‘I was up in
town yesterday,’ I tell Tony easily, turning back from my long
study of the
sky outside the window as if I’d simply been wondering
whether the
matter was worth mentioning, ‘and someone I was talking to
thinks he
knows someone who might possibly be interested.’
Tony frowns.
‘Not a dealer?’ he queries suspiciously.
‘No, no – a
collector. Said to be keen on seventeenth-century art.
Especially
the paintings of Giordano. Very keen.’
‘Money all
right?’ Tony asks.
‘Money, as I
understand it, is far from being a problem.’
So, it’s all
happening. The words are coming. And it’s not at all a bad start,
it seems to
me. I’m impressed with myself. I’ve given him a good spoonful
of jam to
sweeten the tiny pill that’s arriving next.
‘Something of
a mystery man, though, I gather,’ I say solemnly. ‘Keeps a
low profile.
Won’t show his face in public.’
Tony looks at
me thoughtfully. And sees right through me. All my
boldness
vanishes at once. I’ve been caught cheating my neighbours! I feel
the panic
rise.
‘You mean he
wouldn’t want to come down here to look at it?’
‘I don’t
know,’ I flounder hopelessly. ‘Perhaps . . . possibly . . .’
‘Take it up
to town,’ he says decisively. ‘Get your chum to show it to him.’
I’m too
occupied in breathing again to be able to reply. He misconstrues
my silence.
‘Bit of a
bore for you,’ he says.
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