by Jenny Kane
Already the dining table was covered in dozens of Victorian oil lamps, a host of kitsch china Cornish pixies, more Spode than Abi had ever seen in one place in her whole life, and a whole box of things that could well be worth something, if only she could work out what they were.
As the dining room table was the sole part of the room that ever commanded Mrs Teppit’s attention, the ornaments all came complete with a thick covering of dust, and Stan and Abi were taking it in turns to sneeze as each new item was given a hearty blow to see what treasure lurked beneath. ‘I wish I knew about antiques.’ Abi turned what she considered to be quite an ugly china frog over in her hands, ‘I have no idea if this is worth a king’s ransom or should be given to the vicar for the next jumble sale.’
‘Nor me.’ Stan was squinting as his reading glasses failed to pick up the tiny inscription on the back of a china plate. ‘I loved my Mary with all my heart, but I never did get her obsession with odds and sods.’ He sighed quietly. ‘I wonder if Max knows anyone who does house clearance?’
Abi brightened up a bit. Sorting through all this lot with Max could be fun. ‘I’m sure he does. He seems to know someone for every occasion. I’ll ask him after work. He might even know an antique dealer who could cast an eye over this lot, I’m sure a few of these pieces are valuable, and I know the Spode is worth something, although I’ve no idea how much.’
Neither Stan nor Abi noticed the hours zip by as they chatted happily through their sorting. Having adopted a three-pile system (definitely junk, not sure if it’s junk, think it’s worth something), they started to work faster, and it was only when the doorbell rang that they were pulled out of Stan’s reminiscences.
Beth and Jacob stood on the doorstep. ‘Hi, Abi. We were getting worried; you haven’t been answering your phone. Is everything OK?’
Abi checked her watch. ‘Oh goodness, I had no idea that was the time already. Why not come in and say hello to Stan?’
Leading her friends into the dining room, Abi called ahead of them, ‘Stan! We’ve been at this for four hours! It’s Beth and Jacob. He’s the potter I was telling you about. I was supposed to be helping them in the studio. I totally forgot I was so engrossed. Jacob, this is Mr Stan Abbey. Stan, this is Mr Jacob Denny.’
Stan held his hand out to Jacob, who shook it firmly as he and Beth surveyed the scene she found with a mixture of awe, horror, and fascination.
‘Blimey!’ Beth picked up a bronze ashtray from the junk pile, ‘where did you get all this, Stan?’
‘My wife collected pretty much everything. Abi and I have been having a sort-out. I’m sorry if I held her up.’
‘Not at all, I was just checking up on her. Anything we can do?’
Stan shrugged. ‘Not unless you have a talent for antique-spotting.’
Jacob was moving around the dining table, his eyes roaming over its contents with a barely suppressed exhilaration, ‘Do you know what this is, Mr Abbey?’
‘Please, call me Stan. And no, me’andsome, beyond the fact that it is a funny-shaped blue and white pot, I know nothing.’
Abi smiled, ‘I can go one further. I would hazard a guess that it is a funny-shaped blue and white vase of oriental origin. After that, I also draw a blank.’
Jacob didn’t say anything, but put the blue and white bottle shaped vase back down with considerably more reverence than Abi had placed it on the table in the first place, before picking up a pair of pewter candlesticks. The excitement in his expression was being to bubble over into his voice, as Jacob started muttering words like ‘Sotheby’s’ and ‘Bonham’s’ in such a way that made Beth, Abi, and Stan look at each other, but not dare to speak, as the potter danced around the table, moving more and more items towards him.
After a while Stan could stand it no longer. ‘Young man, am I to guess by your manic movements that I have a few things here worth a second glance?’
Jacob cleared his throat carefully. ‘Mr Abbey, Stan, I could be wrong of course, but I don’t think I am … well, not totally wrong, my dates might be out a decade or two of course, but …’
Beth, seeing that Jacob was about to go off at a tangent, said, ‘Jacob, will you please sit down. It’s like trying to make sense out of a jumping jack!’
‘Sorry, yes, of course.’ Jacob pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Before I followed my heart and became a potter I studied antiquities, with a mind to becoming an auctioneer. I’m no expert, of course, but my eye isn’t too bad, and if I were you, Stan, I’d get an expert in here fast.’
Stan laughed, ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm, me’andsome, but these are just bits Mary picked up, I’m sure they can’t be worth all that much.’
Jacob stroked the side of the vase, ‘I tell you what, Stan, if you like, I’ll get a friend over here to value some things for you; but not this vase.’
‘Why not the vase?’ Abi had picked up on Jacob’s undercurrent.
‘Because this is getting wrapped in bubble-wrap and nestled in a sturdy box as soon as I’ve nipped to my studio to get it for you.’
The other three people in the dining room looked at each other blankly. Jacob hardly dared risk speaking the words out loud in case he was wrong, but sure he wasn’t, he said, ‘If I’m right, if I am … then I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep a Ming vase lying about the a house without a pretty high-tech security system!’
Chapter Thirty
All thoughts of going back to Art and Sole to get Abi’s opinion on how the children’s pictures should be hung were forgotten. Every eye in the room fell on Jacob.
Beth regarded her grungy-looking new boyfriend with disbelief. ‘You trained in antiques? Are you sure?’
Jacob laughed, ‘Clothes don’t always maketh the man, you know, and yes I did. I even had sensible hair and a suit.’
‘A suit …’ Beth sounded dreamy, before becoming conscious of everybody’s eyes landing on her. She quickly said, ‘Stan, this is your show. Do you want Jacob to help find a buyer for a few of these knick-knacks?’
Stan reached over and weighed the pewter candlesticks in his hands. ‘My Mary loved these. I always thought they were a bit ugly myself.’
‘Ugly?’ Jacob was horrified, ‘Stan, they’re seventeenth-century! Maybe even sixteenth-century.’
‘I never did like the way they had an extra bulbous bit of pewter around the main stick, it always looked to me as if they had a beer belly.’
Abi giggled as she looked at the candlesticks. She could see what Stan meant, Jacob however was deadly serious. ‘Those bits are called ball-knops.’
Beth raised her eyebrows. ‘For real?’
‘For real. These are worth in the region of seven thousand for the pair.’
‘Seven grand!’ Abi and Beth shouted at the same time, before turning to Jacob. ‘Are you sure?’ Beth asked.
‘As sure as I can be. The fact they are a pair is the main thing, and if you look carefully,’ Jacob turned one of the sticks around, 'you can see that on the sconce there is a series of marks that look like scratches, that’s the maker’s signature.’
Stan pointed to the vase. ‘And that? What would that be worth?’
Jacob thought for a while. ‘I’ll be honest, I’m less certain. Auctions are so fickle, it all depends who turns up to them. However, if this is Ming, and it’ll need to be verified, then anything from seven to ten thousand.’
‘Oh my God!’ Stan’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘Abi, I think I need that glass of whiskey.’
‘Me too!’ They’d been working for hours and Stan must be as hungry as she was. Abi regarded him. ‘Are you serious about a whiskey, or shall I just go out and get us all a fish supper?’
Stan laughed, ‘I haven’t had so much fish and chips in years. I’d love that. Everyone is welcome.’ He beamed at all of the people standing before him, ‘I can’t remember the last time I had so much lively company.’
Abi looked at her new friend affectionately. ‘It’ll be good practice for all those riotous partie
s you’ll be having in St Buryan! Right, I’m starving! I’ll call Max and see if he wants to join us.’
Stan nodded. ‘Quite right. I always used to be famished after a day at work in the mine, so I’m sure Max is after a day decorating a bathroom. You’ll need to tell him about Sadie as well.’
‘Sadie?’ Beth looked quizzically at Abi.
‘I’ll tell you on the way to the chippy, if you’ll give me a hand. Are you coming, Jacob, or are you staying in Stan’s Aladdin’s cave?’
‘I’ll stay, if that’s OK, Stan? I’ll take some photos of these on my phone and send them to a friend at Peter’s Auction House.’ Jacob suddenly sat back down as if he was less certain of himself. ‘I’m being a bit bull in a china shop, aren’t I? Do you want to think about all this, Stan, you might not even want to sell them? I mean, you don’t even know me.’
‘You carry on and take those pictures, young man. Making enquiries won’t hurt, even if I decide not to sell. Just don’t promise your auctioneer friend anything until I’ve had time to think about what Mary would want me to do.’
The following morning Abi, Beth and Jacob sat with Jacob’s antique dealer friend Peter in his office as he held the pair of candlesticks. He’d already examined them to within an inch of their lives as far as Beth could see, and she was finding it difficult not to ask him to hurry up and tell them if Jacob’s guess about their value had been correct.
Abi glanced at Beth, understanding her need to know, but not wanting to risk rushing Peter in case he got things wrong. She couldn’t bear the idea of Stan being disappointed. Part of her wished Jacob had kept his thoughts to himself about how valuable they might be, just in case their hopes had been raised incorrectly.
After what felt like an eternity, Peter placed the candlesticks on his desk and stretched his arms over his head, ‘Well, Jacob, you were right. These are a pair of English pewter ball-knop candlesticks, and if I was to be pushed date-wise, I’d say we were talking roughly 1680.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Abi’s eyes widened. ‘You were right, Jacob.’
‘No need to sound so surprised.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just I didn’t dare get too hopeful, for Stan’s sake.’
‘I know. I wish he’d come along.’ Jacob hadn’t felt comfortable taking such valuable items away from the owner, but Stan had insisted the excitement was too much for him, and that if Jacob had been right about the candlesticks and the vase, then he’d make an appointment for Peter to come and have a hunt through the rest of his stuff.
Peter picked one of the pewter pieces up again, turning it in his hands, ‘If I was putting these into an auction catalogue, which I must admit I’m rather hoping is something I will see happen, I’d describe them as “a pair of sixteen-centimetre, seventeenth-century English pewter ball-knop candlesticks, with writhen ball-knop and gadrooned bases.” Sounds impressive, doesn’t it!’
‘It does.’ Beth was about to ask how much they were worth, but Peter was ahead of her.
‘And I’d put an approximate sale price of six thousand on them, with the expectation of higher if you attracted a collector.’
Trying not to look smug at how close his estimate had been, Jacob gestured towards the vase, which lay semi wrapped in its box where Peter had done no more than take the lid off and peek inside. ‘And the vase? I admit to being less certain about that. I know I should be hot on anything ceramic, but the Ming period is so wide, and there are so many variables.’
‘It lasted from 1368 until 1644. It was an extraordinary period of innovation in ceramic manufacture and development.’
Jacob nodded. ‘The stuff those guys tried with kilns for the first time was awe-inspiring.’
Peter looked at the assembly of curious faces. ‘Do you guys want me to dive right in, or would you like a cup of tea to calm the nerves a bit?’
Everyone spoke at once. ‘Dive in!’
‘You got it!’ Peter smiled; the anticipation in the room was infectious. With the same sort of respect that Jacob reserved for a wedge of clay he was about to place on his wheel and turn into something amazing, Peter slowly unwrapped the vase, and held it like a newborn baby.
‘Right, yes, this is Ming.’
A collective exhalation of air was expelled by his three guests as the antiques expert went on.
‘I would say late Ming, early 1600s perhaps. Certainly from the time of the Wanli Emperor. That was when the Chinese stopped producing pottery that was only for themselves and started to export to Europe.’
Abi was fascinated, and couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward in her chair as she admired the blue and white hues. ‘I had no idea that pottery was mass-produced for export so early on.’
‘From much earlier on a worldwide scale actually,’ Jacob chipped in, ‘but it was the early seventeenth century before that applied to Ming, right, Peter?’
‘Absolutely. You can tell Jacob had a good teacher, can’t you, girls?’
Beth nodded, ‘Who did teach you, hun?’
Jacob looked sheepish, and tilted his head towards the auctioneer.
‘A very good student you were as well. I still haven’t forgiven you for going all hippie on me and falling in love with new clay rather than antique clay.’
Abi was getting impatient again, ‘And so is this one of those exported pieces, then?’
‘It is. I would say it was probably produced in one of the kilns at Jindezhen, which is where the main production centre for ceramic export was at the time.’
‘Wow.’ Abi sat back again, ‘So, if Stan decided to put it up for auction, what are we talking price wise?’
Peter lay the vase back down in its protective bed, ‘Now this time I am more hesitant. It’s not worth as much as it if had been from the earlier Ming period, but still a considerable amount.’
‘Considerable being?’
‘You must understand I can only give you a rough estimate. Once you get to auction it all depends on the people there that day.’
‘We understand.’ Abi exchanged glances with her friends, who were all indicating their agreement.
‘Right then,’ Peter pushed a few buttons on his computer screen, ‘if you guys want to go through to salesroom and grab a coffee from the machine, I’ll do a quick bit of checking, and then I’ll make a quote.’
He smiled up at them, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep you in suspense for long!’
Peter hadn’t been able to resist Stan’s invitation for him to come and explore the rest of Mary’s boot sale bargains.
The moment she heard that the vase was Ming, Abi had called Max, who had dashed from his client’s house in his lunch hour to see Stan. The old man was as consumed with excitement as his young friends, and had invited Peter to come over as soon as possible.
That evening, everyone was sat at Stan’s dining room table once again. Peter was sorting through the pile of goods that Jacob had earmarked as interesting, as Stan asked for the third time, ‘Are you absolutely sure it’s Ming, Peter?’
Used to dealing with people who were either very disappointed or in a shock of disbelief about the steep valuations he gave, Peter patiently repeated himself, ‘As sure as anyone can be. What you have here, Mr Abbey, is a blue and white double-gourd vase from the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. I wouldn’t like to say which.’
Stan stroked a gentle finger across the lotus pattern, which was separated by what Peter had described as ruyi bands. ‘I always knew my Mary had good taste.’
‘She most certainly did, Mr Abbey, and while I can’t see anything else here that is of such value as the candlesticks and the vase, you have several items which should fetch anything from twenty pounds up to a few hundred. You could make a fair bit at auction with some of this. Although, I would advise, if you were to sell the candlesticks and the vase, that you consider contacting Sotheby’s, Christie’s, or Bonham’s.’
‘Honestly?’ Abi nearly dropped the china lighthouse she was just consigning to the charity
shop pile.
‘For sure. That way you’d get maximum coverage, plus serious collectors and the world’s major museums would be alerted.’
Stan couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. ‘Peter, are you saying I should send my things to London to be sold?’
‘If that is what you decide to do, sell them I mean, then yes. But I’m only advising you. The choice is one hundred per cent yours.’
‘But if I sent them there, you wouldn’t make any commission, would you, which seems unfair after all your hard work.’
Peter smiled at the old man whose hand hadn’t left the fur of his golden retriever the whole time he’d been there. ‘That’s true, but I couldn’t live with my conscience if I told you otherwise.’
Stan was quiet for a while, and no one else in the room moved. The air became heavy with the tension of waiting for their friend’s decision, and both Abi and Max and Beth and Jacob held hands.
‘Right then. I have three things to say.’ Stan sat a little more upright in his seat, and looked down at Sadie as if to check she agreed with his decisions.’ First of all: Jacob, Max, Beth, Abi – thank you. Since you all came into my life I have begun to live again. Before then I was slowly stagnating. Secondly, Peter, you are very kind, and I would like it, if you’d take on the work, to arrange to put the vase into whichever major auction house you think would take it. I am going to keep the candlesticks. I know I think they’re ugly, but Mary loved them, and I loved her, so those I’m going to take with me to my new home. Then I’ll leave them to my daughter when the time comes, and she can decide what to do with them.’
Abi’s heart constricted, she hadn’t known Stan long, and although his age was obvious, she found the fact of his mortality hadn’t really registered properly until now. The idea of him not being around hit her hard, and instantly brought with it enough guilt about feeling sadder at the prospect of her friend’s death than Luke’s, made her drop Max’s hand. Simon’s words shot back through her with renewed venom. Harlot. Adulteress.
