Gold By Gemini

'Another list of dazzling failures, Henry,' I told him. 'No luck. But I saw a picture…' I explained what a clever forgery Bexon had made. 'Some old geezer from Great Hawkham.' Henry watched me open the tin of sardines, a drool of saliva bouncing from his chin. 'What do you reckon?' He said nothing, just pistoned his legs and ogled the grub. 'If I'd done a lovely forgery job like that I'd have found some swine like Beck and sold it to him.'

Henry chuckled, clearly pleased at the idea of doing a trawlie like Beck in the eye.

Maybe he had an antique dealer's chromosomes surging about in his little marrow. I peeled two spuds and hotted the oil.

'Instead,' I went on, 'he paints in a wrong colour. Giveaway. And don't try telling me - '

I shook the peeler at Henry warningly -'that it was a simple mistake. It was deliberate.'

Saying it straight out made it seem even weirder. I gave him the whole tale. At least Henry listens. Algernon's not got half his sense. 'The more you think about it, Henry,' I said seriously, 'the odder it becomes. Odderer and odderer. Right?'

I put him down and gave him a ruler to chew while I fried up. I told him about the golds. He tends to follow you round the room with his eyes. I leave the kitchen alcove uncurtained while I cook so I can keep an eye on my one and only ruler. They're expensive.

I was prattling on, saying how I was hoping to pick up the rest of Bexon's stuff from Dandy Jack, when the bell rang. It's an old puller, 1814. (Incidentally, household wrought-ironwork of even late Victorian vintage is one of the few kinds of desirables you can still afford. It's becoming a serious collectors' field. Decorative industrial ironwork will be the next most sought-after. Don't say I haven't warned you.) I wiped my hands and went into the hall. Janie's silhouette at the frosted glass. Great. All I needed.

I rushed about hiding Henry's stuff and cursing under my breath. The bloody push-chair wouldn't fold so I dragged it into the main room and rammed it behind a curtain.

'This is all your fault,' I hissed at Henry. He was rolling in the aisles again, thinking it another game. 'Look.' I pushed my fist threateningly at his face. 'One sound out of you, that's all. Just one sound.' It didn't do much good. He was convulsed, cackling and kicking. I told him bitterly he was no help but anything I say only sends him off into belly laughs. He never believes I'm serious. Nothing else for it. I went to the door.

'Hello, love.' My casual Lovejoy-at-ease image. A mild but pleased surprise lit my countenance at seeing Janie again so soon.

'You've been an age answering.' Janie gave me a kiss and tried to push past. I stood my ground. She halted, her smile dying. 'What's the matter, Lovejoy?'

'Matter? Nothing,' I said, debonair. I leant casually on the doorjamb all ready for a friendly chat.

Her eyes hardened. 'Have I called at the wrong time?' There was that sugary voice again.

'Er, no. Of course not.'

She stared stonily over my shoulder. 'Who've you got in there, Lovejoy?'

'In…?' I managed a gay light-hearted chuckle. 'Why, nobody. What on earth makes you think -?'

'I go to all this trouble to get this box of rubbish from that filthy old man,' she blazed.

'And all the time you're -'

'Jack?' I yelped. 'Dandy Jack?'

'You horrid -'

'You found Dandy?' She was carrying an old cardboard shoe box. I took it reverently and carried it into the hall. I didn't notice Janie storm past.

I removed the lid carefully. There was the inevitable jam-jarful of old buttons (why the hell do people store buttons? Everybody's at it), a rusty tin of assorted campaign medals - expression of an entire nation's undying gratitude for four years of shelling in blood-soaked trenches - and a loose pack of old photographs held together by a rubber band. At the bottom were two worn but modern exercise books, cheap and pathetic. It really did look rubbish as Tinker Dill said. My heart plunged.

'Is that all, Janie?'

She was standing in the hall behind me, desperately trying to hold back a smile.

'I trust,' she said with pretended iciness, 'you've some perfectly reasonable explanation for your little friend in there?'

'I asked if this is everything,' I said sharply. Now she'd rumbled Henry it had to be first things first.

'There's a sketch,' she said. 'Dandy wouldn't sell it me. What's he called?'

'What did it look like?' I led her into the room. She picked Henry up to fawn on him. He gazed dispassionately back, probably wondering if the changed arrangements meant less grub all round.

'He wouldn't show me.'

I put the box down dejectedly. Disappointments come in waves. While I went back to doing Henry's tea she told me how she'd phoned Tinker Dill at the White Hart. He'd found where Dandy Jack was by then, somewhere over Ipswich way. She'd scooted along the main A12 coast road and cornered Dandy at a little antiques fair - the sort I had the money to go to. Once.

'I thought you'd got some woman in here,' she said.

'I see.' I went all hurt, obviously cut to the quick at such mistrust.

'Don't be offended, Lovejoy.' She came over and put her arms round me. 'I know I shouldn't be so suspicious.'

One up, I relented and explained about Henry. She thought he was delightful but was up in arms about his food.

'You're not giving him that!'

'What's wrong with it?' It looked all right to me. I poured the sardine oil on the egg to save waste.

'I thought it was yours, Lovejoy!'

'I've had mine.' I shook sauce on. Henry was all on the go.

'Dear God!' she exclaimed faintly. 'Does his mother know?'

'Well, actually,' I confessed, 'I chuck his powder away so she won't worry.' In fact I sometimes eat it to fill odd corners. Well, Henry's a gannet. I can't afford to feed us both properly and his own food tastes horrible. He's not so dumb.

Janie watched in horror as I fed him. All this mystique about feeding babies is rubbish.

It's not difficult. You prop them up in some convenient spot and push bits towards their mouth. It opens. Slide it in lengthwise but remember to snatch your fingers back for further use. The inside looks soft and gummy but it works like a car cruncher. You have to concentrate. I mean, for example, it's not the sort of thing you can do while reading.

'His face gets some too,' I told Janie.

'So I noticed.' She looked stunned.

'It's all right. There's no waste. I scrape it off and put it in afterwards. It's his big finish.'

'My God. I feel ill.'

I was rather put out by Janie's reaction. Secretly I'd expected her to be full of admiration at my domestic skills. Admittedly he was beginning to get a bit smudged but that always happens. 'Try it. You can tell when he's finished,' I added. 'He starts spitting out.'

'What a mess. How does the poor little mite survive, Lovejoy?'

I ignored this. No meal's ever pretty, is it?

'Mind your manners.' Women are great critics, mainly when they see other people doing all right. It's mostly jealousy. 'I think he's full.' He was bulging but still moving impatiently. 'Time for pudding.'

'There's more?'

I'd got Henry two pieces of nougat, which would have to do for today's afters. I was embarrassed, Janie being there to see it wasn't done as properly as it should be.

Puddings should be on a plate and everything with custard.

'Here. Unwrap it.' She took the nougat carefully. 'Hold it by one end and push a corner in his mouth,' I told her. 'Blot the dribbles as you go.'

Once she got going I took Bexon's pathetic belongings and began to rummage.

'Dandy said he'd give you the sketch if you'd scan for him,' Janie said, intent on Henry.

We were all sprawled on the divan.

'Dandy would,' I said bitterly. Scanning means examining supposed antiques to separate genius items from the junk. I hate doing it for others. It's something I never do normally, only when I'm broke. Dealers are always on at me to scan for them because I'm a divvie.