"It's actually my nail file," she broke in. "I was really careless. It's one of a set, you see, in a case."
"Well, miss, dealers aren't allowed—"
"I know exactly where it is, Jim," I said, calmer now. "I'll bet you five of those notes I could put my hand on it in three seconds flat." That was a mistake and scared him.
"Here, Lovejoy," he began, starting to close the door. "I don't want none of your fiddling—"
"You stay here, Lovejoy," Sheila said chidingly. She stepped into the doorway and turned to push me back. "You're always so abrupt. The gentleman said that dealers weren't allowed in after fixed hours so you'll have to wait here, that's all." On a tide of feminine assurance she swept past Jim, who humbly put the door to. I heard their footsteps recede along the passageway and keys rattle in the showroom door.
I hung about the sidewalk getting in people's way and generally prowling around for quite five minutes before Sheila reappeared. I was up with her in a flash.
"Thank you so much," she was saying to old Jim, who was smirking at all his extra gallantry. "I'm so sorry we delayed you. You've been so kind. Good night."
I honestly tried to grin at Jim, but he wasn't having any from me and banged the door.
Sheila walked to the car. "I've got it in my handbag," she said, swinging the strap to her other shoulder. "Don't grab, or Jim will see."
She was really quite smart at that. Old Jim would no doubt be lusting after her as we left. You could see virtually the whole hill from the office. With quivering fingers I set the handle and cranked. We rumbled up the hill and I pulled in by the park railings in town.
The cars pouring from the car park got in the way of this maneuver. I'm sure they didn't really mind having to stop suddenly. Muriel Field was at the wheel of a gray Rover, but I'd no time for light chitchat. After all, she had no antiques any more. Not like Sheila, who had the device out. I carried it into the lights of the lamps on the war memorial. It was a Durs screw mechanism, the weirdest I'd ever seen, but authentic, star cross-hatched on the handle and casehardened, maybe in all five inches long.
"I'm afraid I have a confession, Lovejoy," Sheila said, beside me.
"Eh?"
"I'm afraid I… I stole it." She pulled away as I tried to embrace her, laughing. "Promise me."
"What? Anything."
"You'll pay for it tomorrow."
"You're off your head."
"Promise, Lovejoy."
I sighed at all this whimsey. "I promise." I gave her a rubbery kiss under the memorial's lamp despite the pedestrians. A car's horn sounded. Adrian and Jane sailed past signaling applause. He'd have some witticism ready next time. "Here. You can have the honor of carrying the find home."
"Is it important, Lovejoy?" I gave it to her and she slipped it into her handbag.
"Somewhat," I said, beginning to realize. "Somewhat."
A hurrying mother pulled her gawping child along the pavement to stop it from openly inspecting the couple kissing in the main street. I kept my eye on her as Sheila and I stepped apart to drive home, and sure enough she gave a swift glance back to see how we were managing. Aren't women sly?
Chapter 9
I dropped Sheila at the station. She had to go to work, poor lady, on some crummy newspaper. We had a small scene outside.
"I'll be here on Sunday," she told me, and I nodded. She waited. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to come onto the platform and see me off?"
"I daren't take my foot off this pedal or she'll never start again today," I explained. "Otherwise I'd come in with you like a shot."
She came around to my side and kissed me. "You know, Lovejoy," she said, "for the world's greatest antique dealer you're an awful dope."
"I keep telling you your slang's dated."
"No use trying to needle me," she said, cool as ever I'd seen her. "You're falling for me, Lovejoy."
"Look," I said testily. "This accelerator's down to the floor. It's costing the earth in gas just sitting here while you babble—"
She put her arms around me and hugged me tight. This, note, was about ten in broad daylight, with the paper man grinning and the kiosk lady enjoying the show.
"I have a secret to tell you, Lovejoy."
"You're not—?"
"Certainly not!" She reached under the dashboard in front of me. "Take your foot off the accelerator."
"I can't. The engine'll cut out."
"Please."
I did as she said. Just before the engine coughed to silence she twisted something near the steering rod. The engine muted instantly into a deep, steady thrum.
She stood back and dusted her hands. "There!"
I sat mesmerized.
"Now," she said casually, "care for a spin?"
"Er—"
"Push over." She came into the driver's seat and nudged me across. "Let the expert do it, honey," she said kindly, flicked a switch somewhere, and yanked on an angled rod-thing near her knee.
We took off. My spine nearly slipped from the force. The old Armstrong boomed easily around the station roundabout and Sheila put it onto the hill near the hospital at fifty. We zoomed onto the main A 12 about three minutes later, and Sheila crashed her slickly up into the seventies. Fields and trees flicked by. Wind pulled at my face and her hair streamed out flat against her temples. In a couple of breaths the signs to Kelvedon darted past. I sat in frozen disorientation while all this happened around me. Sheila pulled into the middle lane and did her mystery with the levers. We hummed alongside a column of slower cars, and as she overtook back into the inside the needle wobbled down to seventy. There was hardly a shudder. A couple more millisecs and we were at Witham. She brought us into the station and switched off. The motor breathed a sigh quieting into silence.
"Tea, guvnor?"
There was a tea stall within reach. I nodded and climbed shakily down. Let Sheila pay, I thought angrily. We stood in silence slurping tea from cracked cups. Sheila had this strange feminine knack of being able to drink scalding fluids without losing her esophagus. I was quite ten minutes finishing mine. I stared at the Armstrong while I sipped, thought, and wondered. I handed my cup onto the counter with a nod of thanks. The chap on the stall must have thought we'd had a row, because he studiously busied himself picking losers at Cheltenham and left the cup there.
"Is that what you were doing last night?" I managed to say finally.
"Yes, love. I'm so sorry." She held my hand.
"Was it… really obvious?"
"It was rather, Lovejoy," she said sadly. "A massive car like this, so old, supposedly only one gear, fantastic fuel consumption, no speed to speak of, weak as a kitten, all those gadgets within reach."
"When did you suspect?"
"Yesterday, when we were trying to hurry to Seddon's before it closed." She smiled. "It was ridiculous. And everywhere we go other motorists hoot at it, even when you're driving quite well. So, while you got our usual fantastic supper—"
"What's wrong with my suppers?" I said angrily.
"Nothing, love," she said quickly. "Nothing at all. Those pies are lovely, and I really look forward to those shop custards. But I had to do something while you, er, got it ready, didn't I?"
"I thought you were cleaning it," I said bitterly.
"It wasn't me, really," she pacified. "It was you. I remember you once told me the car was the only time your wretched bell proved itself wrong. That set me thinking. So I turned a few switches and—"
"Did you know all the time it was special?"
"No, love. Honestly." I looked askance at her. Sometimes women aren't quite truthful.
"I think you're lying in your teeth," I said.
She smiled. "I quite like a lie now and again," she said demurely, and I had to laugh.
"You know what?" I asked. She shook her head. "I think I'm starting to fall for you."