death of Edward Rink, Esq., and smiled, in control.

Now here comes the bit I said you wouldn't like. Same as your grandma's beef tea it won't be pleasant but it will do you good. If you're poor it will save you a few quid. If you're one of the struggling rich it may save you millions.

All I've said so far about antiques is right for antiques. But think a second. What exactly is 'an antique'? Look about at the articles round you. We can agree on many items, for a start. Your teacup made last week in good old Stoke-on-Trent isn't antique, for example. And that ball-point pen made last year isn't either. Right. But those three decorative Coronation mugs on your mantelpiece, how about them? Well, Liz II hardly qualifies. And that George VI cup? Not really. That George V mug, then? Sorry, no.

Notice how difficult it's getting. None of these is 'an antique', not truly. Some people define 'antique' as being one hundred years from today. Others claim twenty-five years is plenty. And there's some logic in that, I suppose. After all, jubilees begin at twenty-five years, and a century's the magic hundred, isn't it? But the actual honest truth's sadly different. Anything from now to twenty-five years ago is modern. Going back from then to a century ago's bygone. Then there's a bit of a twilight zone. Then come antiques.

Antiques begin, fans, in the shoulder of that lovely blissful Year of Grace 1836. No matter what dealer groups do with fanciful definitions, keep that magic date in mind.

But please don't think I'm advising you to sprint out and hurl your Coronation souvenirs into the nearest jumble sale. That would be foolish, because three other factors besides age come into it. They're rarity, nature, and condition.

And here it comes, pals, the end of our beautiful friendship. What I've just told you is okay for antiques as such. It's known by any dealer worth a light, and by most collectors with any sense.

But nobody knows it like forgers do.

You reach antiques by standing on piles of money. So my mind went: One, I have no antiques of my own.

Two, I need money.

Three, I therefore need to sell antiques, but I've got none.

Four, I therefore need to sell some things that resemble antiques but which aren't the real thing. Hey ho.