The Vatican Rip

She took it in silence, struggling a bit at first and sobbing a little.

'I'm sorry, Lovejoy,' she snuffled after I'd nearly calmed down.

'So you ought to be,' I snapped. 'You're now a registered felon on the cops' frigging books.'

'I'll make it up—'

'There's no time.' As I said it my heart was in my boots. I felt ill at the thought.

'I'll ditch old Anna, build another character—'

'The fucking rip's next week, you silly cow!'

'Next week?' Stricken, she raised a tear-streaked face. 'We must put it off—'

'Rips can't be postponed. They're cancelled, or done. Silly bitch.'

'But, Lovejoy—'

Then I nicked her handbag—why change a profitable habit?—and slammed out into the alley. The trouble with allies is they try to help, and nothing is more trouble than that.

Within an hour I'd got plastered on white plonk, and that evening was thankful it was Sunday. I could barely totter to the restaurant whose name Adriana had written down.

* * *

I worked so hard planing and chiselling that I could see wood wherever I looked.

I'd better explain. A rent table is not your usual rectangle or flapped circle, nothing like that. Think of a mushroom, a top on a pedestal. It was used for what its name says, collecting rent from the peasantry. The serfs' coins went on to a decorated centre, which sinks like Sweeney Todd's chair and drops the gelt into the pedestal below. Some are oval. Arcellano's was angled, with drawers all round. It stands to reason that every drawer can't be rectangular, or they would have no space to enter. Slices of cake are wedge-shaped for the same reason. So some of the drawers have to be phoney for the exterior to look right.

I was using wood cannibalized from cheap furniture about thirty years old, plus a few panels quite a bit older. Incidentally, when you are forging furniture don't turn your nose up at chipboard. It's a hell of a weight but it's cheap, it veneers like a dream, and it won't warp in central heating. Very few whole-thickness woods have all those merits.

As my plan called for two rent tables I was wood from floor to ceiling. A lucky find was a supply of beeswax and turpentine at the furniture makers next door to Anna's place, and a reasonable range of wood varnishes from the main Corso. The adhesives you can get nowadays are great, but a few have one terrible drawback—a characteristic stink—

so those have to be avoided. I'd also need a controlled temperature of 68° Fahrenheit or so to do all this glueing and varnishing, and as I'm very keen on knowing what the relative humidity is playing at around furniture, another battle with Adriana was obviously called for. The trouble was Piero would say the opposite to whatever I proposed. Him having the monarch's ear, so to speak.

During an afternoon break Anna conducted me to a couple of furniture warehouses.

The tables I finally decided I liked were crummy and modern enough to break your heart.

Anna noticed quick as a flash and burbled, 'Why, Enrico! They're exactly like the ones in—'

I trod neatly on her foot and ordered three, for delivery next afternoon. 'They're just the thing I need in the workshop, Auntie,' I explained loudly.

On the way home Anna demanded, 'Has the beautiful signora said you could buy them on her account?'

'Not yet.'

'But you expect she will agree?'

'Yes,' I lied, looking Anna straight in the eye.

'They're expensive, Lovejoy.'

'They're for the rip,' I said coldly. 'What's expense between friends?'

She saw sense. 'Why did you tell the man to deliver the tables at four o'clock? The Emporium's closed—'

'Anna, love,' I told her wearily. 'Shut it.' She was driving me mad. 'And you forgot your voice, you silly bitch.' Old Anna had twice spoken with the mellifluous voice of a young woman. I'd had to kick her into the right gear.

She gave me a mouthful. 'It's working with a selfish brute like you!' But I could tell she was shaken.

It was in this happy mood of fellowship we parted, Anna furiously plunging into the nearest crowd of tourists and me slamming off to the workshop for another few hours'

beavering.

Mondays are always busy with customers. Several times I was interrupted by Fabio to try the tray dodge, which began to get on my nerves. It seemed every few minutes.

Still, whoever pays the piper. Whether it was the row with Anna or the knowledge of Piero's special, erm, position with regard to Adriana I honestly don't know. But by closing time I was thoroughly cheesed off. When Adriana called me in to hand me my restaurant chit I refused to accept it.

'No, thank you, signora.'

Piero was bolting the back yard. Fabio was checking the window grilles.

'Where will you eat, Lovejoy?' Her frigging trump card.

'I'll manage.'

She flamed. 'Like you did the other night, I suppose. With that fat tourist?'

So she knew of that. Good old Fabio. Or Piero. Or yet another of Arcellano's goons?

Christ.

'She wasn't fat.'

'And you naturally know for absolute certain how fat!'

I'd never seen her so pale and angry. It was one of those days. Everything was in a bloody mess at the Emporium and I didn't even know if Anna and I were still speaking.

'Signora,' I said, because I was fuming too, 'all my childhood I had food tickets on the charity. I'll have no more. Please decide what you think I've earned. Give me any cheap antique you think will come near it. I'll manage the way I always have. Antiques is my game. Greed appears to be no different in Rome than anywhere else.'

I left her to make the choice and went out to help with the locking up, though one of the others always checked them after me again anyway.

We did our reporting session as usual, me last. I told her I'd ordered two modern cafeteria-type tables that afternoon and told the suppliers to bill the Emporium.

Fabio started up instantly. 'Of all the nerve.'

'They were needed for glue tables in the workshop.'

'Will there be any further expenses, Lovejoy? I mean, this is your last requirement?'

'No. An old box iron, but I can make one of these.'

'Very well. But in future ask first. Is that understood?'

I drew breath to explain that there was very little future left, but Fabio broke in with an exasperated 'Oh!' so I turned to go, writing the whole bloody thing off, when Adriana said, 'Lovejoy. Here, please.'

Please! She was holding out a sealed envelope between her fingers, avoiding my eye by the trick of paying attention to Fabio's complaints. I hesitated, but took it and went to shut the workshop windows.

I opened the envelope. A posh monogrammed card was inside. It read, Signora Adriana Albanese requests the pleasure of Signor Lovejoy's company this evening at supper in the Gold Season Restaurant, Rome. Eight-thirty for nine o'clock.

I had the sense to put it in my jacket pocket before I turned round. Piero was waiting there in the doorway.

'All done, Lovejoy?' he said without inflection. It could have meant anything. I said,

'Nearly.' And left.

* * *

I felt a real scruff in the Gold Season. The carpet absorbed me up to my ankles. The walls were discreetly illuminated along their entire lengths, gold light warming the restaurant as far as the crystal fountain in the centre.

Needless to say, an incoming tramp flashing a card and being given an ostentatiously hysterical welcome by the senior captain caused no little stir. You can't help feeling a right duckegg sometimes. Even people in the alcoves looked up to see the fuss.

I was given a dry sherry as if I'd asked for it. The offered smokes I declined. I was nervous as hell, though I'd washed. The invitation presumably meant I was to dine with the Albaneses, rather than in some quiet corner. But what did one talk about with a bloke like Signor Albanese? And I'm a clumsy sod. I was sure to drop everything or knock his wineglass all over his precious papers. Every portent indicated a really swinging time. I sat miserably listening to the gentle background music and trying to work out things to say.