by Anne Baker
The auctioneer was looking in Leo’s direction expecting him to raise his bid, but he daren’t. He shrank back and started to edge his way out of the hall. He must not be seen here by the boss; not when he’d asked for time off to go to the dentist. He was halfway down the front steps before he remembered his successful bid for the candlesticks. He paused. He ought to pay for them before he went; he didn’t want to be blackballed by this auction house. It was the best in Liverpool for silver.
He shot up the stairs to the office, taking them two at a time. It was probably safer to pay now than it would be later, when a queue could build up. There was nobody here but the cashier. He’d brought cash; they preferred that and it was much the best for him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take the candlesticks from the hall until after the auction had finished. He said, ‘I’ll collect them after five o’clock.’
‘We close at seven, sir. We’ll be open again tomorrow between nine and one.’
That done, he crept cautiously down again. He could hear the auctioneer’s voice in the distance but there was no further sign of Walter Bristow. His heart didn’t stop pounding until he’d been back at his desk for an hour. All afternoon he worried in case the boss had realised he was bidding for those candlesticks. He was very disappointed and cross because he’d had to leave without getting more of that beautiful silver.
The sale was about to start; the porter was holding up a pair of candelabra. ‘I do like those,’ Joan breathed. ‘They’d look lovely on our sideboard.’
Walter felt a shiver of anticipation. ‘I like them too.’
‘A very fine pair,’ Adam said beside him. ‘Dating from 1896, if I remember correctly.’
‘They look beautiful from here,’ Walter said, ‘but I didn’t come to the preview, so I’ve nothing to go on but what it says in the catalogue.’
The bidding started and Walter joined in. He wished he’d been able to have a good look at them and wondered how much they were worth. Joan really wanted them and he liked them very much. Bidding was brisk and the price was going up.
He felt Adam put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t chase it any further. That’s a very good price and they aren’t worth more. That fellow’s determined to have them.’
As the hammer went down, the auctioneer said, ‘Sold for three hundred and twenty pounds to 234 at the back.’
Disappointed, Walter turned round to see who had succeeded in getting them.
‘Good lord!’ he said. ‘Isn’t that Francis Clitheroe?’ He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Joan shook her head. ‘I’ve never met him.’
Adam said, ‘No, I think you’re wrong. I’ve done business with that fellow. In fact, he sold me that silver that you bought from me. His name is . . . let me think. Yes, Leo Hardman. A strange fellow, he collects silver.’
‘I’d have sworn he was my accountant.’
‘No, but he’s leaving. He must have come just for that one lot. Thank goodness, we don’t need him here to drive the prices up.’
Bidding had started for the next lot, a cut-glass powder bowl with a silver lid. ‘I love that,’ Joan whispered. ‘It would look great on my dressing table.’
Walter lifted his bidding paddle and was pleased when the bowl was knocked down to him. Joan was thrilled, but he mopped his forehead and said to Adam, ‘I’ve never been to an auction before. Not my scene really. It’s easier to buy from a shop.’
Adam smiled at him. ‘There’s a lot of dealers here. They drive prices up and make it more difficult. If you like, I’ll buy what I can at the best price possible and bring it round to your house this evening. Then you can choose what you want at leisure and we won’t be bidding against each other.’
‘Like you did last time?’ Joan asked.
‘Yes.’ Walter was relieved. ‘That might suit me better.’
Adam pushed a notebook and biro in front of him. ‘Remind me,’ he said. ‘Write down your address and phone number and I’ll ring you later.’
Joan printed it out neatly. They stayed in the auction room and saw several pieces being knocked down to Adam.
‘Chloe isn’t going to like this,’ Joan whispered to her husband. ‘He’s the father of her children.’
‘I can see how he turned her head, a handsome fellow, wouldn’t you say?’
‘She says he’s a cad, a real scoundrel, and he’s paid her nothing towards their keep.’
‘And he’s found himself another girlfriend.’
‘Should we be doing business with him?’
‘No, but she introduced us to him, didn’t she? And he treated us quite well.’
‘We needn’t tell her.’
In the early evening, Walter let Adam into his sitting room and he unwrapped the newspaper from the pieces of silver he’d bought.
‘If you don’t like them, don’t feel you have any obligation to buy,’ he said. ‘I’ll have no difficulty selling them on to somebody else. It’s top-of-the-market stuff. Well, you know that, it was in a specialist sale.’
He gave Walter a copy of the sale catalogue. ‘I’ve marked the price I want against each lot,’ he told them, and described each piece as he brought it out.
‘There were no other candelabra, but I did get a pair of candlesticks by James Gould. These are hallmarked for the year 1732. George II. A rare find.’
‘I do like those,’ Walter said.
Chloe was relieved to find that her mother was having one of her better spells. She came home from work on Friday afternoon and met Joan as she was about to leave.
‘Your mother’s had a good day,’ she told her. ‘We had a little walk down to the pond and sat in the sun. I asked her if she’d like to come to us for Sunday lunch this week and she seemed quite pleased. Why don’t you all come? You’re providing countless meals for me here.’
‘You know it cheers Mum up to have you here.’
‘Yes, but do come, it’ll be a change for you all. Bring Rex as well, I know he usually has Sunday lunch with you.’
Chloe smiled. ‘Yes, Mum needs him, he’s good at helping her in and out of the car. He’ll have to drive us too. Mum doesn’t feel up to it any more.’
‘You ought to learn,’ Joan told her. ‘Helen’s car is hardly used now. I’ll give you driving lessons for your next birthday.’
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
Chloe was looking forward to the Sunday visit. As Auntie Joan had said, it would be a change. There were very few outings now that Mum could manage.
‘Come at twelve o’clock, that’ll give us time to have a drink first.’
‘Mum doesn’t drink any more.’
‘She’ll toy with a glass of sherry, Chloe, if one is put in her hand. She says she enjoys listening to us talk even if she doesn’t join in as much as she used to.’
On Sunday, Chloe helped her mother dress in a smart blue dress she’d hardly worn. She looked better than she had for weeks, more her old self. When Auntie Joan led them into the dining room, Helen was full of praise for the silver displayed on the sideboard.
‘I’ve seen it before, of course, it’s very impressive. No, I haven’t seen it all. Those eggcups and spoons on a stand, that’s new, isn’t it?’
Chloe got up to take a closer look. ‘And the candlesticks.’
‘Yes,’ Walter said. ‘You knew I was going to that big antique silver auction held in Liverpool last week?’
‘Yes,’ Chloe said. ‘Auntie Joan told me you’d both been and bought more pieces.’
‘Yes, I was bidding for a pair of Victorian candelabra and I’m almost sure they were knocked down to our Mr Clitheroe.’
‘What? Does he share your love of silver?’
‘I don’t know. He’d asked me for time off that day to see his dentist. I thought I’d caught him out going to the sale instead.’
‘He was really there?’ Chloe asked.
‘I thought it was him, but …’
‘Adam Livingstone was there, Chloe,’ Joan said. ‘He said he k
new him, and it wasn’t our new accountant. He turned out to be someone quite different, a collector of fine silver.’
Chloe blanched at hearing her speak of Adam. Of course he’d attend an important sale like that. She tried to ignore his name.
‘When I first caught sight of him, I was so sure it was Clitheroe,’ Walter said. ‘But when I was paying for what I’d bought, I could see the name of the person who’d paid for the lot before, and it wasn’t Clitheroe. Adam was right.’
Chloe could feel herself stiffening. ‘Did Adam say anything? Ask after the children?’
Walter was hesitant. ‘I believe he did. Didn’t he, Joan?’
‘Yes.’ She was collecting the used soup bowls and hurried off to the kitchen with them.
‘Did he help you?’ Chloe demanded. ‘Did he come here again and sell you that egg stand and that claret jug?’
‘Well, yes, he did.’ Joan had placed a leg of lamb in front of Walter and he was noisily sharpening his carving knife on the steel.
Chloe was angry. ‘You probably paid more than those pieces are worth. I told you he was dishonest. That’s one reason why I left him.’
‘He was kind, Chloe.’
‘If he was taking money from you, he’d be at his most charming.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Joan put an arm round Chloe’s shoulders. ‘We didn’t want to tell you we’d seen Adam. We were afraid you’d be upset.’
‘I am upset. I’m afraid he’s swindled you.’
‘We love what we bought from him,’ Walter assured her, ‘and I didn’t feel we paid over the odds.’
‘If you’d taken me with you, I’d have helped you buy it at the auction price, and you wouldn’t have had to pay an extra percentage to Adam.’
‘Sorry, Chloe,’ Walter said. ‘It was all a bit rushed, and it was easier for me that way.’
She took another angry breath. ‘If—’
Rex put his hand on her arm. ‘Let it go, Chloe. Put Adam Livingstone out of your mind. He’s not worth worrying about.’
Chloe felt annoyed with herself. Silently she began to eat her roast lamb, but she was no longer hungry. Her outburst had cast a cloud on the lunch party. The happy atmosphere had cooled and couldn’t be revived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TIME WAS PASSING AND Leo was feeling richer. Up until now, the boss had made no comment when he’d put the monthly figures on his desk. But the result of what he was doing was becoming more obvious. The capital in the company accounts was shrinking.
Leo was growing more nervous about handing over the figures. He told himself he was being silly, that the whole point of him being here was to take the money. He had to do this. He picked up the copy of last month’s trading figures taken from his ledgers, slipped it discreetly into a file cover and went to give it to Mr Bristow.
He found him in the secretaries’ office, where they were all laughing over some joke. Leo tried to hand him the file and leave.
‘Ah, Mr Clitheroe,’ he said. ‘Come into my office for a moment. I have something I’d like you to do.’
Leo was fighting to look calmer than he felt, but old Bristow hadn’t looked at the figures yet, so it couldn’t be that. He began to breathe normally again when he found that the boss wanted him to continue paying an employee in the factory his full wage although he was working only half the day. It seemed his wife was very ill and he had to look after her.
He returned to his own office and scribbled a reminder of that. He couldn’t settle to do anything else; he’d seen Bristow open the file he’d given him. If he had anything to say about his figures, it would be soon. With his mouth drying, he watched the internal phone on his desk, expecting it to buzz at any moment. When it did, he jumped. Bristow’s voice asked him to come back to his office.
‘Bring your books with you. I’d like to look through the credit day book, the general journal and the trial balance if you’ve done it for this month.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Leo said, hurriedly getting them together. His heart was racing, but he went to knock on the boss’s office door, forcing himself to smile.
‘I’m a bit concerned about this.’ Bristow pushed the monthly bank statement in front of Leo, who hadn’t yet seen it. ‘We don’t seem to be making as much profit as we used to.’
‘I had noticed that last month,’ Leo agreed, opening the books he’d brought in front of the boss. He knew that he mustn’t look as though he had anything to hide. ‘I’ll do a bank reconciliation.’
‘You haven’t made a mistake somewhere?’
‘I don’t think so, sir. I hope not.’ He pretended to be willing and obliging.
Together they spent the morning checking through the figures. Leo knew that unless Bristow unearthed one or more of the six fictitious companies now sending in regular big invoices, it was unlikely he’d find out where the money was going.
The following week, Mr Bristow called a mid-morning meeting of senior staff in his office. Leo knew what it was about, though he didn’t think it would unearth anything new. He made his way to the boss’s office three minutes before the meeting was due to start, with a copy of all relevant figures for each person attending. He’d already voiced his concern at the drop in profits and he thought Francis Clitheroe was still in a fairly safe position. His step was jaunty; he was in confident mood.
Take care, he told himself. He ought to look worried with such bad figures to explain. It was not the moment to let any of them see the satisfaction on his face.
‘Good morning,’ Walter Bristow was already at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. His secretary was there too.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr Clitheroe?’ Chloe asked.
‘Please.’ He examined her anew. A pretty girl, with her tawny hair done up in a rather insecure bun on the top of her head. It suited her, made her look innocent, though he was sure she couldn’t be that. He’d heard she had two children and had never been married. She was exactly the sort of girl that would suit him if circumstances were different.
‘Can I take a chocolate biscuit?’ he asked.
She smiled; it lit up her face. ‘Help yourself.’
He took two and went to sit down. Other men were waiting to get their coffee: John Walsh, Don Tyler and the sales team.
When they were about ready to start, he watched Chloe pour a cup of coffee for herself and pick up her shorthand pad and pencil. As she sat down, her bun wobbled attractively.
The message from Walter Bristow was strong. It was what Leo had expected. Profits were falling, they must practise strict economy from now on: cut back on expenses, cut waste.
‘We have plenty of orders coming in, sales are up and we are all busy,’ he told them. ‘I really thought we were doing well, but our profits are falling.
‘Mr Clitheroe and I have been through the accounts with a tooth comb and it seems that running costs have expanded almost out of control.’
Chloe’s pencil was flying across her pad. She was taking notes of what the boss was saying. Bristow was trying to motivate them all to do their duty.
The production manager had new ideas on how to cut down waste. The buyer was going to negotiate cheaper contracts when they came up for renewal. He was dealing with two new suppliers who were offering lower prices. The sales manager thought they could widen their market by adding a new line of food for guinea pigs.
‘It needn’t add much to production costs, since we do a line for rabbits and hamsters already.’ He then went on to detail his plan at boring length. The poor sods didn’t realise that none of that would touch the problem.
Leo doodled on the paper in front of him. He knew exactly how much he’d managed to seep out of the company coffers. If he hadn’t succeeded in doing that, he reflected, they’d have made a very decent profit. He was doing all right here; nobody had the slightest suspicion that he was responsible.
As soon as the meeting ended, Chloe slipped out to her desk and began to type up her notes. Later that day she took them in
to Uncle Walter.
‘This is worrying me,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen the trading situation change as quickly before. There’s no reason for it and there was no warning.’
‘The factory is busy.’
‘I know, it’s positively humming,’ he said. ‘We should be making a good profit. I don’t understand why it’s dropping back to nothing.’
‘You’re running the business differently?’
Walter shrugged. ‘No, hardly anything has changed. We’re spending more on raw materials, but that must give us more stock to sell. Turnover is much the same as last year, but our cash reserves are draining away.’
‘Have you taken it up with the bank?’ Chloe asked. ‘It’s not caused by an error there?’
‘No, you made me an appointment to see the manager last month. They’ve checked back through their figures and sent me duplicate statements for the last six months. Mr Clitheroe and I went through their figures and we can see nothing wrong there.’
‘Mr Clitheroe is new,’ Chloe said. ‘Is he drawing up the figures in the same way? Or has he made changes that are giving you a different picture?’
‘That was the first thing I thought of, but no, not that I can see. I even requested a mid-year audit to make sure. Clitheroe says he’s following exactly the method Tom Cleary demonstrated to him.’
‘He’s a strange fellow, Uncle. Not popular with the staff.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s prickly, on edge.’
‘I don’t find that.’
‘He won’t let me near his files and Mrs Parks says the same. She says he won’t allow her to file anything away, though she did it all for Mr Cleary.’
‘Clitheroe came with good references. I quite like him.’
‘I don’t, and he doesn’t like me.’
‘Nonsense, Chloe, you’re imagining that. He’s very hard-working. Conscientious even.’
