by Mark Daydy
Lucy’s phone rang.
It was Terry.
“Our friend has been in touch. He knows a few names on your list who might be useful leads.”
“Which ones?”
“It’ll cost you a hundred.”
Lucy gasped. “A hundred??”
“Less your Loyalty Club discount.”
Lucy smiled at her aunt who looked a little taken aback by the outburst.
“I can’t afford to keep giving you money…” But Lucy stopped and headed out of the room.
In the kitchen, she resumed.
“I’ve already paid you for the information – twice.”
“No, that was a search fee and an enablement fee. This is Frankie’s information fee.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“Sorry, it’s not a free service.”
“Fifty. That’s my maximum.”
“I’ll have to consult with Frankie.”
“Just give me what I need!”
Libby appeared in the doorway.
“Right,” said Terry, “I’m sure fifty’s enough.”
Lucy reassured Libby that everything was okay while she accessed Terry’s website to purchase a rare French pendant necklace for fifty pounds. Despite feeling a little flustered, she remembered to tick the box to get her two-pounds-fifty Loyalty Club discount.
Lucy returned Libby to the lounge and, with the promise of making more coffee, went back to the kitchen to call Terry.
He was quick with the information.
“Frankie says he recalls Brian Rigby, Nobby Reece, Charlie Scott, Billy Brown, and Simon McCoy all being on the scene.”
“I’ll check them out,” she said, making a note. “Thank you.”
“Do call again.”
“Not flipping likely.”
While she made coffee, Lucy googled Simon McCoy Transport. He was still in business and looked legitimate. Not that she was any expert on criminal profiling.
She tried Brian Rigby, Nobby Reece, and Charlie Scott, googling them without any luck. Lastly, she tried Billy Brown but there were too many search results.
Although…
She checked the photo.
Eddie with Billy Brown at his new premises in Chichester, 2005.
She knew from experience that, for a city, Chichester wasn’t such a big place. She had a few ideas of where this might be.
Having made the coffee, she rejoined Libby in the lounge. Then, using the street view function on her phone, she added the door number above Eddie’s head to the first street she had in mind.
It didn’t match the photo.
She tried another likely location and added the number.
Again, it failed to match up with the photo.
Unperturbed, she kept going.
It took a while, but thirty streets later…
There!
The question now was what would she do? Going back to Chichester might prove useful. If nothing else, she could pick up her wristwatch and necklace from Terry. And maybe threaten him with legal action.
She looked across at Libby, who was lost in a magazine.
Lucy wondered about Billy Brown in a photo with Eddie… and Fast Frankie naming him as being on the scene.
Coincidence?
Probably.
Even so, she decided to try her luck.
“Oh, I meant to say – Nick has a possible lead. It’s nothing, I’m sure, but I wonder if the name Billy Brown means anything to you?”
A look of discomfort flashed across Libby’s face.
“No, sorry.”
Lucy wanted to hug her, but she couldn’t.
“Are you sure? I’m thinking you might have heard the name.”
Libby was about as good as Lucy at telling lies.
“Possibly. Perhaps it does ring a bell.”
Right now, Lucy wasn’t enjoying being a detective. Real or imaginary. Certainly, she had never seen Poirot interrogate his auntie.
“If Billy Brown doesn’t work out, we could be at the end of the investigation.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then… that’s the case.”
“What about other names? Brian Rigby, Nobby Reece, Charlie Scott…”
“What can I say? Eddie dealt with all-comers. He had a whole crowd of contacts, but I never got to know them. He wasn’t one of those men who brought people over for dinner. He kept a strict divide between business and family. He was very considerate like that. He was a good man. Good stock. Good standing. The family were pleased when I agreed to marry him.”
Lucy puffed out her cheeks.
“Your true love, Libby. They say it never dies.”
She considered Greg, James, and Leo… and wondered why she had never experienced a love that never dies.
Then, while Libby opted to pop to the loo, Lucy phoned her local antiques dealer.
“Hi, Nick. I’ve got four names that might be worth pursuing. But one of them… Billy Brown… I don’t know… there’s an address in Chichester. No phone number though.”
“As I said before, never phone if you want information. It’s far better to see the whites of their eyes. You’ll spot a lie straight away.”
Would I? Even so, Lucy felt her confidence soar.
“It would be great to meet up to discuss all this,” she said.
“I’m busy this morning. And I have a lunch date.”
“Me too.”
“How about this afternoon at the shop? Two-thirty?”
“Okay. Great.”
Lucy ended the call thinking that lunch with Jane wouldn’t necessarily be the end of the ‘whole thing’ after all. Maybe this Billy Brown character would bring the ‘whole thing’ back to life.
16. Lunch With Jane… and Nick
Lucy and Jane were seated by the bay window in the Camley Kitchen for a second consecutive lunch, this time enjoying large Greek salads with garlic bread and iced water. The Abba soundtrack had been replaced with Latin jazz.
“Shame it’s not prosecco,” said Jane, examining her drink. “Oh, I might have said that before.”
“I’d like to stay sober,” said Lucy. “I’m seeing Nick later about a man called Billy Brown. He might have dealt with Eddie.”
“Interesting.”
“I’m not holding out much hope. I’ve spent the last hour checking out a Brian, a Nobby, a Charlie, and a Simon – and they all seem to be above board. I’m sure this Billy is too, but it’s worth a try.”
They spent the next few minutes going over everything they knew, but without reaching any fresh conclusions.
“Oh well,” said Lucy. “If this Billy doesn’t work out, we’ll be able to look Libby in the eye and say we tried everything. It’s just as well – I have to be back at work on Monday.”
“Let’s not talk of work,” Jane suggested.
“Agreed.” It was easy to concur that work was a dull subject for a convivial lunch appointment. Although… “Nick’s fortunate. It must be nice to own an antiques shop.”
“True,” said Jane, “although I’m sure it’s occasionally spoilt by an awkward customer. You ever worked in a shop?”
“No. Have you?”
“I did quite a bit when I was young.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in that line of work.”
“Lucy, I was trying to set up my first business. Don’t you remember?”
“I thought that was selling fake branded clothes from a stall in Brighton.”
“Yes, and how do you think I raised the money to set that up? I was seventeen and penniless. It wasn’t like my parents would help.”
Lucy had forgotten. No, not forgotten, erased. While she was reeling from life’s great unfairness, Jane got busy setting up a business. Then, in later life, Lucy passed off Jane’s success as luck. She took a moment. Jane had done nothing wrong. Every minute with her now was a chance to repair the damage.
“So, what kind of shops did you work in?” she asked.
“Most kind
s. I did seven years, mainly evenings and weekends, until I could go full-time with my third business.”
“Seven years? I had no idea.”
“I wanted to run my own little empire and I was prepared to do anything to get the money. Well, not anything…”
“Go on then. Where did you work?”
“Everywhere and anywhere. A toy store, a video store, a hotel, a pub, a do-it-yourself store…”
“A toy store must have been fun.”
“It was. I made some great friends there. The customers though – yeah, mainly great, but not always. You’d get cranks.”
“Really?”
“One woman sprayed red paint over a display of Paddington Bears, saying it was capitalism gone too far.”
“No…”
“Yep.”
“That’s…” But Lucy’s thoughts froze. Nick was coming in with a teenage girl, possibly seventeen, eighteen.
“Small world,” he said. “This is my daughter, Rebecca.”
Lucy was delighted. “This is Jane, my cousin,” she said, getting to her feet to shake hands.
Having exchanged hellos, Nick and Rebecca took their places at a table on the other side of the restaurant.
“I wonder if he’s got a four-poster bed?” said Jane.
“I doubt it,” said Lucy.
“He’s an antiques dealer, so, yes, it would be a spot of Regency action in his four-poster bed. Very Rubenesque.”
“He might be married.”
“He doesn’t look married.”
“That’s just…” but Lucy’s words of mild annoyance turned into a sigh at Jane’s gung-ho attitude – an attitude that was all too familiar from their teenage years.
Jane grinned at her.
“Don’t look so panicky. In another life, maybe. Hey, admit you’re tempted by the Regency thing.”
“I occasionally consider potential partners, obviously, but I don’t fantasize about them.”
“You consider them?”
“Yes, I’m open to the idea of meeting a suitable partner.”
“You make it sound like a job vacancy.”
“Could we change the subject?”
“Seeing him with his daughter… it makes me miss having lunch with Ellie.”
“I know what you mean. I’m looking forward to doing something with Victoria.”
“How about we bask in a little reflected daughter love,” said Jane.
“Pardon?”
“Let’s ask Nick and Rebecca how their day is going.”
Lucy bristled. “I’d rather we didn’t.”
“Surely, that’s letting the entire reception desk fraternity down.”
“I’m seeing Nick later.”
“If we all sit together, you could see him now.”
Lucy was dead against it, but Jane was already making her way across the restaurant. That posed the question of which table would they go for.
She needn’t have worried – they were soon heading back her way.
Eventually, with the help of a waiter, they were all seated together at the table by the bay window.
“Cheers!” said Lucy, unsure of what else to say.
They all raised their glasses of water.
“Shame it’s not prosecco,” said Rebecca.
Rebecca, it transpired, was about to start her final year at school. She was doing History and English Lit with a view to taking one of them at university the following year. She also lived with her dad in the two-bedroom flat above the shop.
“He loves having me around,” she teased.
“It’s true,” said Nick. “There’s just me, Rebecca and the ghost who drinks my beer.”
Lucy loved the easy way they interacted.
“Is it too early to know what you’ll do after uni?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah… I guess,” said Rebecca. “I’ll probably help Dad until I decide.”
“That sounds fun. As long as you don’t get cranks. Jane was telling me about some the customers she got in shop work.”
Lucy turned to her cousin.
Jane, caught off-guard, gathered herself in an instant.
“Anyone who’s worked in a shop long enough will have similar stories. People bringing broken stuff back and trying to get a refund – that kind of thing. Some of them made us staff laugh though. Like the time I worked in a video store when I was eighteen. This guy came in with a fake American accent and claimed to be from the Hollywood Film Federation. He said he needed to take a few videos away to make sure they were genuine and not pirate copies.”
Rebecca gasped. “What did you say to him?”
“I said he couldn’t be from the Hollywood Film Federation as their representative had been in the day before and taken fifty of our most popular movies with him.”
Lucy had always admired Jane’s ability to think on her feet.
But Jane wasn’t done. “One time, when I was working in a hotel, this guy staggered in claiming to be in Rod Stewart’s band. He said they’d just finished playing a charity show and he needed a free room so he wouldn’t have to dip into the charity money. I said judging by the booze on his breath, he’d already spent it.”
“What did he say?” said a wide-eyed Rebecca.
“Nothing. He just turned around, threw up by the main entrance and fell down the front steps. I didn’t suppose Rod Stewart would come and get him, so I asked if he needed an ambulance.”
“Did he?”
“No, he just got up and staggered away singing Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, which is, of course, Elton John.”
Rebecca shuddered a little. “I’ve never had to deal with drunks.”
James flashed through Lucy’s thoughts.
“I’ve had plenty of experience of drunks,” said Nick. “I worked in my parents’ pub when I was young.”
“Really?” said Lucy.
“I worked in a pub too,” said Jane. “At the end of my very first evening, a guy came in and called me a bitch. Then he asked if my name was Stephanie.”
“Wow,” said Rebecca.
“I expect pubs often bring trouble,” said Lucy.
“Drink causes boring trouble,” said Nick.
Lucy sympathized. “It can’t be easy when people are off their heads.”
“It’s not always in a pub,” said Jane. “I was working in a Do-It-All store and this wreck of a guy opened a can of yellow gloss paint. He started to sniff the fumes while he listened to super-loud trance music on his headphones. I tried to get him to leave, but he spilled the paint all down his front and over me. We looked like victims of the vomit monster.”
“I’d have imagined DIY stores to be pretty safe,” said Lucy.
“They are, but where there are customers, there is always the danger of meeting an idiot – like the guy who said he hoped my family died because I wouldn’t accept his out-of-date discount voucher.”
“Wowser,” said Rebecca.
“You know I work at a theological college?” Lucy aired.
“Yes,” said Nick.
“No?” said Rebecca.
“Well, we don’t get any of that.”
“So…” said Nick, “have you set up any good refreshment packages lately?”
“I’m assuming you’re teasing.”
“Not at all. In fact, you never really gave me the full details.”
“It’s as I explained. We offer time away from regular daily life.”
“Where’s that?” asked Rebecca.
“At our lovely old college in Hertfordshire.”
“It sounds great,” said Rebecca.
“Well, it’s suited to a spiritual outlook, but how you use the time is entirely up to you. Some people meditate and reflect. Some write or do research. Others join in with the college community, attend lectures or work with a tutor.”
“Have you ever been on one?” asked Jane.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I help organize them.”
“Yes,
but if they’re so good, why haven’t you been on one yourself?”
Lucy was a little put out. “I don’t require refreshment.”
“Right…”
Thanks to Nick, the conversation quickly moved on with a lengthy chat about relaxing retreats each of them had enjoyed, and then onto every other topic while they ate.
“I have to dash,” said Jane, not long after they’d finished eating. She turned to Lucy. “Can I leave you something for my half?”
“It’s my turn,” said Lucy. “You paid yesterday.” But, before she could ask what had sparked a hurried getaway, Rebecca rose too.
“I’ve had something come up too, Dad. Sorry.”
“Oh…” said Nick. “I see.”
They exchanged farewells, with Lucy promising Jane she’d let her know if she was staying on or not.
“So,” said Nick, once Jane and Rebecca had conspiratorially giggled their way out of the restaurant together, “about your Victorian rocking horse.”
“Ned… okay. We used to go after the bad guys. Or at least, I pretended we did.”
Nick smiled warmly. “Tell me more.”
So, she did – about her rides on Ned that led to wild adventures and heart-stopping danger before bedtime.
Nick seemed to love it, although he was a pragmatist too.
“I assume he’s made of oak?” he asked.
“Yes, oak, and he has a horsehair mane and tail… and he’s painted white. He belongs to my aunt – the one with the chalice.”
“I see. They were quite elaborate toys in their day.”
“They’re more than toys. They’re interactive. Only we didn’t call it that back then.”
“No indeed. The stories they could tell…”
“Nick, you said there were some leading horse-makers.”
“Yes… Lines, Collinson, Ayres…”
“And a restored Victorian horse could set me back five thousand?”
“Are you in the market for one?”
“No, I just don’t like the idea of Ned being sold to a stranger. To me, he’s part of the family.”
“That’s lovely to hear – although most of the Victorian ones have been passed down through the generations and will have lost all links with the people who first loved them. Do you know anything about Ned’s original owner?”
“No.”
“Ah well. Good provenance can add a lot to the value. Still, with a little care and attention they’re good investments.”
