The Vatican Rip

Adriana spent her time being exquisitely beautiful in the office and taking customers around. We were quite busy. I was brought up to play the tray dodge again, once with Piero and once—at some considerable distance— with Adriana.

The influx always fell off about half past twelve, and it was then I really got going.

Instead of working feverishly in ten-minute dashes I could tear into my Chippendale with a single mind. Of course they didn't look like tables, and if things went smoothly they wouldn't for quite some time. Piero came into the workshop about one o'clock. I was pedalling like a maniac at the spindle lathe, running a polisher into action, when I felt him there. I let the spindle creak to a halt, thinking that this was it. I gave him a disarming grin, friendly old Lovejoy.

'You rang?'

'Those bits the rent table for Adriana?'

'Yes. Want to see?'

'Not really.' He was quite casual again, in full control. I think it was then I understood what a dangerous opponent he could be. Give me somebody berserk, every time.

'There seems a lot of pieces for just one table.'

'I'm making the occasional duplicate piece,' I explained casually. 'It's called templating.

Then if the signora finds it sells quickly, I can easily make another. Saves working it all out every time.'

'What I mean is, Lovejoy, you're not making separates, are you? One for the signora, one for yourself? Because I wouldn't like that, Lovejoy.' He spoke like a boss.

'No,' I said, thinking I was getting quite good at lying. I'd lied my head off all morning and it felt marvellous. 'I promise you, Piero. Everything here belongs to the signora.'

'You know, Lovejoy,' he said thoughtfully, inspecting me. 'There's something wrong with you, isn't there?'

I didn't like this. Piero the ape I could handle. Piero the thinker was an unknown quantity. 'Wrong?'

'You bend too easy. Yet I get the impression you're just not bendable. And all this honesty.'

I shrugged uncomfortably. I don't like being looked into. 'Everybody's different.'

'And your gig here. Working on spec, when you're a natural at the antiques game.'

'Scratching bread, same as the rest.'

'Maybe, Lovejoy.' He was still quite calm as he left, but he said it again. 'Maybe.'

* * *

When we started to break at two o'clock I received a typewritten message. In an envelope with just my name on the front: Lovejoy. It read: Lovejoy,

Please phone the number below, two-thirty.

It was a Rome number.

I asked Fabio, 'Who delivered this?'

'It was with the rest of the post.'

'No postmark?'

'Just as I passed it to you, Lovejoy.' He grinned wickedly. 'Some handsome admirer you haven't told us about?'

I was on tenterhooks wondering, so I made sure I broke off on time. On the way out Adriana spoke to me as I was dismissed—turning approximately in my direction but speaking a mile over my head.

'Lovejoy. Your lunch arrangements are altered.'

I'd forgotten my nosh money. 'They are?'

'Yes. I've phoned an account in, at the pizzeria across the street and the trattoria next to it.'

'Er, thank you, signora.'

'For one,' she said absently. I felt the barb: no hungry partners share your dinners, Lovejoy.

'Of course, signora.'

I made my farewells and hurried to the trattoria where they let me use their phone. My hands were shaking as I dialled. A bored bird announced a hotel's name quite openly.

'Look,' I said with some puzzlement. 'My name's Lovejoy. I was asked to phone this number at two-thirty.'

'It's not that yet.' She was bored and belligerent. 'I'll put you through but don't blame me.'

It was Arcellano all right. I felt my flesh creep as soon as I heard the poisonous bastard. He asked, 'How's my old friend?'

'I haven't a bean,' I complained. 'I'm having to work on tick.'

He gave his cat-cough chuckle but I'll bet without a proper smile. 'Exactly as I like it, Lovejoy. Here's my instruction. As soon as you've completed our transaction, you will ring this phone number, in Bonn. The very instant. You'll be told where to deliver the item. Do you understand?'

'Yes.'

'And Lovejoy. No more accidents with cars.'

'What do you mean?' I was all innocent.

The phone went dead. I wrote down the number he'd given me and had a sombre meal.

* * *

I left the trattoria thinking resentfully that half of the people in Rome now seemed to be my bosses. I had Anna bellyaching that everything I did was wrong. I had Adriana telling me where and when I could eat, and now who to sleep with. There was Piero fighting me every inch of the way. Fabio was stirring it. And Arcellano, probably having me watched now even as I walked through the Piazza Navona towards Anna's.

It was then that I got the other half. A familiar motor was waiting as I emerged on the south side of the Navona. Familiar because you don't get many of them that ghastly purple colour. The chauffeur stood out as I crossed over.

'Signor.'

Like a fool, I was smiling as I got in, but the thing was empty. I sat, puzzled. Adriana had said nothing about sending her car for me.

We rolled like a mobile cathedral into the river road. I listened carefully. There was not a cheep out of the clock.

'Where are we going?' I asked the driver, peering out at the car roofs. I'd never been this high without a ladder. 'Look. I have to be back at work—'

'One moment, signor.'

That was all I got from him. The interior of the car was carpeted and there were more cupboards around than I had in my cottage. It was lovely. With my B movie memory I tried the door handle at a traffic light. It wasn't locked, so I wasn't going to be gassed.

Only Adriana, probably, wanting to talk.

We were only a few minutes reaching the block of apartments. Not too tall a building, and very discreet. The ground floor was occupied by a suite of offices, some kind of property development company by the looks of things. I'm thick sometimes. I was still smiling in anticipation when I realized the place was Signor Albanese's, not Adriana's.

A suave young bloke showed me in. Signor Albanese was reading documents behind a rosewood desk. I trudged the mile between the door and the chair. He had more sense than keep me waiting by pretending preoccupation, and looked up immediately with a smile that told me once again it was not my day.

'There you are,' he said, smiling at the secretary to bring a sherry. 'You are much younger than I'd imagined, Lovejoy. I put you in the mid forties.'

'Some of us never make it.'

He smiled and invited me into the chair.

'You can leave us, Ernesto.'

'I'm afraid I don't have much time,' I said.

'I know. You must be back at the Emporium fairly soon.' He nodded as though that side of things was of the slightest importance.

I sussed him. He was a calm, immaculate sort. You immediately received the impression that nothing could possibly take this man by surprise. It was a troublesome world, clearly, but controllable. His thinning hair was flattened, his suit brand new.

Behind all that cleanliness and order he was tough, and in charge.

'About your presence in Rome, Lovejoy.' He raised a podgy palm to arrest my run of falsehoods. 'No fabrications, please. Save those for others. You are, I believe, a divvie?'

'Yes.'

'An impressive attribute.' A pause. 'For one so poor.'

'My stuff was stolen. I got dipped.'

'So you say.'

'It's the truth. I'm earning my wages in antiques. Signora Albanese decided the deal, not me.'

'I heard. But that still leaves a gap in your story, no?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

'Perhaps I should explain, then. You come here, ostensibly as a tourist. You are relieved of your wallet. So you gravitate to a job in an antique shop, simply to earn your fare home.'

'That's it.'

He continued smoothly, 'I am reliably informed that your country's' authorities have an enviable record in establishing administrative systems the world over. I am further informed that they can cope with a stranded tourist.'