her.
‘Predators.’
‘Well . . .’
‘You mean yes,’ I said. ‘Which is what we are.’
‘But why do the wives give you –’
‘Sell.
Not give. Never leave a box gambit unpaid.’ I quoted the trade’s unwritten rule. ‘It’s what makes it legal.’
‘And what if you’re caught?’
She drew me to a bench-seat and we sat. From there we faced the house beyond the water, trailing trees and sweeping grass studded with bushes. It was as charming as any scene on earth and made me draw breath.
‘You think it’s lovely,’ she said.
‘Wonderful. They had a sense of elegance we’ve lost,’ I said. ‘It all comes down to judgement. They had it. Whatever shape or design or pattern was exactly right, they recognized it. You have to love it, don’t you?’
‘I know what you mean, Lovejoy.’ Her tone was cold. ‘I used to feel the same until Eric died.’
‘Will you stay here?’
‘No, not now.’
‘Where will you go, Muriel?’
‘Oh.’ She shrugged.
The heron stabbed, was erect and still before the drops fell from his beak.
‘What if you
are
caught in the box gambit?’ She shook my arm until I relaxed.
‘You lie,’ I said. The ripples were extending towards us. ‘Lie like a trooper. You say that you, in all innocence, called at her house. The widow asks you in to see some heirloom because you’d asked particularly about antiques. You say she bargained like an old hand, and anyway you’d given her money for the object, hadn’t you? She won’t deny it.’
‘How do you know?’
I gazed into her eyes. ‘They never do.’
‘Have you done it, Lovejoy?’ she asked as the first ripple lapped on the bank below us. I nodded.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said candidly.
‘You must.’
‘Why must I?’
‘Because . . . because, that’s all.’
‘Why, Lovejoy?’
‘Look, Muriel.’ I rose and tipped earth with my shoe into the water, staring down. It seemed pretty deep. You could see a few pebbles, then a dark brown murkiness. ‘I don’t know much about you, your family, who there is to give you a hand now . . . after your husband. But that mansion over there. These grounds. It’s enough to bring every dealer and scrounger running from miles around.’
‘Are you trying to warn me?’
‘Just listen.’ I tried to stop myself, but like a fool I talked on. ‘We dealers are pretty slick. Some are all right, but some are not. We’re good and bad, mixed. There are grafters, crooks, conners, lifters, zangers, edgers, pullers, professional dummyers, clippers – every variety of bloke on the make. Some pretty boys, smart, handsome, looking wealthy. Cleverer than any artists, better than any actor. They’ll pick your house clean any way they can and brag about it in the pub afterwards.’
‘Are you warning me, Lovejoy?’ Woman-like, she stuck to her question.
I felt like shaking her. ‘Never mind what I’m doing,’ I cried, exasperated. ‘Just be careful, that’s all. Be suspicious and sharp, and don’t let in everybody who comes knocking.’
‘I let you in, Lovejoy,’ she reminded, smiling.
I pulled her on to the seat. ‘Can’t you see the obvious?’
‘What do you mean?’
I drew breath and tried to glare into her innocent eyes. ‘You’re too damned trusting, Muriel. You should never have let me in the other day. It’s too risky. Look,’ I said, maddened by her smile. ‘Look. In that house, that great mansion you live in, your husband Eric lost his life.’
‘I don’t need reminding.’
‘You do.’ I was almost shouting, not knowing why I was so worked up. ‘Has it not dawned on you?’
‘What?’
‘Who killed him?’
She paled instantly. I could see the skin over her cheeks tauten. ‘Why . . . why are you asking me?’ she said.
‘Because somebody must have,’ I said. ‘Do the police know who? No. Does anyone else know? No. And not only that. Does anyone know
why
he was killed? Do you? No. The police? No.’
‘They . . . they said
‘Predators.’
‘Well . . .’
‘You mean yes,’ I said. ‘Which is what we are.’
‘But why do the wives give you –’
‘Sell.
Not give. Never leave a box gambit unpaid.’ I quoted the trade’s unwritten rule. ‘It’s what makes it legal.’
‘And what if you’re caught?’
She drew me to a bench-seat and we sat. From there we faced the house beyond the water, trailing trees and sweeping grass studded with bushes. It was as charming as any scene on earth and made me draw breath.
‘You think it’s lovely,’ she said.
‘Wonderful. They had a sense of elegance we’ve lost,’ I said. ‘It all comes down to judgement. They had it. Whatever shape or design or pattern was exactly right, they recognized it. You have to love it, don’t you?’
‘I know what you mean, Lovejoy.’ Her tone was cold. ‘I used to feel the same until Eric died.’
‘Will you stay here?’
‘No, not now.’
‘Where will you go, Muriel?’
‘Oh.’ She shrugged.
The heron stabbed, was erect and still before the drops fell from his beak.
‘What if you
are
caught in the box gambit?’ She shook my arm until I relaxed.
‘You lie,’ I said. The ripples were extending towards us. ‘Lie like a trooper. You say that you, in all innocence, called at her house. The widow asks you in to see some heirloom because you’d asked particularly about antiques. You say she bargained like an old hand, and anyway you’d given her money for the object, hadn’t you? She won’t deny it.’
‘How do you know?’
I gazed into her eyes. ‘They never do.’
‘Have you done it, Lovejoy?’ she asked as the first ripple lapped on the bank below us. I nodded.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said candidly.
‘You must.’
‘Why must I?’
‘Because . . . because, that’s all.’
‘Why, Lovejoy?’
‘Look, Muriel.’ I rose and tipped earth with my shoe into the water, staring down. It seemed pretty deep. You could see a few pebbles, then a dark brown murkiness. ‘I don’t know much about you, your family, who there is to give you a hand now . . . after your husband. But that mansion over there. These grounds. It’s enough to bring every dealer and scrounger running from miles around.’
‘Are you trying to warn me?’
‘Just listen.’ I tried to stop myself, but like a fool I talked on. ‘We dealers are pretty slick. Some are all right, but some are not. We’re good and bad, mixed. There are grafters, crooks, conners, lifters, zangers, edgers, pullers, professional dummyers, clippers – every variety of bloke on the make. Some pretty boys, smart, handsome, looking wealthy. Cleverer than any artists, better than any actor. They’ll pick your house clean any way they can and brag about it in the pub afterwards.’
‘Are you warning me, Lovejoy?’ Woman-like, she stuck to her question.
I felt like shaking her. ‘Never mind what I’m doing,’ I cried, exasperated. ‘Just be careful, that’s all. Be suspicious and sharp, and don’t let in everybody who comes knocking.’
‘I let you in, Lovejoy,’ she reminded, smiling.
I pulled her on to the seat. ‘Can’t you see the obvious?’
‘What do you mean?’
I drew breath and tried to glare into her innocent eyes. ‘You’re too damned trusting, Muriel. You should never have let me in the other day. It’s too risky. Look,’ I said, maddened by her smile. ‘Look. In that house, that great mansion you live in, your husband Eric lost his life.’
‘I don’t need reminding.’
‘You do.’ I was almost shouting, not knowing why I was so worked up. ‘Has it not dawned on you?’
‘What?’
‘Who killed him?’
She paled instantly. I could see the skin over her cheeks tauten. ‘Why . . . why are you asking me?’ she said.
‘Because somebody must have,’ I said. ‘Do the police know who? No. Does anyone else know? No. And not only that. Does anyone know
why
he was killed? Do you? No. The police? No.’
‘They . . . they said
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