and making of money. God knew, I’d had enough women in my short life. Plump, warm women, honest women, easy women. But the one you really want is the one you can’t have.
Mind you, I had her mind. She gave very generously of her mind. She’d been to so many places I’d never thought about. Nowhere obvious, like Spain or even Provence. She’d been to the real Hôtel du Lac and knew a couple of spicy titbits about the famous authoress herself; was uproariously funny about spending Up Helly Aa in Shetland; the German spas; grew indignant about the Government’s neglect of Ascension Island.
But you could never have accused her of showing off, for such ludicrous disasters had befallen her in every place, making her out to be such a hopeless fool, that she quite disarmed you. I confess I spent a very enjoyable evening; one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life.
At her door, she offered me one smooth slim cheek before an awkward silence could develop. Then she was gone, before I could expect to be asked in.
That smooth cheek grew very familiar, over the months that followed!
I didn’t like it when the policemen came into my shop, several weeks later. Policemen make me nervous, especially when they’re in uniform. Somebody sees them, and suddenly the gossip is all round the world of London dealers. I’m being charged at Bow Street with receiving the Crown Jewels. Or the VAT man has finally caught up with me. It’s very bad for trade.
‘Yes, sergeant?’ I said, my voice very sharp. I knew I wasn’t in any real trouble. For one thing, I hadn’t done anything, and for another, I could see that their car was a traffic car.
‘I believe you sold a motorbike recently, sir? BCM 120?’
‘Yes,’ I said wearily, wondering who had made the allegations. And wondering, too, if that Inspector with the police diving team would be as good as his word and look after me.
‘In your estimation, sir, was it in roadworthy condition when you sold it?’
‘It had passed its MOT,’ I said, with a little heat. We had taken real pride in its passing its MOT. ‘But of course, it was a very old bike. I mean, it didn’t have disc brakes. It wouldn’t have had the cornering ability of a modern bike. It wasn’t really sold for riding on. Not every day.’
‘Not meant for riding on every day,’ said the sergeant heavily, and it was like an accusation. He made a note in his notebook.
‘What I mean is that it was an antique. Quite a rare and valuable antique. Only a fool would ride it every day. But a little spin round the arena of a vintage car rally would be OK. I mean, a serious owner wouldn’t want to wear it out – wear away its value . . .’
‘A little spin at a vintage car rally,’ said the sergeant, and wrote something else in his notebook. ‘You warned the purchaser of these facts when he purchased, did you, sir?’
‘Yes, I did. But I mean, he knew. He knew what he was buying. You wouldn’t pay that kind of money for a secondhand Japanese banger . . .’
The sergeant glanced round. ‘You’re not . . . you don’t deal in second-hand bikes normally, sir? Not as a regular thing?’
‘I’m an antique dealer, sergeant. I sell antiques. I am not a garage. That bike was sold as an antique. What the hell is all this about? Why can’t you ask the owner this sort of stuff? Has he complained?’
‘He’s not likely to do that, sir. He’s dead. Broken neck. Went out on the bike you sold him at half-past three in the morning. Took a corner in a way that would have taxed a modern bike. Seventy he was doing, they reckon.’
‘Drunk,’ I said bitterly. Thinking about all the trouble we’d taken with that bike. And now it would be a heap of junk. Something unique wasted – by a crazy young pup with more money than sense.
‘No, sir,’ said the sergeant heavily. ‘As a matter of fact the coroner recorded he was stone-cold sober. All he had in his stomach was the remains of a meat pie.’
Chapter 3
‘Well, wotcher think?’ asked James, patting the Regency side-table as if it was his prize pig. ‘Which legs is which?’
I examined the piece carefully. I’d paid five quid for it at an auction held at a sports centre in Pinner. Beautiful walnut top, with crisply moulded