Eric McGarry makes a move

“What’s this?” he asked, confronting her where she stood in the angle of the building, a somewhat laboured bonhomie intended to cover his slight doubt that he had judged her correctly, his uncertainty that she’d recognise him, and that if she did, that she’d remember him kindly.   “Penny Plain become Penny Coloured eh?   A definite improvement if I may say so!”

Earlier, Eric McGarry, a man of many aliases, checking out the crowd for the dealers and fellow competitors, and ignoring the obvious first-timers, had spotted the woman in the vivid linen jacket, the strawberry pink singing out among the drab, eager-to-be-neutral grey and beige suits, and he’d taken a second look, not immediately certain which category she fell into – she certainly didn’t possess the bored nonchalance of the regular but neither did she have the eyes-everywhere excitement of the amateur.

He’d then been diverted, the usual hearty, lying, insincere greetings, on both sides, before, at the entry of the auctioneer, having to take his seat, but on the way he had given the woman, now stood at the back of the room, a second glance, and then a third ... was there something familiar about her?   He cleared his mind once the bidding started, concentrating, but was caught out a couple of times by the lot he wanted going, at the last minute, for a fraction more than he was prepared to bid, to someone else.   These things happened, now and then, but he needed to find out who it was ...  

In the interval, stood outside with a cigarette, keeping away from the others so as not to lose concentration, he had seen her again, in profile this time, looking up towards the sky, watching the wheeling of a flock of pigeons and suddenly, transported in an instant to St. Mark’s Square – Piazza San Marco – he had recognised her.   ‘Christ!’ he wondered to himself, ‘after all these years ...’   Quickly he retrieved what he knew of her:  shy, eager and biddable, she had been in love with Guido of course but Guido wasn’t interested in her type – too mousy by half.   But she’d obviously learnt something in the intervening years, got a bit more colourful, at least.   He doubted she was any less biddable, not from what he could remember of her, that sort didn’t change ... and the more he thought about it the more he could see a use for her now ... so noting that she was standing alone he had quickly extinguished his cigarette and gone over to speak to her.
[possible excerpt from 'Not wanted on Voyage']