he was still a juvie lead. Who would he have been flirting with then? His long-standing partner, Aidan Morley, perhaps? They were just a pair of dear old ducks these days â though Aidan was more of a rather snooty heron, come to think of it â talking about fine wine and the best biscuits. But when they were both young and handsome . . .
Anyway, at last we had to tear ourselves away, to catch the last train, reaching Victoria with a minute to spare, just like Cinderella, really. We nattered away as we always did. While there were other people within earshot we spoke about the show â the choreography, the special effects, all the technical things that looked so easy but were, Griff assured me, the very devil to get right.
Only when the carriage was empty did we talk about lunch with Douggie, the guy from the British Museum.
âI know you said you and Douggie were friends,â I said slowly, âbut how well do you two know each other?â
âOh, weâve known each other for ever,â he said, which wasnât, of course, an answer to my question at all.
âHe didnât seem very . . . keen to see us.â I hadnât taken to him at all, nor him to me.
âWell, heâs a very important man, far above the touch of a lowly pair like us. On a heritage quango or two; on at least two national committees. Remember â thatâs why he couldnât linger for lunch.â Maybe Griff convinced himself â he didnât convince me.
I nodded. No need to point out I donât think heâd have wanted to lunch with us even if heâd had a week to spare. âHe was a bit bââ I almost had the word, but then it went. âBrooâ?â
âBrusque? Yes, he wasnât his usual affable self, I suppose. But who knows why people are short-tempered. The good thing is heâs gone off with your rings â you still have that receipt, sweet one? â and will let us know what theyâre worth. And itâs quite something that he wants the British Museum to have first option on them should you choose to sell.â
âOr put them on permanent loan with my name against them. Thatâd be pretty cool, wouldnât it? I just wish heâd given off better vibes.â
âCaution is his middle name, my child. So when he gave that quiet smile and said, âVery interestingâ, it was his version of leaping in the air and yelling, âEureka!ââ
I pulled a face. âIâd thought an expert would know instantly. Like you or me with Victorian china. Mostly, anyway,â I added.
âThatâs because you and I are journeymen dealers, angel heart, not Scholars.â He waited for me to absorb the capital letter. âScholars at his level arenât
Antiques Roadshow
performers. So try not to be too disappointed. Tomorrow is another day, as they say.â
âExcept itâs not,â I pointed out. âItâs today already.â
And even though it was actually the same day, tomorrow brought a visitor who wouldnât have been very welcome even if heâd rung the bell and hammered the door a bit less viciously at just past nine in the morning. Griff and I prided ourselves on being neat and tidy by the start of the working day: we allowed ourselves breakfast, occasionally, in our dressing gowns â his a spectacular stage affair and mine an embroidered silk kimono, rather sexy, come to think of it. Somehow Griff managed to sleep through the onslaught, and Iâd had no time to do more than slip on the kimono. Not even my slippers.
Being barefoot and opening the door â still on the chain of course â to a youngish man who might have had policeman written all over him was not very professional, to say the least. He waggled his ID through the crack.
âGive me three minutes,â I said, closing the door on him and dealing with all the alarms. That included switching on the little