Gold By Gemini

'We had a little chat," Janie reported back, smug as any woman is after a scrap. I sighed on my sickbed. As if I'd not enough trouble.

Algernon came tiptoeing breathlessly in. The stupid burke brought an enormous bunch of lilies.

'I'm not dead yet, Algernon,' I said angrily.

Janie whisked them away diplomatically.

Algernon was cheerfully unabashed. 'I've brought you some grapes,' he said, 'for restorative nourishment.'

Janie swiftly bundled him outside. I heard him being full of solace in the porch.

'How very sad to witness poor Lovejoy's indefatigable high-spirited pleasantries dampened by such tragic infirmities.'

'Quite, Algernon,' Janie said firmly. 'I'm sorry I can't offer you some coffee, but in the circumstances…'

'Absolutely!' he prattled. 'On behalf of all of us antiques experts, Janie, may I express gratitude for your undying charity in so devotedly sticking to the task of restoring his poor battered physique!'

'Oh, er, well.'

One thing. No matter what goes wrong you can always depend on Algernon. I liked the antiques experts bit, may heaven forgive him.

Janie bought food from our village shop, setting tongues wagging. She said nothing to me about there being very little grub in the cottage, but her back had that critical look.

I made her write down what she spent and told her I owed it.

Doc Lancaster injected me with some rubbish or other that first day. Janie drove me to the local hospital and they trussed my hands. God, they did hurt.

Janie stayed the first night, jumping a mile at every stray noise. She was terrified and kept asking what sort of maniac would do a thing like that and why.

'We ought to report it,' she said more than once.

In the circumstances it was brave of her to stay. The evening of the second night she reported back home in wifely obedience, to check that none of her servants had pinched any of the nineteen bedrooms in her centrally heated mansion. Her husband was throwing a dinner-party for business friends and Janie had to baste the carrots.

'Can't stand the pace, eh?' I accused.

'I promised, Lovejoy.'

'Remember to crook your little finger over sherry, like posh folks.'

She pulled a face and left. Everything I needed was in reach, drinks with straws and all that.

The second day Janie showed me the letter. It had arrived without a stamp.

Somebody'd shoved it under the door early.

'I kept it,' Janie told me, 'because you weren't well enough.'

It was mid-morning. I was listening to the radio. One of those staid 'experts' was talking about mother-of-pearl decorations - incidentally coming back fast into fashion -

and never said the only important thing about it. Keep it covered. Keep it dark. Never ever put mother-of-pearl under a strong light or on a sunny windowsill. If you do it'll fade, become dull and lifeless. It's practically the only shine we cunning dealers can't ever restore, imitate properly, or forge. Once it's gone it's gone for good.

This letter.

'I think it's something to do with… you know.' She opened it for me.

Dear Lovejoy,

Are you any nearer to handing over the diaries? I sincerely hope that recent events have persuaded you to a wiser course of action than hitherto.

Do not hesitate to contact me should you see sense and wish to sell. Those scribbles can only bring you trouble.

Yours sincerely, Edward Rink.

I looked at Janie, marvelling. 'He's mad,' I said. 'And bloody cool.'

'Is he the one that…?' She shivered.

I turned the radio off.

'It's evidence,' I said, puzzled. 'I'll give it to the police. They'll pick him up.' Geoffrey, our local bobby, is rumoured to wake soon after Easter. Time he did something.

We read the letter again. Janie disagreed with me. 'He could mean practically anything.'

'He says "recent events",' I countered. 'It's in his own handwriting.'

'That could be anything from the weather to a new offer. You once told me there are a thousand auctions a week. He could say he was talking about a commission.'

She was right.

'I'm going to phone him.'

'Now, Lovejoy,' Janie warned, but I got her to dial the number from his card. We got him third go, a telecommunications miracle.

'Lovejoy? I'm so pleased you rang,' the swine said urbanely. 'How sensible!'

I tried to hold the receiver lightly but my hand took no notice and hurt itself tightening up.

'Cut it, Rink,' I said. 'Did you do it?'

'Now, Lovejoy,' he purred. 'No silliness. I merely want you to be aware your movements are being observed. If you suddenly take it into your head to go anywhere, you'll be spotted. Day or night. More sensible to sell me the diaries and have done.'

'What if I've got this conversation on tape?' I asked suddenly.

'You'd be wasting the magistrate's time, Lovejoy.' He was laughing, the pig. 'I hope you'll see reason. Nichole's desperate.'

'No.'

He sighed down his end of the blower. 'You have one other choice. To become my agent. I would pay you well. And a percentage.'

'Why me?' He was off his rocker.

'Because you have the diaries. And the sketch. And I believe you have a peculiar skill where antiques are concerned.' He paused. 'And that other thing. Poverty.'

'I haven't got the sketch.'

'Tut tut, Lovejoy. Lies.' There was a pause. He cleared his throat, coming to a decision.

'Incidentally,' he said at last, 'I'm so sorry about your friend.'

'Friend?'

'Dandy Jack.' I'd forgotten about him and his accident. 'Such a shame. Still, if he lied to Nichole, he deserved—'

I rang off. My hands seemed made of wood. Janie was making coffee. I made my way shakily back to the divan. Curious, but my head seemed cold and the scalp tight. I let her get on with it for a while before I managed to speak.

'Janie.' I saw her back stiffen. 'How's Dandy?'

'Mmmm?' She was ever so busy.

'That smelly old geezer from the Arcade. Remember?'

We shared the long horrid silence.

'I couldn't tell you yesterday,' she said.

We both watched her assemble my tin coffee gadget. Only Yanks can make coffee properly. They have this knack. I wonder what our women do wrong. I try, but I'm even worse at it than Janie and that's not far from horrendous. It might come out right, we were both thinking, because you never know your luck. The fuse went in the electric plug. She had a high old time unscrewing it and putting it right. We got mixed up over the wires. Well, morons keep changing the colours of the bloody wires. It's a wonder we aren't all electrocuted.

'He died early yesterday morning, love. I'm so sorry.'

Everything seemed falling to pieces. 'Police say anything?'

'Nobody really saw,' Janie said. 'No witnesses came forward.'

I thought a lot. Dandy suddenly seemed very close. And Manton and Wilkinson. Then fat Henry, and Eleanor. I looked across at Janie. She smiled up, feeling my eyes. We'd a real fire because I'd asked. It was raining. Outside in darkness my robin was probably nodding off. And Crispin my hedgehog was probably roaming, his snuffly infants behind him on the prowl in the muddy grass, filthy beasts. And Tinker Dill, three sheets sloshed in the White Hart by now. And Helen. And Margaret. And Nichole, If you ever bothered to list your responsibilities you'd go spare. I got a pen. Janie saw what I was up to and started us both on separate sheets, copying the diaries. My slowness almost made me bellow with frustration. She was twice as fast. I couldn't do the drawing. Janie had to do that.

It was gone midnight when I phoned Edward Rink to surrender. I wouldn't let him call at the cottage. He gave me a different postal address.

'I give you all I've got of Bexon's,' I told him. 'You leave my friends alone. Okay?'

'With pleasure,' he replied. I swear he was smiling.

We made the diaries into an envelope ready for posting, though it was a homemade job and looked botched.