My voice, shamingly, was all choked up. “When will you be back, Ben?”
“A week, ten days at the outside—I hope. But with a deal like this, it’s impossible to say. My grandfather lived in India for several years, and this is one of the princely families he got to know. Their entire collection is coming onto the market, and Wyland’s are to have the selling of it.”
“So I’ll just have to expect you when I see you?”
“I’ll be in touch, darling. I’ll ring you.”
“From India?”
“Why not? And about that sale we were going to tomorrow... I got hold of a catalogue and I’ve run through it marking a few items I think might interest you, with an upper price limit. Whatever happens, don’t be caught by auction fever into bidding higher.”
I was touched that he’d remembered the auction at all, and I took the booklet from him and tucked it away in a drawer as an excuse to hide my face. I felt wretchedly miserable and weepy, which was stupid. A week ... ten days at the most, he’d said. Why did it seem such a bleak eternity?
I felt Ben’s hands on my shoulders, and he turned me towards him.
“When I get back, darling, we’ll really straighten out this business of the Sèvres porcelain, and how your uncle came to be mixed up in it.”
I nodded. “In the meantime I can go on my own to see Maggie Ayling, and try and find out a bit more from her.”
“No, Tess, leave it. Just leave well enough alone. There’s something very peculiar, very nasty, going on round here, and if you start probing you could land yourself in real trouble.” He sighed. “I wish to God we had some concrete evidence, then we could hand the whole thing over to the police. But as things are, it’s all so nebulous we’d never get them to take us seriously.”
“So I’m to sit tight and do nothing while you’re away?”
“Right. But if anything develops, Tess, or if you’re in the least worried, get in touch with my father at once. I’ve not gone into details with him, there just hasn’t been time. But he understands enough to act fast if you ask him for any sort of help while I’m away. You can count on the old man. He always had a soft spot for you, as you know.”
My throat was too tight to speak as I looked at Ben. We clung together, and I was achingly aware of time running out for us.
“It’s hell, leaving you like this.” He kissed me again... my cheeks, my brow, my eyelids, the curve of my throat. Then he released me, held me a moment longer at arm’s length, his eyes sombre. “I’m sorry, darling.”
“I’ll be okay, Ben.”
I listened to him running down the steep, narrow stairs, listened to the shop door bang shut behind him. I went to the window and peered down, angling my head so I could catch a glimpse of him striding away along Meeting House Lane, the early sun sparking glints of copper in his peat-brown hair.
Vera Catchpole came plodding upstairs and stood huffing in the doorway. “Are are you all right, dearie?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Vera.”
“I thought ... well, the way that young chap rushed out, you must’ve had a quarrel or something.”
I managed a sketch of a smile. “No, no quarrel, Vera. He was in a tearing hurry, that’s all.”
Monday morning proved to be a quiet time. By noon, though I’d had a few holidaymakers in to look around, I’d only made one sale, and that just a small brass lizard. When I caught sight of a well-dressed man studying the window display, I found myself willing him to come in. He did, and to my astonishment it was Charles Ratcliffe.
“Mr. Ratcliffe ... good morning. There’s nothing wrong with Pearl, is there?”
The pale eyes flickered as he raised his straw trilby hat. “Why do you ask that, Miss Pennicott?”
“Well, you coming here ... I thought...”
Charles Ratcliffe registered faint amusement. “May I not drop in to see you while I happen to be passing?”
Not true, I thought. You’ve come here very deliberately, and I’d like to know why. I had a suspicion that he wasn’t as poised and sure of himself as he wanted to appear.
“Pearl and I were so sorry that you and your friend felt unable to stay and dine with us on Saturday,” he said smoothly. “How did you like the bistro, by the way? Was the food up to expectations?”
“Oh... yes thanks. Very good indeed.” I was staggered by such cool cheek. Nothing had been further from the Ratcliffes’ minds than wanting us to stay and eat with them ... which was hardly surprising, considering the way we’d gate-crashed into their home.
“I am glad to hear it.” He tugged absently at his beard, and glanced around at the display shelves with eyes that saw nothing. “It occurred to me that you might care to join me for luncheon. And if so, the bistro is conveniently near.”
I stammered, “But I don’t close for lunch.”
His chilly features eased into a coaxing smile. “Oh come now, my dear ... I know from Pearl that shop hours were never taken very seriously in your uncle’s time. And you’re not likely to miss any dramatically good sales on a Monday, surely?”
“I suppose not, but...”
“Do say yes. It would give me great pleasure. I took the liberty of dropping in on my way here to reserve a table.”
By now it had dawned on me that, whatever Charles Ratcliffe’s motives might be, I ought to seize the chance to get to know him better. I might discover something further about Pearl that would be useful when Ben got back. So I said, “Thanks, then, Mr. Ratcliffe. It’s so kind of you to ask me.”
“I wish you would call me Charles. And may I use your first name? Pearl always refers to you as Tess, and it seems rather formal for me to do otherwise. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course, please do.”
“Splendid. Now let me suggest you meet me at the bistro in, say, half an hour.”
In the interim, Peter phoned and issued me with a second invitation to lunch.
“I can’t, Peter. I’ve got a date already.”
“Who with?”
“Oh ... somebody.”
“I think I can guess who ‘somebody’ is.”
Surely I’d not mentioned Ben to Peter? Could he have seen us around together, I wondered. Or had someone told him about us?
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “it’s Charles Ratcliffe ... Pearl’s husband.”
“Oh.” He sounded mollified, but slightly puzzled. “Why him?”
“Why not? He just happened to be passing, and dropped in.”
“Really?” Disbelief was grainy in his voice. “I’ve got to see you fairly soon, Tess. I’ll be needing your signature on some papers. How about this evening?”
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
“You mean you’ve got a date for this evening, too?”
“No. I... I’m pretty tired. Can’t I drop in at your office to sign the papers?”
I heard him sigh. “You’re the client. I’ll come back to you when they’re ready.”
I changed from my slacks into a sleeveless white dress. But as I locked the shop door and walked round the corner to the bistro, I felt heavyhearted. Had I been wise to accept this invitation?
Charles rose and came to greet me at the door, escorting me to the corner table he’d chosen. There was no sign of Gervaise, and I dared to hope that he’d remain in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure how he’d interpret my lunching with Pearl’s husband, and I didn’t feel up to coping.
Charles smiled his thin smile at me across the table. “Well now, Tess, this is nice. An aperitif?”
“Just tomato juice, please, Charles. I must keep my head clear for work this afternoon.”
“Sensible girl.” He gave his order to the waitress and went on, “How are things going at Pennicott’s Emporium? Pearl tells me you are managing very well, considering.”
That he’d heard any kind remarks about me from Pearl, however qualified, I took leave to doubt.
“Considering what?” I threw back, then wished I hadn’t, because it sounded pert
and flirty.
“I meant,” he said, “considering your total inexperience. You’ll soon begin to get the hang of things, I’m sure of that. But I think it was very wise of you to persuade Pearl to stay on. She picked up a good deal during the three years she worked for your uncle, and you’ll find her guidance invaluable.”
So that was the story Pearl had given him ... that I had persuaded her to continue working at the shop, not that it was her own suggestion. But I wasn’t going to put Charles wise about that, not at the moment, anyway. For all I disliked Pearl, I couldn’t help pity any woman married to such a cold, unresponsive man.
Not that he was being particularly unresponsive just at the moment. The drinks had come and he raised his gin and tonic with a touch of the gallants.
“To you, my dear Tess. May success attend your efforts.”
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Pearl tells me ...” His glass was set down with exactitude on its appointed spot. “... that you are quite adamant about staying on in Brighton and running Pennicott’s Emporium.”
“That’s right.”
“Despite the fact that you could probably sell the business at a handsome profit?”
“I suppose Pearl told you I’ve had an offer for it already?” I couldn’t avoid the resentment in my voice.
“She did mention something.”
It struck me from out of the blue that perhaps Charles Ratcliffe himself was the mysterious bidder. I couldn’t consider all the implications of this at the moment, but I tucked it away for later thought, and to discuss with Ben. The waitress was hovering for our order. Uninterested in food just now, I barely glanced at the long menu, and asked for a salade niçoise and an omelette aux fines herbes.
Gervaise appeared from the kitchen, swathed in white from head to toe. Spotting me, his smile broadened and he came forward weaving between the tables; but he hesitated when he saw Charles Ratcliffe, frowning in a perplexed way.
“Is that the patron?” Charles asked. “The man who was such a close friend of your uncle’s?”
“That’s right.” I beckoned Gervaise to come on over, and introduced the two men.
“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Ratcliffe.” But Gervaise’s face, although he inclined his head politely, lacked any sign of pleasure. When he looked back at me his eyes asked a question that I answered obliquely.
“Mr. Ratcliffe happened to be in this part of Brighton, so he dropped in and invited me out for lunch. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Vraiment! Now you must forgive me, I beg you, if I hurry away. There is much requiring my attention.”
As Gervaise departed to his kitchen, Charles remarked, “A somewhat surly type, isn’t he?”
“Not really. Just busy.”
“He had known your uncle for many years, I believe? How did they come to meet?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. It goes right back to the war, I think.”
“As long as that?”
Our starters had arrived, and I began on my salad. Charles held his spoon poised above the prawn cocktail in its tall goblet, and suddenly I knew that we had reached the nitty-gritty. But whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this.
“I take it you are aware,” he said, “that Luke Webster has disappeared?”
I couldn’t prevent my fork from rattling against the plate. “Why ... why do you say that?”
“When I made enquiries this morning, I was informed that someone else had been asking about him, both at the wine stores and at his lodgings. From the description I was given, I feel confident it was your friend Ben Wyland. Am I right?”
My flushing face answered for me.
Charles went on, “Why are you so interested in the man Webster?”
“Why are you?”
He shrugged away any obligation to give reasons. “Do you have any idea why he made such a hurried departure?”
Was he fishing for information, I wondered, or merely attempting to discover how much I might know? I’d have sworn, on Saturday, that the name Luke Webster meant nothing to him. But what might Pearl have admitted in the meantime? I wished now that I’d not let myself be trapped into this lunch.
“What makes you think I know anything special concerning him?” I parried feebly.
For a moment Charles Ratcliffe regarded me with cold severity. Then he seemed to remember that he’d be well advised to use gentler methods.
“Come, my dear ... do you expect me to believe that your boyfriend hasn’t told you whatever he himself has discovered?”
Cornered, I said lamely, “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not discuss this any more. Can’t we talk about something else?”
He kept right on as if I hadn’t spoken, “I phoned Wyland and Partners before coming to see you, and I was informed that Ben had been called out of the country on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“To do with Luke Webster?”
“Of course not.” I snapped. “Now for heaven’s sake, let’s drop the subject.”
I think he was still debating whether to go on prodding away at me, but in the end he decided he’d get nowhere. So for the rest of the meal we made conversation about other things, my life in Singapore and Canada, the foreign places Charles had visited. Gervaise didn’t appear in the restaurant again while we were there.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben phoned me early on Tuesday morning. His voice across five thousand miles sounded clear and distinct, but achingly remote.
“I hope I didn’t get you out of bed this time, darling?”
“No, I’m just opening the shop,”
“Everything okay, Tess?”
“Yes, everything’s okay. What do you think though, Charles Ratcliffe called round yesterday and invited me out to lunch.”
“Good God! What was that in aid of?”
“He asked a lot of questions about Luke Webster. He’d been round to Regency Wines and Luke’s lodgings, and discovered that you’d been there before him. I believe he’s got vague suspicions about Luke and Pearl.”
Ben sounded amused. “He must think she’s quite a cradle-snatcher.”
“Maybe when a husband is so much older than his wife, he gets ideas like that about every other male she encounters.”
“D’you reckon that’s all the lunch amounted to, checking up on Pearl? Or is he up to something more sinister?”
“I couldn’t decide. Either way, I didn’t tell him anything.”
“So you’ll just have to watch and wait for the time being. I’m getting things organised out here, and I doubt if I’ll need to stay more than, a week. So it won’t be long, darling.”
A week seemed an unbearably long time to me, a succession of dragging days. But I tried to inject a bright note of confidence into my voice. “Don’t worry about me, Ben. I’ll be all right.”
He said he’d phone again in two or three days and we rang off. Soon afterwards Pearl arrived. But a different Pearl. Vanished was her cool poise, her calm assumption of authority in my shop. She looked subdued, slightly on the defensive even, and I guessed she’d been through a difficult time with Charles.
Did she know, I wondered, that her husband had taken me out to lunch? I doubted that, I doubted it very much. Should I say anything? I decided not. At least, not for the moment.
“I’m going to the sale at West Oakhurst,” I announced. “So you’ll be on your own today.”
The thought obviously didn’t disturb her. In fact, she rallied and became distinctly more Pearlish.
“For heaven’s sake, watch what you’re about, then. It’s time we had some new stock, but there’s no point buying a load of unsaleable rubbish.”
I smiled serenely and assured her that I’d be careful. I wasn’t going to admit to Pearl that I was armed with a catalogue marked for me by Ben.
It was a nuisance not having my own transport. The journey to West Oakhurst was tedious and time-consuming, entailing two changes of bus with long waits in betwe
en. Uncle Maynard always maintained that for anyone living in the Lanes a car was a liability with nowhere to park it, but I suspected there was more to it than that—maybe his diabetes made him nervous about being on the road. By the time I eventually arrived at West Oakhurst I had decided that getting a car was an early priority.
The house, set in extensive grounds on the edge of the village, was rambling Victorian Gothic, all turrets and towers and eccentric afterthoughts. Because of those wretched buses the sale had already commenced in the drawing room, but fortunately I wasn’t interested in any of the early lots. I persuaded a susceptible porter to let me nose around the other rooms and have a look at the items I was going to bid for. I was more than ever grateful for Ben’s list. Without it I’d have been utterly bewildered.
A break was called for lunch, and people streamed out of the saleroom heading for their cars and, I presumed, one or other of the local pubs. A few, like me, had brought food. I wandered down an urn-flanked flight of steps to the inviting stretch of lawn, and settled down to eat my crispbread and cheese with an apple. I fell into conversation with a pleasant elderly couple who told me they made a habit of coming to sales in the neighbourhood, though they rarely bought anything. They insisted on me sharing their bottle of homemade sloe wine, which was surprisingly good—and very potent. When they went off to explore the grounds I lay back and closed my eyes, enjoying the sun on my face, the heady scents of the summer garden, and listening lazily to the bees droning in endless activity among the clumps of pinks.
“All alone?”
The cultured voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place its owner until I opened my eyes and held up a hand against the sun. Smiling down at me was the man who had come to our table the first time Ben had taken me out. Sir something-or-other, a double-barrelled name, but it wouldn’t come back to me.
He saw my difficulty, and chuckled. “Denzil Boyd-Ashby, my dear.”
“Oh yes, I’m sorry. Hallo, Sir Denzil.”
His gesture was deprecating. “Forget the handle, please. Why don’t you call me Denzil, Tess? You see, I remember your name. But what man wouldn’t?”
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