by Mark Daydy
“Who told her.”
“Nick Taylor of Taylor’s Antiques in Camley.”
“I’ve heard of him. I think you can probably trust him.”
Lucy stifled an urge to gasp.
“Nick’s going to help me once he’s finished something he’s working on. I said I’d make a few initial enquiries to get the ball rolling. We’re not trying to throw anyone in jail. We’re just trying to find out who gave Eddie the chalice.”
“And you think it might be Fast Frankie?”
“I don’t think so, but he knew Eddie and might be able to put us on the right track.”
“Yes, well, all I know of Frankie is he’s not so fast these days. He’s also tight-lipped about the past. Always gives an alibi, even when not necessary. Old habits.”
“Not someone you’d lend money to?”
“Absolutely not.”
“My Uncle Eddie was an honest businessman and Libby is a lovely lady who doesn’t deserve the pain she’s been caused. Are you sure you don’t know where I can find Frankie?”
Terry seemed to weigh it up. Then he nodded.
“Leave it with me. I’ll give Nick Taylor a call if I hear anything.”
“Nick?”
“Yes, he’s a dealer.”
Lucy took a pen and small notebook from her bag.
“I’ll give you my number anyway.”
“I’d rather deal with Nick.”
“Yes, well…”
Lucy jotted her mobile number down, tore out the page and handed it over. Terry examined it for a moment then tucked it into his pocket.
“So, you appreciate fine antiques, do you?”
“Oh… I know what I like, kind of thing.”
“Wait there.”
Terry vanished behind a display cabinet… and then reappeared proffering a pair of small emerald earrings.
“I just got these in. Genuine vintage silver and emerald. I’ll be honest, I paid thirty-five – they’re worth ninety. They’re yours for sixty.”
Lucy wasn’t comfortable. She hadn’t come to buy anything.
“I’m not saying you have to pay for information,” said Terry, “but this business is built on maintaining relationships. You could call it a question of showing good faith.”
Lucy supposed they looked okay. Perhaps the sort of thing Sir George Howard might have bought for his wife.
She tried to channel the spirit of an antiques dealer.
“I’ll give you fifty.”
“Cheeky but fair. Fifty, it is. Cash or card?”
14. Eddie’s Photos
In the taxi back to her hotel in Hallbridge, Lucy wondered by what measure she would declare the silver chalice investigation a success.
What if she found the person who gave Eddie the fake silver cup? What did she propose to do about it? Libby had no paperwork, so the person in question would be perfectly able to declare their innocence based on them owing Eddie a few hundred pounds and offering him the fake cup by way of payment.
On that basis, would it be okay to report to Libby that her husband lied to her? That the cup had been fair recompense for whatever services Eddie had provided? How exactly would that help Libby?
On the other hand, what if the person who gave Eddie the cup had cheated him? What if Eddie had believed it to be the real deal? Would she call in the police? If that were the case, wouldn’t any half-decent detective decide that Eddie had deliberately sought to evade paying tax on what he thought was twenty thousand pounds of income? In terms of cherishing Eddie’s honesty and integrity, where would that leave Libby?
They turned off the main road onto a smaller road that led down to Hallbridge. Lucy stared at the hedgerow flashing by. Every so often, a gap would reveal something. A field. A barn. A horse.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…
A gullible fool or a cheating liar?
This was going nowhere. Her place was back on her sofa in Barnet, back at the reception desk in Hatfield, not here in the Sussex countryside asking silly questions to slippery strangers.
She took out her phone and checked the signal. One bar. Not bad for the countryside.
She made a call.
“Hello, Nick. It’s Lucy Holt. Have you got a moment?”
“Er… yes. I’m with a last-minute customer, but it’s okay. He’s contemplating.”
“Right, thanks. I’ve just seen Terry Norton and he’s going to call you if he learns the whereabouts of Francis Randolph.”
“Why’s he calling me?”
“I don’t think he trusts me.”
“Okay, but this isn’t convenient right now. I’m in the middle of a potential sale.”
“We could discuss it when you’ve finished,” said Lucy, trying to work out what time that might be.
“Are you suggesting we go for a drink or something?”
Am I? “It’s just that I’d like to get your thoughts.”
“It’s lovely of you to ask, Lucy, but I’m busy later. Could we put it off until tomorrow?”
“Yes, but…” I’m meant to be heading home in the morning.
“I’ll text you if I hear anything from Terry.”
“Okay. Thanks, Nick.”
Not for the first time in her life, Lucy ended a call feeling confused and foolish.
Perhaps wrapping things up with Libby would be the best thing. That way, she would be able to get away from Sussex without any fuss in the morning. With that in mind, she asked the driver to switch the destination.
*
As the taxi drove away, Lucy opened Libby’s front gate. The last of the day’s sunlight was somewhere behind the house, leaving the bright paintwork and yellow flowers of the clematis in shadow.
Over a cup of tea, Libby brought Lucy up to date with the national and international news plus the weather forecast before moving on to their main business.
“So… how are you getting on with you-know-what?”
“Right, yes – Eddie and the silver chalice…” Briefly wondering if that made it sound like a Harry Potter adventure, Lucy pressed on. “We’ve made some contacts, but we just have more questions without answers. Even Jane feels it’s becoming a waste of time.”
“Oh well. At least you tried.”
For some reason, possibly a desire to avoid looking completely useless, Lucy decided on a last roll of the dice. A spot of risk-taking wasn’t her usual approach, but these were unusual circumstances.
She would treat Eddie as a suspect.
“I don’t necessarily agree with Jane,” she said.
“How do you mean?”
Here we go…
“Did Eddie leave any private papers or documents?”
Libby eyed Lucy with a suspicion not dissimilar to that of Terry Norton.
“Yes, he left some things. Mainly for tax purposes. He was very honest like that. Even after death he wanted things to be in order.”
“Could we take a look?”
Libby looked far from happy but relented.
“I suppose so.”
She went off upstairs.
A few minutes later, she returned with a cardboard storage box, although she was dismissive about the contents.
“I can’t think this will help much. There’s nothing relating to the chalice.”
She sat in an armchair and sifted through, although it was clear she had already done this upstairs.
“Invoices… receipts for allowable expenses…”
She flicked through some photos.
“No…”
Eventually she reached the end and placed the box on the floor by her foot.
“Nothing?” enquired Lucy.
“Somebody gave Eddie a chalice worth twenty thousand. Except it wasn’t worth a fraction of that. There’s nothing in the box relating to it.”
“But it must have come from someone Eddie worked with.”
“Yes, but the contents of the box can’t tell us who. You were on the right track speaking to people who knew him. If that
’s come to an end…”
“It hasn’t come to an absolute end. There’s still a chance we might hear back from one or two people.”
“Who? Are they trustworthy?”
“Well… Francis and Terence are businessmen. They might come through for us. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Libby shrugged. “I suppose we shouldn’t give up.”
“How about some more tea?” Lucy asked. “I’m gasping.”
“Yes, of course.”
Libby went off to the kitchen. And Lucy stared at the box.
And went across to it.
And knelt beside it.
And put her hand inside to retrieve a tax letter… and then an invoice… and then a stack of a few dozen photos.
She hated looking through somebody else’s things, but it had to be done. In fact, there had been a Poirot on TV only the previous week where the detective faced exactly this dilemma. And he didn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds before they cut to the next scene.
The photos were all of Eddie with someone. Each had the details on the back.
Eddie with Detective Chief Inspector Toby Steele, 2010.
Eddie with Billy Brown at his new premises in Chichester, 2005.
Eddie with John Deane at his new pub in Bognor Regis, 2003
Eddie with Simon McCoy, Chairman of a regional transport company, 1999.
Eddie with Steven Coe at his car showroom in Brighton, 2004.
Eddie with Robert Hough, Justice of the Peace, at the County Show, 2009.
Eddie with Tony O’Neal at the Civic Awards in Brighton, 2012.
Eddie with Lady Theresa Blake in Winner’s Enclosure, Goodwood, 2002.
There were more, so Lucy grabbed her phone to take her own photos of each of them, front and back. She was on the last one when she heard Libby returning.
“I brought some chocolate fingers,” Libby said on entering the room.
Lucy, a picture of innocence back on the sofa, smiled.
Once Libby had put the tray down, she handed Lucy the box of documents.
“There are some photos in there – those he never got around to putting in an album. I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I’ll get you the album.”
Libby retrieved a volume from the bookcase and handed it over.
Inside were a few dozen more photos of Eddie with people dating from the 1970s to the late 90s.
*
That evening, Lucy had dinner alone at the hotel. It was a lovely meal. Sea bass and mashed potato with a few sprigs of tender-stem broccoli. And while she ate, she read the introduction to an antiques handbook she had downloaded onto her phone. The meal was only slightly spoiled by two fellow guests at the next table – a middle-aged man and young woman having extra-loud fun. Everything he said made his partner laugh like a delirious puppy. Lucy prayed they didn’t have the room above hers.
She wondered. Would this really be her last meal in Sussex for a while? Would she let all this drift into the background? Maybe a few comforting words to Libby would be enough. A brief explanation that Jane was right, and it was all too difficult. That too much time had passed. That it was a lost cause.
Or would she try to track down all the people in the photographs? The Mayor, the local MP, John Deane, Billy Brown, Simon McCoy, Steven Coe, senior cop Toby Steele, Robert Hough – Justice of the Peace, Tony O’Neal, Lady Theresa Blake and others.
She had already located the Mayor, the MP, Robert Hough, Lady Blake, John Deane, Bobby Fellows, Shaun McCray, Eileen Walters…
The Billy Brown photo intrigued her. It was taken in Chichester and showed a door number above Eddie’s head. She guessed she’d probably walked past it during her Sussex admin days.
Over a dessert of chocolate pudding with vanilla ice cream, she went through five more – without much luck.
Over coffee, she googled another three. That would give her something to work with. Two of them had offices in Lewes.
A couple of hours later, she was sitting on the edge of the bed in her room, contemplating the day. It seemed that too much had happened. Being with Nick. Being with Jane. Going to Brighton. Going to Chichester.
Why had she told Libby there was a slim chance? Why wasn’t she being honest with herself? Why was she in a hotel in Hallbridge?
She went to the window and stared up at the stars. The majesty of it all. The extremes of universal existence. The staggering sweep of the heavens and the mundane tribulations of humans.
What did she want right now?
What did anybody want right now?
Above, the sound of a bed creaking rhythmically interrupted her thoughts. The couple from dinner had the room above.
Lucy smiled as she opened the antiques handbook on her phone. At least she had the answer to that second question.
15. Now What?
It was half-eight on Saturday morning and Lucy was enjoying a fried breakfast and coffee at the hotel. She had slept well.
Midway through her second coffee, her phone rang.
It was Jane.
“What’s happening? Are you staying on?”
“For today, at least. I might quit the investigation, but I’d like to talk to Nick.”
“So, you two can’t stop communicating?”
“I mean I’d like to talk to Nick along with talking to you at some point. Are you free to meet up this morning?”
“No, sorry. How about lunch? We could go over the whole thing again. Maybe we’ve been looking at it the wrong way.”
“Okay, great. Text me where and when.”
“Will do.”
Lucy ended the call. Going over the whole thing again was a good idea. By the end of lunch, they would agree that the ‘whole thing’ had come to nothing.
Her phone rang again.
It was Nick.
“Hi, sleep well?”
“I did, thanks. And how are you?”
“I’m fine. Terry just got back to me. He says he can’t get hold of Frankie. Looks like a dead end.”
“Okay… but I think I’ve narrowed it down a bit. Eddie might have had a relevant connection, chalice-wise, to someone called Simon, John, Billy or Lady Theresa… or possibly a Detective Chief Inspector, the mayor, or the local Member of Parliament.”
“You mean you’ve narrowed it down to half the population of Sussex.”
“Yes, but how about running those names by Terry?”
“Good idea. I’ll leave that to you though.”
“Fair enough.”
“Let me know what he says.”
“Great, thanks. I will.”
After breakfast, back in her room, Lucy was on the phone to Terry.
“It’s a lot of names,” he said of the text she’d sent in advance of the call.
“Yes, but do any of them stand out for you?”
“You want to know which of them might have known Eddie?”
“No, they all knew Eddie in some way. I’m asking if any of them might have given Eddie a fake silver cup.”
“Ah right… yes… okay. Yes, I might be able to help you for fifty pounds.”
“I’ve already paid you fifty pounds.”
“That was a search fee – and I found Fast Frankie. This new fee is for information.”
“Right, so for fifty pounds, you’ll give me a name that might be the one I need?”
“No, Frankie will. Mr role is purely to set it up for you.”
“Right, so how do I give Frankie fifty pounds?”
“Via me. I’ve got a lovely 1920s wristwatch. It should go for eighty-five. I just happen to have it on offer for fifty.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Just go to my website and enter item code 002445. You can pay by card.”
“I’m already holding it.”
“Call me back when you’re done. And remember, one more transaction and you’ll qualify for my Loyalty Club discount. Five percent off all future purchases.”
For the first time in her life, Lucy g
rowled down the phone at a man.
She ended the call and went through the motions. She was soon the proud owner of a wristwatch that she’d pick up next time she was in the area.
Annoyed with Terry, but invigorated by the prospect of information, she phoned Libby to arrange coffee at half-ten. She couldn’t pass up a chance to ask her about some of the names she’d been mulling over. If Terry came back with the same names…
Having done that, she switched on the TV to watch an antiques show re-run. She sighed with satisfaction as she was introduced to an 1870 ormolu Rococo clock by Henry Lepaute. That was followed by a 1912 silver half hunter trench watch, a 1910 French Bergere armchair, a 1930 Clarice Cliff crocus pattern conical sugar shaker, and a pair of blue and gold Edwardian phoenix ware vases by Thomas Forester – all names she never knew and yet wanted to know. And every one of them came with a story. An uncle in the army, a short-lived marriage…
She had that in her family, of course. Antiques with stories.
*
A couple of hours later, over coffee at Libby’s, they were talking about the old days – specifically, Lucy’s deceased husband, James. Apparently, Libby had watched a Channel 4 documentary about the root causes of addiction and made some notes that might be useful for her niece.
Lucy bore it with the fortitude befitting a Howard, even a watered down one. James had been a gambler and a drinker. A lost cause. If Greg had taught her to fear intimacy through a fear of pregnancy and jail, then James taught her to despise it through his lack of interest spanning months followed by a sudden explosive need for immediate action. It was when Libby asked if James ever took cocaine that Lucy decided enough was enough.
“Getting back to antiques,” she said, “did you watch that show on TV this morning?”
“Er…?”
“There was an ormolu Rococo clock, a half hunter watch, a French armchair, a Clarice Cliff piece, some vases… some worth hundreds, some worth thousands. It's not always straightforward telling what’s what. A painting I thought might be worth thousands, turned out to be a copy worth fifty pounds. I still liked it though.”
“I still like my chalice. I’d just rather it was the real thing.”
