Read Online Gold by Gemini by Jonathan Gash - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Gash
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don’t get libraries in pubs.
‘An old chap called Bexon. You got his stuff at Gimbert’s auction.’
‘Your young lady spoke to me yesterday. I gave her the box.’
‘That’s only rubbish, but he was an old friend and –’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘Never mind all that, Lovejoy.’
I said, desperate now, ‘She said you had a sketch he did.’
‘That sketch’ll cost you.’
‘How much?’
‘Do me a scan and you can have it free.’
‘Get lost,’ I groaned. It always came down to this, from fellow dealers too useless to do their own work.
‘Go on, Lovejoy. You’re a divvie. Help me out.’
I had enough trouble without feeling sympathy. ‘Commission?’ I tried hopelessly, but the wretch was grinning. He knew he had me and shook his head. ‘Scan my stuff or you don’t even get to see Bexon’s picture.’
‘All right,’ I gave in bitterly. ‘Anyhow, your commission wouldn’t keep me in pobs.’
‘My stuff’s in that crate. I’ll fetch it.’
He dragged in a tea chest of miscellaneous porcelain, followed by Jenny Bateman protesting she’d not finished looking.
‘Hard luck,’ Dandy told her, pushing her out. All heart.
‘Is this it?’ I hate scanning junk.
‘A job lot. There’s a ton of valuable stuff in there, Lovejoy.’ The eternal cry of mankind since Adam dressed.
I sat wearily, waiting for the mystic mood to come over my mind. A divvie always suffers. Having friends irritates me sometimes. I closed my eyes and stilled. Sounds receded. The world slipped into silence and all feeling fell gradually into the distance.
Divvie? Maybe from the old word ‘diviner’, as in water, but who knows? It’s slang for anybody who can guess right about a thing without actually knowing. Some people have it for gems or paintings, others for race-horses, thoroughbred dogs or scenic design, a precious knack that goes separate from any learning. I’m an antiques divvie. And, incidentally, I’m the very best there is.
I’ve tried asking other divvies how they know, what actually happens. Some say they are ‘told’, others say it’s a feeling. Water diviners say it’s a foot-tingle or a twisting stick. To me it’s a kind of bell, and it rings in my chest. My knowledge, on the other hand, only tells me what an antique is. But my bell just rings for truth. And look, folks – good news.
Everybody
alive has this knack for something. Maybe not for antiques or diamonds, but for something. Nobody’s been left out. It’s superb news really, because you’re included too. You. All you need to find is what your particular gift is for. You might actually be the most original and creative porcelain or furniture expert without knowing it. If you don’t already know you’re being dreadfully wasted.
The way I do it’s to get close as possible, look and then maybe a light touch if that’s not damaging to theantique. Always remember to leave antiques alone. Never fondle, clean, wipe, polish or brush. And I don’t mean ‘hardly ever’, like in the song. Never is never. Leave antiques alone.
Never
scrape, improve, smooth, fill in or dissect. Remember that all antiques really are Goya, Chippendale, Sheraton or Michelangelo until proved otherwise. If you say that yours aren’t, I’d like to know what makes you so sure.
Dandy Jack was very considerate as I worked, tiptoeing in like a steamhammer for another pint of White Horse and having a hell of a row with a customer over the price of a modem vase he swore was Ming. Honestly, my head was throbbing by the time I finished. I was finished.
‘Dandy,’ I called. ‘Done.’ He dropped a pile of books with a crash and reeled in.
‘Prime stuff, eh, Lovejoy?’
‘Not bad.’
He grinned at the three objects on the table and nodded wisely.
‘Bloody rubbish,’ he agreed. ‘I knew it was all valuable except for them.’
‘
They’re
the good stuff, Dandy.’ I rose, stretching. ‘Chuck the rest.’
‘Eh?’ He glared into the heaped
‘An old chap called Bexon. You got his stuff at Gimbert’s auction.’
‘Your young lady spoke to me yesterday. I gave her the box.’
‘That’s only rubbish, but he was an old friend and –’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘Never mind all that, Lovejoy.’
I said, desperate now, ‘She said you had a sketch he did.’
‘That sketch’ll cost you.’
‘How much?’
‘Do me a scan and you can have it free.’
‘Get lost,’ I groaned. It always came down to this, from fellow dealers too useless to do their own work.
‘Go on, Lovejoy. You’re a divvie. Help me out.’
I had enough trouble without feeling sympathy. ‘Commission?’ I tried hopelessly, but the wretch was grinning. He knew he had me and shook his head. ‘Scan my stuff or you don’t even get to see Bexon’s picture.’
‘All right,’ I gave in bitterly. ‘Anyhow, your commission wouldn’t keep me in pobs.’
‘My stuff’s in that crate. I’ll fetch it.’
He dragged in a tea chest of miscellaneous porcelain, followed by Jenny Bateman protesting she’d not finished looking.
‘Hard luck,’ Dandy told her, pushing her out. All heart.
‘Is this it?’ I hate scanning junk.
‘A job lot. There’s a ton of valuable stuff in there, Lovejoy.’ The eternal cry of mankind since Adam dressed.
I sat wearily, waiting for the mystic mood to come over my mind. A divvie always suffers. Having friends irritates me sometimes. I closed my eyes and stilled. Sounds receded. The world slipped into silence and all feeling fell gradually into the distance.
Divvie? Maybe from the old word ‘diviner’, as in water, but who knows? It’s slang for anybody who can guess right about a thing without actually knowing. Some people have it for gems or paintings, others for race-horses, thoroughbred dogs or scenic design, a precious knack that goes separate from any learning. I’m an antiques divvie. And, incidentally, I’m the very best there is.
I’ve tried asking other divvies how they know, what actually happens. Some say they are ‘told’, others say it’s a feeling. Water diviners say it’s a foot-tingle or a twisting stick. To me it’s a kind of bell, and it rings in my chest. My knowledge, on the other hand, only tells me what an antique is. But my bell just rings for truth. And look, folks – good news.
Everybody
alive has this knack for something. Maybe not for antiques or diamonds, but for something. Nobody’s been left out. It’s superb news really, because you’re included too. You. All you need to find is what your particular gift is for. You might actually be the most original and creative porcelain or furniture expert without knowing it. If you don’t already know you’re being dreadfully wasted.
The way I do it’s to get close as possible, look and then maybe a light touch if that’s not damaging to theantique. Always remember to leave antiques alone. Never fondle, clean, wipe, polish or brush. And I don’t mean ‘hardly ever’, like in the song. Never is never. Leave antiques alone.
Never
scrape, improve, smooth, fill in or dissect. Remember that all antiques really are Goya, Chippendale, Sheraton or Michelangelo until proved otherwise. If you say that yours aren’t, I’d like to know what makes you so sure.
Dandy Jack was very considerate as I worked, tiptoeing in like a steamhammer for another pint of White Horse and having a hell of a row with a customer over the price of a modem vase he swore was Ming. Honestly, my head was throbbing by the time I finished. I was finished.
‘Dandy,’ I called. ‘Done.’ He dropped a pile of books with a crash and reeled in.
‘Prime stuff, eh, Lovejoy?’
‘Not bad.’
He grinned at the three objects on the table and nodded wisely.
‘Bloody rubbish,’ he agreed. ‘I knew it was all valuable except for them.’
‘
They’re
the good stuff, Dandy.’ I rose, stretching. ‘Chuck the rest.’
‘Eh?’ He glared into the heaped
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