Read Online The Lies of Fair Ladies by Jonathan Gash - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Gash
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executed. Witty, amusing, hilarious, scary,
everything you could wish. My favorite was a grazing horse, carved from a bit
of stag antler, barely three inches tall. Connie had a mass of antiques, with a
leavening of fakes. Good as you'd ever see.
My headaches are famous. I was some time coming to after they'd
put the candles out. I went reluctantly, stumbling up the dusty steps and into
the Suffolk wet. I inhaled the drizzle for size. It didn't feel too bad, so I
breathed more. The pity is that rain wets your head. I went and stood under a
tree, listening to the solid taps of the rain. Drizzle gets steam up by soaking
leaves. Then the leaf gets fed up and sags its drop like a bird plop.
Connie and Gunge were trying to talk. Luna stayed with them,
occasionally glancing across. Wearily I beckoned. She trotted across the grass,
heels sinking. I walked the crumbling runway to Connie's motor, leant against
the bonnet.
"Lovejoy," she said hesitantly at last. She tried the
car doors, tutting like they do as if discovering a malicious plot. "Was
that little cardboard tube really worth two of these cars?"
"Mmmh. Don't call that masterpiece a cardboard tube. It was a
genuine Campani. He made 'perspective glasses’ telescopes. Samuel Pepys used
one for ogling pretty ladies in church, naughty old devil. That coloring and
decoration is tooled leather.''
She went quiet for a bit. "You knocked over that beautiful
square knife box, Lovejoy. Unforgivable. I have a lovely one exactly like it.
Queen Anne."
"Oh, aye. Is its herringbone inlay veneer sunk? Or dead
level, too? If so, it's a fake, like that one." I could see she was aghast
at horrifying possibilities. "You see, love, that veneer rises in a couple
of centuries. It has to, see? Changes in temperature, humidity. Only new fakes
are neat and level."
Her eyes filled with alarm. She drew breath to ask. I saved her
the trouble. "I know, I know. Why didn't I have to examine it. It felt
wrong. The real antiques recognize you, and say hello. They warm me. Fakes
don't. It's like . . . well, like love."
She was still trying to remember, seeing her favorite piece in her
mind's eye, when Gunge and Connie came up. We embarked without a word. I
settled soggily into the back seat.
"Good, Lovejoy." Gunge, activating a neurone.
I said nothing. Connie was driving. We came to Polstead, and she
went left at the crossroads.
"Lovejoy. Do you want in?" she asked along the old Roman
road. They're our only straight bits in East Anglia.
"How big, compared?" I meant how big a sample had I
divvied, of the whole. My mind was going: Connie's
scam isn't Prammie Joe Godbolt's scam. Seriously bad news. In fact highly
dangerous.
"Quarter, Lovejoy."
I hadn't a bean, let alone enough to cut in on a scam this size. I
said I'd think about it. She said she'd give me until tomorrow. Lots of
tomorrows lately, too.
She dropped me and Luna at the cottage. My apprentice made the
yuckiest brew I'd ever had. It was horrible. I didn't know if I'd last the full
month on this, and told her so. She was proud of herself, said stop
complaining. We sat drinking it, Luna saying the cottage was so cold. Daylight
faded.
"Lovejoy?" Here it came, sum total of misgiving.
"Why is that Mrs. Hopkins's, er, scam in that disused airfield, and not in
her showroom?"
"Some are stolen, love. A scam is a robber's scheme."
'' Stolen? Shouldn't we
tell the police?"
My turn to stare. "No, love. The less we have to do with the
police, the better. We're not on the same side."
"Not on the same side as the Law?" More mindboggling.
"Do you know anybody who is?"
It was then that the police came clumping in, Drinkwater wanted me
at the police station to see if I knew anyone called Godbolt. I told Luna to
lock up, please, and count the silver after the constables had departed.
But why wasn't Connie's scam the same as Prammie Joe's? Dozy old
East Anglia doesn't run to two major scams in one week. Tits Alors had already
pre-sold her own load.
everything you could wish. My favorite was a grazing horse, carved from a bit
of stag antler, barely three inches tall. Connie had a mass of antiques, with a
leavening of fakes. Good as you'd ever see.
My headaches are famous. I was some time coming to after they'd
put the candles out. I went reluctantly, stumbling up the dusty steps and into
the Suffolk wet. I inhaled the drizzle for size. It didn't feel too bad, so I
breathed more. The pity is that rain wets your head. I went and stood under a
tree, listening to the solid taps of the rain. Drizzle gets steam up by soaking
leaves. Then the leaf gets fed up and sags its drop like a bird plop.
Connie and Gunge were trying to talk. Luna stayed with them,
occasionally glancing across. Wearily I beckoned. She trotted across the grass,
heels sinking. I walked the crumbling runway to Connie's motor, leant against
the bonnet.
"Lovejoy," she said hesitantly at last. She tried the
car doors, tutting like they do as if discovering a malicious plot. "Was
that little cardboard tube really worth two of these cars?"
"Mmmh. Don't call that masterpiece a cardboard tube. It was a
genuine Campani. He made 'perspective glasses’ telescopes. Samuel Pepys used
one for ogling pretty ladies in church, naughty old devil. That coloring and
decoration is tooled leather.''
She went quiet for a bit. "You knocked over that beautiful
square knife box, Lovejoy. Unforgivable. I have a lovely one exactly like it.
Queen Anne."
"Oh, aye. Is its herringbone inlay veneer sunk? Or dead
level, too? If so, it's a fake, like that one." I could see she was aghast
at horrifying possibilities. "You see, love, that veneer rises in a couple
of centuries. It has to, see? Changes in temperature, humidity. Only new fakes
are neat and level."
Her eyes filled with alarm. She drew breath to ask. I saved her
the trouble. "I know, I know. Why didn't I have to examine it. It felt
wrong. The real antiques recognize you, and say hello. They warm me. Fakes
don't. It's like . . . well, like love."
She was still trying to remember, seeing her favorite piece in her
mind's eye, when Gunge and Connie came up. We embarked without a word. I
settled soggily into the back seat.
"Good, Lovejoy." Gunge, activating a neurone.
I said nothing. Connie was driving. We came to Polstead, and she
went left at the crossroads.
"Lovejoy. Do you want in?" she asked along the old Roman
road. They're our only straight bits in East Anglia.
"How big, compared?" I meant how big a sample had I
divvied, of the whole. My mind was going: Connie's
scam isn't Prammie Joe Godbolt's scam. Seriously bad news. In fact highly
dangerous.
"Quarter, Lovejoy."
I hadn't a bean, let alone enough to cut in on a scam this size. I
said I'd think about it. She said she'd give me until tomorrow. Lots of
tomorrows lately, too.
She dropped me and Luna at the cottage. My apprentice made the
yuckiest brew I'd ever had. It was horrible. I didn't know if I'd last the full
month on this, and told her so. She was proud of herself, said stop
complaining. We sat drinking it, Luna saying the cottage was so cold. Daylight
faded.
"Lovejoy?" Here it came, sum total of misgiving.
"Why is that Mrs. Hopkins's, er, scam in that disused airfield, and not in
her showroom?"
"Some are stolen, love. A scam is a robber's scheme."
'' Stolen? Shouldn't we
tell the police?"
My turn to stare. "No, love. The less we have to do with the
police, the better. We're not on the same side."
"Not on the same side as the Law?" More mindboggling.
"Do you know anybody who is?"
It was then that the police came clumping in, Drinkwater wanted me
at the police station to see if I knew anyone called Godbolt. I told Luna to
lock up, please, and count the silver after the constables had departed.
But why wasn't Connie's scam the same as Prammie Joe's? Dozy old
East Anglia doesn't run to two major scams in one week. Tits Alors had already
pre-sold her own load.