by Anne Baker
Chloe took a deep breath. His aggression was hurtful. ‘Mum sings your praises because she thinks you’ve done well for yourself. If she knew, she’d be horrified.’
‘She won’t know unless you tell her.’
‘Give it up now, Adam, before you’re caught.’
He refilled his wine glass, took a good swig and rolled it round his tongue. She knew from the look on his face that he had no intention of giving it up.
To think of what might happen in the future was terrifying, and to stay with him now would condone what he was doing. She shuddered. She ought to leave and take Lucy with her, but that was a huge step in the dark too. She was frightened to stay and frightened to leave.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ONCE IN A WHILE, Helen enjoyed getting dressed up and going into town to meet her cousin Joan for lunch. Today she’d arranged to meet her in the restaurant in George Henry Lees. She was a little early but found good reason to pause as she walked through the shop. It was her favourite, and she bought many of her clothes here. She was studying a black and white linen two-piece when Joan caught her up.
‘That would suit you,’ she told her.
Helen shook her head. ‘Too formal for me. I prefer something simpler. How are things?’
They’d been shown to a table when Joan said, ‘Not a lot is going on. Walter is still taking me around the antique shops looking for silver. We’ve had our insurance money for ages.’
‘You’re now looking for more to replace what you lost?’
‘We’ve been looking since it was stolen. We’ve bought a biscuit barrel and a bonbon dish, but we’d like a tea and coffee service and other things too. We haven’t seen anything to compare in quality to what we lost.’
Helen and Joan had discussed Chloe’s boyfriend at great length on previous occasions. Now Helen said, ‘Adam might be able to help you.’
‘Yes, he’s an antique dealer, isn’t he? Walter suggested I ask you about him.’
‘I don’t know whether he specialises in silver,’ Helen said slowly, ‘but he certainly knows a lot about clocks and furniture.’
‘Do you have his phone number? I could give him a ring.’
‘At home, yes. I’ll talk to Chloe and ask her to get Adam to ring you tonight.’
‘Thanks. No harm in finding out if he has anything that would please Walter.’
Adam was delighted when, in due course, he spoke to Walter and Joan. He said to Chloe, ‘Your uncle sounds like the perfect customer. He has money in hand to replace what he’s lost, and he’s looking for high-quality antique silver of every sort.’
‘He used to have a lot of silver teapots and bowls and things.’
‘He said he wants a full tea and coffee service but he’s looking for almost anything as long as it’s top of the market. I told him I had a nice stirrup cup in the shape of a fox’s head, but he wasn’t too sure about that.’ Adam laughed. ‘I told him I’d see what else I could find and that I’d be in touch with him in a week or so.’
Once Adam knew he had a client ready to buy, he let other dealers know what he was looking for. In an auction sale he picked up a nice claret jug of silver and cut glass made in 1860, and after visiting an antique fair and spending two weeks searching through various shops he came across a footed bowl by George Jensen. It had open-work leaves and ivory round the stem, setting off a plain bowl. Adam thought it an outstanding design, but it was hallmarked 1924 and not yet an antique. He bought it but had to pay more than he wanted to, because he could find little else that he thought might excite Chloe’s uncle.
He knew there was no shortage of tea and coffee pots and neither were matching sets rare, but though many were nice enough, he wouldn’t say they were top of the market. He widened his search and came across a George IV cake basket by John Edward Terry that he liked; he thought Walter would like it too.
Then he got chatting to an elderly man who’d been a dealer for decades and was known in many auction houses. Adam had dealt with him once or twice, and asked him if he knew where he could find good-quality silver.
‘I might,’ he said, and told him about a contact he had in Liverpool. ‘I’ve sold him a few things over the years; he’s a collector. He rang me the other day and said he wanted to sell some of his pieces.’
‘Good stuff?’
‘Very, he bought only the best, but I’m not sure I want them back. Getting a bit past it now and the market for silver’s going down, isn’t it?’
Adam was interested. ‘Nobody wants to clean it these days. Who is he?’
‘A man called Leo Hardman, a strange fellow. I reckon he’s in need of money.’
‘Strange in what way?’
‘Not the sort you’d expect to invest in antique silver, but he’s got a good eye for it.’
‘Do you think he might have what I’m looking for?’
‘Yes, and he might want more for it than it’s worth.’
‘Doesn’t everybody?’
‘He’s a canny fellow and he knows all there is to know about silver.’
‘He’s not in the trade?’
‘No, he said he works in a big hotel.’
Adam paused. ‘This stuff, it is all right? He’s not fencing or anything?’
The dealer pulled a face. ‘I’d say it was clean. He made sure he wasn’t buying anything dicey from me.’
‘Right, can you give me his phone number?’
He smiled. ‘For a small consideration, I’ll even ring him up and tell him I’m sending a buyer round to help him.’
‘OK – if he’s got what I want and I buy.’
It took Adam a day or two to set up an appointment to call on Leo Hardman. He seemed to be ringing a shared number in a public part of a building. When he finally managed to speak to him, Hardman said, ‘I work nights. I’d like you to come as early in the morning as you can, so I can get to bed.’
Adam got up very early on a wet Saturday morning to drive to Liverpool. He was surprised to find Leo Hardman’s flat in a crumbling Victorian house in a poor and shabby part of the city. He saw several bells, each with a curling scrap of paper beneath from which the writing had faded. He rang two of them and then found that the front door opened to his touch. As he went inside the building, he could hear a child crying and an enraged woman screaming at it. He cringed at the thought of having close neighbours like that.
Leo Hardman came rushing downstairs to meet him; Adam didn’t know what to make of him. He was small and thin and wore scruffy jeans with a faded red T-shirt; he was not at all the sort of man he’d expect to own fine silver. Adam was afraid he was wasting his time until he followed him into his bedsitter.
One glance at the silver laid out on the table blew his breath away. There was the tea and coffee service Walter Bristow had specially asked for.
‘It’s George III, by Samuel Wood. Every piece hallmarked London, 1763.’
Hardman’s voice had thickened with pride; Adam thought him a real enthusiast. He picked up the sugar bowl for a closer look. ‘It’s a good shape.’
‘It’s very attractive, and it’s complete with its matching tray, not one somebody’s tried to marry up.’
Adam knew Walter Bristow would love it. He picked over the other pieces.
‘A pair of gadrooned shell butter dishes on periwinkle feet. London, 1810,’ Hardman told him, ‘by Rebecca Eames and Edward Barnard.’ He held up a bonbon dish and told him where and when it was made and even the weight of silver it contained. He did the same with some vegetable dishes and followed that with a cigarette box. His hands lovingly cradled each piece.
A boat-shaped cake basket caught Adam’s eye; he leaned over to pick it up.
‘That’s a real gem,’ Hardman said. ‘By Paul Storr. London, 1802. And I have a honey pot by him too, yes, here it is, silver gilt, beehive shape, cover and stand. That’s 1798. You can’t get better than Paul Storr.’
Adam had to agree. He could hardly believe his eyes; he’d never seen so much fine s
ilver in one place: a rose bowl, a chocolate pot, a decorative table centre. He was looking at an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. His hand came to rest on a set of four wine coasters.
‘Those are by William Plummer,’ Hardman told him. ‘George III, 1777.’
It went on and on. A caudle cup hallmarked London, 1666. Silver salvers, sauce boats, and every piece sparkled and glittered under the one low-powered ceiling light.
Adam could see the man was passionate about quality silver. It seemed he could read the dates and other information in hallmarks. He had a bookcase stuffed with books on the subject and none about anything else. The room had originally been designed as the drawing room of the house and was light because it had a big window. If it were clean and tidy, it could have an air of faded gentility.
‘It must take you a long time to clean all this.’ He was trying to make up his mind on how to handle him.
‘I enjoy doing it, no point in having things like this unless they’re looking their best.’
Adam was asking himself if there would be too much here for Walter Bristow. He picked out a selection he thought would most appeal to him. Then came the question of what price he’d have to pay. Leo Hardman knew exactly what everything was worth and haggled over each item. But Adam was well used to this and felt equal to it. He carried a notebook for transactions and listed each article he was buying and what he paid for it. At last they came to an agreement and he brought up boxes and blankets from the boot of his car to carry his purchases. Hardman produced a plentiful supply of old newspaper for wrapping.
Adam had gone to his bank yesterday to withdraw cash, because he knew that was what all sellers to the trade preferred, but he hadn’t withdrawn enough. Hardman was willing to take a cheque for the small shortfall. He also helped him carry the silver down and lock it in the boot of his car.
He was feeling rather light-headed at the over-abundance of his purchase, but thought he could unload it on other clients should Walter Bristow not want it all. He drove until he saw a telephone kiosk, then he pulled in to the kerb and gave ten minutes’ thought to the figures on his list. He needed to work out the selling price he’d ask; once he’d done that, he wrote it in against the figures he’d paid.
He couldn’t help thinking about Leo Hardman. The man had sparkled with interest and enthusiasm for his silver, but he’d hardly said a word about himself, except to confirm that he worked in one of the main city hotels. But through the night? Adam felt he knew virtually nothing about him.
He got out of his car then and rang Walter Bristow’s number, asking if he could come round immediately to show him what he had. He felt buoyed up, excited even by the dazzling quality of what he’d managed to get, and counted himself lucky to find both Joan and Walter at home. As he opened up his boxes in a room they called their snug, he could feel their excitement building up until it eclipsed his own.
They exclaimed over every piece as it was revealed. Joan was absolutely thrilled with the George Jensen bowl he’d bought earlier. Soon the room was littered with screwed-up paper. They bought most of the silver and Adam couldn’t believe his luck. In one morning he’d managed to earn himself a generous profit.
Not only that, but the Bristows seemed grateful to him. He knew he’d delayed their lunch, because he could hear Walter’s stomach rumbling and it was after two o’clock.
‘I’m sure you must be hungry too,’ Joan said. ‘Would you like to join us? It’s only salad and cold beef. I think there’ll be enough for you too.’
Adam was starving and thought it an excellent meal. They were up on cloud nine with the silver he’d found for them.
‘It’s all lovely,’ Joan told him, ‘and I know Walter’s thrilled with it, but we used to have a pair of candlesticks sitting one each end of the sideboard here, and I would have liked to replace them.’
‘Surely this is enough, Joan?’ Walter smiled.
‘It’s more than enough and I’m delighted, but candlesticks . . .’
To amuse them, Adam told them a little about the man he’d bought most of the silver from, and of course they talked about Chloe. After the meal he asked if he might use their phone to ring her and tell her what time he’d be home. After all, he had something to celebrate. He asked her to book a babysitter so they could have a night out on the town.
On the way back to Manchester, Adam stopped off and sold what remained of the silver he’d bought from Leo Hardman. He felt he’d had an excellent day and was in an expansive mood when he got home. It was only when he was facing Chloe across the tray of afternoon tea that he started to tell her what they were about to celebrate.
He saw her face change. ‘You sold a lot of silver to Uncle Walter? I thought you were having difficulty finding pieces to please him?’
‘I was.’ He told her then about finding Leo Hardman, his hoard of silver, and what a strange character he was. ‘They were thrilled with every piece, over the moon in fact. They even invited me to have a bite to eat with them at lunchtime. It was a jolly meal, they were really pleased.’
‘You didn’t overcharge them?’
‘No, of course not. It was top-of-the-market stuff, they’re very lucky to get it.’
Chloe groaned. ‘If you want to celebrate, you must have made a killing. I’m not sure I like you doing deals with Uncle Walter.’
‘They’re celebrating too,’ Adam said coldly.
Leo Hardman felt depressed watching Adam drive away. He hated having to part with so many pieces of his beloved silver; it was like parting with old friends. He’d been feeling very low anyway.
It was another of those bad times when he was urgently in need of money and could see no other way of raising it. He had to take care of Bernie Dennison’s wife and baby while he was in prison. Bernie had asked it of him and he owed him that. Whatever anybody said, there was honour amongst thieves.
The police had caught Bernie and charged him with robbing a jewellery shop in Dale Street. Leo had been with him, and it had given him nightmares to imagine the arms of the law tightening round him. Bernie had slipped up and left evidence behind, and though they knew he must have had an accomplice, he’d denied it and kept on denying it. He’d said he was working on his own and Leo’s name had never passed his lips. Bernie prided himself on being strong enough to withstand police questioning, and he’d kept mum. But Leo had sweated and worried for weeks that they’d break him down, and the fact that they had not left him eternally grateful.
Bernie had known Leo had been clean for two years and to be charged with another robbery now would be a disaster for him. So Leo had to pay his dues and look after Bernie’s wife; it was the only way he could thank him.
Leo reckoned that bad luck and lack of money had dogged him all his life. He’d still been at school when he first felt the need to earn money. A mile or so away from his home was a pub called the Cheshire Cat and he’d heard they were seeking bar workers for Friday and Saturday nights. He’d had to lie about his age when he presented himself to the publican, as he was only fifteen at the time. He’d expected to be asked to provide proof, so he’d borrowed his brother’s birth certificate without his knowing and took it with him.
His brother Jeffrey was nearly four years older than him and he’d got away with it. He’d answered to the name of Jeff for nearly nine months. The job suited him perfectly; he enjoyed it and found the pub a jolly place. His fear of being found out had long since gone when a friend of his brother, already well tanked up, came in for a drink. The publican overheard him calling Leo by his real name. He’d had plenty of time to work out a logical explanation and told his boss that it was his mother’s pet name for him, because he was a lion-hearted lad. But Jeff’s friend filled him in with the true facts and his boss didn’t believe him.
Leo had left school without qualifications and had taken jobs that kept him at the bottom of the feeding chain. He’d never earned much. He’d been a van driver, where he’d augmented his wages by fiddling free petrol for his father�
��s car until he’d been found out. They’d put him on probation for that.
He’d had a job in a shoe shop then but had been caught stealing shoes from his employer and selling them more cheaply on a market stall. That earned him three months in a youth detention centre, which he hated.
But he came out and managed to get taken on as a clerk by an insurance company, where he mostly did book-keeping. He felt he’d taken a step up in the world because he worked in an office. He kept that job for a couple of years, and he was even managing to divert a little of their cash for himself, but it ended in dismissal and three months in jug.
A social worker working with discharged prisoners helped him get training as a bus driver. He kept that job for several years, even after he’d managed to work out how to keep for himself some of the cash the public paid for their tickets. Eventually, though, that earned him another six months in prison, and it was bad enough to make him determined not to end up there again. Prison had provided some benefits: there were classes designed to equip him to hold down a job when he was released. He took English language, with particular emphasis on writing it, and also book-keeping. He learned even more from his fellow inmates.
By using his brother’s clean identity again, he managed to get a job as night desk attendant in the Exchange Hotel, a Victorian railway hotel of luxury standard in the centre of Liverpool. He had very little to do except talk to the night security guard. Occasionally late guests arrived and he acted as receptionist, then showed them to their booked room and acted as porter. He was also responsible for room service and took up sandwiches and other cold food. Quite a few guests came in late and he handed out their room keys, but his duties didn’t keep him busy.
He had many night hours to roam through the main office, but the desks and file cabinets were locked. He examined the hotel register at length and discovered that some guests gave details of their credit or debit cards so eventually the hotel could draw the cost of their stay directly through those. He studied them minutely, hoping to discover some way he could draw a little too.
