The Rich And The Profane

by Jonathan Gash

  ‘He’s an ex-policeman,’ I said. ‘He’ll confirm they killed Irma.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gesso and Jocina Crucifex. They told me that, on the boat.’

  ‘And Dook?’

  I told him how he’d tried to drown me, coming after me to make certain I couldn’t swim, how I’d lied and survived. ‘Eventually,’ I added frostily, getting at Augusta.

  ‘Lying is your natural propensity, Lovejoy, isn’t it?’ Grouville said. ‘All for a bit of daubed colour on canvas?’ Augusta stirred, managed to keep cool. She spoke up.

  ‘I shouted when I saw Dook take the dinghy and go after Lovejoy.’ She shrugged. ‘Lovejoy didn’t hear. I borrowed Old Lou’s outboard. I rang the police first.’ She let that sink in before delivering her barb. ‘They were slow coming, Ken.’

  He cleared his throat, thought a minute, but managed to ignore criticism of the constabulary, not an all-time first. ‘You see my problem, Lovejoy. Once you got to the boat and the shootings began, all is quite clear. But events leading up to there are definitely murky.’

  ‘I thought I’d explained, Mr Grouville. Irma offered to buy the priory. It was in terrible difficulties, owing to Prior Metivier’s gambling. His sister Marie paid off his debts, using the money from donated antiques that they had got me, unwittingly, to recognize. It’s simple.’

  ‘Why did the murdered girl want to buy an ancient priory, though?’

  ‘She suspected some antiques were hidden there.’

  ‘And are there?’

  Somebody came and seated himself heavily between Augusta and me.

  Prior George said, all sorrow, ‘No, Mr Grouville. Not a single one. I’ve combed the place over the years, winkling out anything that can be called an antique and selling it on the open market. Funds kept running low despite all my efforts—’

  ‘Gambling the bloody gelt, you mean.’ I tried not to sound bitter. ‘If you’d been honest there would have been no deaths at all! Mr Grouville, I’ll give you my guess list of this holy geezer’s gambling debts. I’ll also provide a list of contacts. In East Anglia he’s famous for it.’

  ‘Lovejoy!’ Prior George said reproachfully. ‘How un-Christian!’ He sighed to the Plod, ‘Religion always has enemies.’

  ‘And there are no antiques left in Albansham Priory, Prior George?’

  ‘I give you my word,’ the lying sod intoned. He almost blessed us. ‘Our finances are straight, thanks to the splendid work of this leisure centre and Lovejoy’s efforts. The priory is solvent again. I shall reopen next week. I invite you all to our celebratory services.’

  So he was returning to East Anglia, to dismiss his security blokes and sell his cache of war-looted art with impunity.

  ‘Excuse me, please,’ I said. ‘The doctor said I’ve to take some tablets. Be a sec.’

  Augusta asked should she come with me, but I was off. I made it to Victoria’s office alone. She was there, colouring up on seeing me.

  ‘Oh, Lovejoy! You’re better! But so thin!’

  ‘No, love. I’m fine.’ Like every male, I know I’m a fine figure of a man.

  ‘There are all these forms to go over, Lovejoy—’

  ‘Nark it, love. Quick. Where’s Michaelis Singleton?’

  ‘At the hotel. He leaves today. There’s some problem over bail. He wants to see you urgently. He sounded really rather threatening.’

  The death of Irma, requiescat in pace, would clear Michaelis. Jocina was out of it. Florida, Dook’s mentor, was helping the Plod with enquiries, so delete her. But there was still the problem that Michaelis’s backers, including Big John Sheehan, would hunt me down for defrauding them. After all, I’d persuaded Michaelis to bid for a fake. Victoria got him on the phone.

  ‘Michaelis? It’s Lovejoy. No, no, keep quiet and listen.’ I talked him into silence, no mean feat, considering. Their legal education is always a handicap. I sent Victoria into the corridor while I spoke softly on.

  ‘Is that true?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘It’s got to be, Michaelis. Go for them. They’re there somewhere in Albansham Priory. Tell Sheehan to be careful - there’s a team of hired security guards. They might be in on it with Prior Metivier. Whatever, they’ll need heavy persuasion to step aside while you anatomize the joint.’

  ‘I leave today. Big John’s already put two men in your cottage to wait for you, Lovejoy. If you’re right about the loot, I’ll see he calls them off.’

  I gulped. God Almighty. ‘But be sharp, Mikko. Florida will be back home soon. I can feel it. The sly cow will come the poor innocent, swear blind she knew nothing of Dook’s murderous attack on Jocina when she sent him after me, wrongly supposing I was favouring Jocina by giving her a tip-off as to which of Gussy’s canvases was the genuine one. My bet is, Florida’ll say Dook lusted after Jocina, got jealous of Gesso, all that.’

  ‘Will she get away with it?’

  ‘Michaelis.’ I was suddenly so tired. ‘Ever know a beautiful sexy rich woman who didn’t?’

  ‘I’ll pull my syndicate together and get going.’

  They’d gut the priory in a night. Before Prior George hit the mainland the place would be scoured. His cache of art works that he’d found in the sea cave on Alderney and shipped to hide in Albansham Priory would be gone, wherever he’d hidden it. I tried to ingratiate myself.

  ‘Look, Mikko,’ I wheedled. ‘Give me a share, eh? After all, we’re pals.’

  ‘Lovejoy.’ He too sounded weary. ‘We don’t need you. Remember, Big John Sheehan’s on my syndicate. We’ll not use you at all, Lovejoy. We’ll use experts,’ he ended nastily, and rang off.

  Frigging cheek. I opened the door to find Grouville nearby talking to Victoria. I coughed, swallowed hard. Had he heard?

  ‘Thanks, Victoria, for the drink of water. Tablets are always too big for one gulp, aren’t they?’

  ‘Who were you phoning, Lovejoy?’ Grouville asked. ‘Trying to get Jimmy and Stan, tell them ta.’

  Two hours later, I said so-long to everybody. It was hard. Jonno was wry, jokingly made me promise to stay myself and not him, haha. Jimmy came to attention, said ‘Toodle pip, old sport’. I said, ‘Cheerio, old chap’. Stan was laconic, graciously spared time from his electronic surveillance to say ta-ra. Victoria was tearful.

  Augusta drove me to the Carrieres’ bungalow. Dove was in (joke) but wouldn’t be much longer. She was going to an arts course in London.

  ‘To London? Hey, I’ll come and see you!’

  She smiled. ‘Augusta’s exhibition is funding me, Lovejoy. Thank you.’ I bent to be bussed. Her mum and dad said their farewells. Dove asked worriedly, ‘Do you think I’ll manage all that study?’

  ‘You’ll fail, love,’ I said. ‘On filthy brushes. Give it up.’ ‘Oh, you!’ She laughed, tears in her eyes. ‘See you in London, then?’

  ‘Race you,’ I called, and left.

  Augusta drove me to St Peter Port. At the harbour, there was half an hour to wait. I felt so happy, at ease for the first time since Irma had walked into my workshop. Christ, I’d forgotten Prince. Mind you, now I could forget him in complete safety, though Florida would expect me to have that furniture completed even if I was on my last legs.

  ‘Hadn’t we better ditch the motor and get on board?’ I asked Augusta.

  She stayed in the car. I thought, What now?

  ‘I’m not coming, Lovejoy.’

  ‘Not coming with me? I thought we ...’

  ‘I’m marrying Boris. I’m staying.’

  Heartbreak’s never easy. And the harbour seemed so peaceful, calm, not a breath of wind to ruffle the surface where I’d seen two murders and been narrowly rescued when Dook had died under the prow of Augusta’s boat. I cast about for reasons. I was badly narked. I wanted to point out that I was good value.

  ‘The Chinese say that if you save a life you’re responsible for ever.’

  ‘They’re not here, are they?’ She yanked me close and plonked her mouth on mine. Then she shoved m
e away and drove off.

  Slowly I boarded, sat staring at Guernsey.

  The trouble is, you can fall in love with a place, just as you can with a woman. Escaping’s never easy. What was to stop me simply walking off the ship on to St Julian’s Pier and starting up in antiques? I could walk to Rita’s shop in ten minutes, almost see it from the deck. Zillions of tourists would buy my antiques, and the island was exquisite.

  She came and stood awkwardly against the sunlight. I squinted up.

  ‘I came to see that you’d got everything, Lovejoy.’ ‘Wotcher, Victoria. Yes, ta.’ Except I’d got nothing and lost Augusta.

  ‘Ought you to be up and about quite so quickly?’

  ‘No, love,’ I said, sighing. ‘I suppose kind passengers will help me to the train. If,’ I put in with heartfelt sorrow, almost filling up with self-pity, ‘I find money for the railway fare to East Anglia.’

  The ferry slowly started to move. I realized there had been announcements that sailing was imminent. We watched the shoreline glide, the harbour slowly spin about the ship.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I said slowly, making sure. ‘I think you’ve caught the boat.’

  ‘It seems so, Lovejoy.’ She’d got a small suitcase. She hesitated. ‘I had letters and messages. Marie Metivier is waiting for you in East Anglia. A series of appeals for help from Florida, including letters. And a long letter from Mrs Rosa Vidamour. She rang several times.’

  ‘Where’s the letters?’

  ‘I lost them all,’ she said evenly, ‘by accident.’ She shivered as the ship moved out. ‘Let me get you a shawl,

  Lovejoy. And perhaps coffee.’ She reached for my hand, almost made it. ‘I can’t have you catching cold, can IP’

  ‘No, Victoria,’ I said. I watched her go. Lovely. My heartbreak was healing. I wondered how she’d be if I got her to work the spong trick, falsely claiming insurance for some so-say destroyed or stolen antique. She had such honesty. That straight blue-eyed look was exactly what’s needed, innocent and lovely. Any loss adjustor would approve any claim she made.

  Thinking, I realized I’d forgotten to wave goodbye to the love of my life Augusta. Still, I could always write, if I remembered her address. How exactly did she spell her last name? Maybe it would come to me.

  Victoria returned, with coffee on a small tray. She looked lovely. I thought what a terrible pity to let all that pure honesty go to waste. It was after all definitely a woman’s world.

  As long as I remembered that, next time I couldn’t go wrong.