by Susan Lewis
‘You’re kidding? It’s vile.’
‘Someone might love it, so let’s put it at thirty and see what happens.’
‘OK, whatever you say. Now, here I have a Clarice Cliff Bizarre jampot shaped like an apple with a nasturtium pattern painted around the side and leafy top in the form of a handle.’
Lucy was busily typing it into the computer.
‘Mum tells me it’s quite valuable,’ Sarah continued, ‘so maybe we should start at fifty?’
‘I’ll mark it at a hundred and if necessary we’ll stand corrected on the day.’
Really getting into this now, Sarah went over to another piece of family history waiting to be launched on to the next leg of its journey. ‘OK, what about this HMV gramophone cabinet in oak? There must be an enormous market for one of these.’
Lucy’s expression was deadpan. ‘They’ll come flocking once they see it in the brochure. Sixty pounds, and I bet we get it up to a hundred and sixty.’
‘If we do, champagne’s on me. Ah, now here we have my mother’s portrait in which she looks – according to her – like a devil woman. I admit, she does scrub up a bit better than this, even at the age she is now. However, if you’re into females who look like they enjoy the dark arts or S&M … What do you think?’
Lucy was gazing at it in astonishment. ‘I’d never have imagined this was your mother,’ she declared, feeling strangely moved by the painting in spite of its grisliness.
‘Believe me, that’s the best compliment you could possibly pay her, because it’s actually nothing like her. She’s much softer around the eyes, and nowhere near as buxom – I think the artist had a bit of a thing about her and got carried away when he came to the cleavage. Anyway, her hair’s a reasonable likeness, if only because she always used to wear it in a plait; and being of Spanish descent, from way back when, she does have a slightly swarthier complexion than the rest of us, but nothing like as dark as this. Actually, between us, this looks a bit more like Becky than it does Mum, but please don’t ever quote me on that, because I know Becky hates it too.’
Lucy’s eyes went to her, then back to the painting. She wondered why she should be finding it so compelling when clearly no one else did. ‘I’m getting the feeling you’re not too bothered about letting it go,’ she said, throwing some irony into her confusion.
‘It’ll be a wrench,’ Sarah informed her, ‘but if we can get a couple of thousand for it …’
Lucy’s eyes widened.
Sarah threw out her hands, ‘OK, a fiver.’
Laughing, Lucy said, ‘Actually, it’s not that bad a painting in itself, and as a buyer’s not going to be concerned about the likeness I’d say we should start at a hundred.’
Sarah choked. ‘I can feel a whole new lawnmower coming on, complete with grass-catcher and roller,’ she declared, and enjoying herself immensely now, she set the portrait aside to light upon a red oak tantalus complete with crystal decanters, one of which was chipped, but hardly noticeably.
By the time they’d been through everything, including a Victorian marble barometer (apparently confused); an art deco brass lamp (in need of a switch); a miniature train set circa 1980 with working signals; an assortment of toy soldiers and Matchbox cars together with a collection of first-edition soccer books by Billy Wright, it was past one o’clock.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished,’ Lucy announced as she closed up her laptop. ‘If you’re free, would you fancy a bite to eat at the pub?’
Sarah was thrilled. ‘That would be great.’
‘I’ll call Mum and Hanna to let them know where we are,’ Lucy said, taking out her phone. ‘Would you mind if they joined us?’
‘Not at all,’ Sarah assured her, more pleased than ever to find herself so willing to go out and mix. ‘Let’s hope they do.’
Minutes later Lucy clicked off her mobile saying, ‘Oh dear, apparently my number one fan’s turned up at the office.’
Sarah’s eyebrows rose.
‘Maureen Crumpton,’ Lucy muttered, ‘but don’t worry, she’s not on the guest list for lunch. It’ll be just you, me and Hanna, who’s apparently already at the pub – and didn’t Maureen just love telling me that. I’ll give Mum’s mobile a quick try now to find out where she is.’
* * *
Daphne was walking away from the Old Lodge, along the drive, out through the gates and turning up towards the village. Whether the Mckenzies were watching her leave she had no idea, nor did she turn around to find out. It would probably have seemed odd if she did, unless it was to give them a cheery wave, but it wasn’t her way to be overly friendly. Polite, of course, she was always scrupulous about that, and helpful where she could be, but insinuating herself into other people’s lives was as alien to her as indulging in idle gossip, or carousing about the pub garden on Saturday nights.
Having said that, there were some social occasions she enjoyed very much, such as church garden fetes and the vicar’s twice-monthly Bible readings, and she almost never missed the barn dances that made the village hall throb with gaiety every six weeks or so. Brian particularly enjoyed those, when his rheumatism allowed, and he was a very keen member of the skittles and darts teams too, even travelling around the West Country to take part in the various tournaments.
However, all that was a long way from her mind as she began the climb up Edge Hill towards the high street. All she was able to think about, as she put one foot in front of the other and tried to stop her mind from going in directions she hardly dared to take, was the answer Philippa Mckenzie had given when Daphne had asked, with a pleasant smile, what in particular had decided them on Cromstone for their retirement.
Never, even with an entire lifetime to try, would Daphne have guessed at the reply she’d received. It was so far from what she’d expected that she could still hardly make herself believe that they’d confided such a painful and shocking part of their past to a virtual stranger, when they had no idea whom she might tell, or what she might end up doing with their extraordinary secret.
As her mobile started to ring she clicked on and put it to her ear.
‘Mum? It’s me. How did you get on with the Mckenzies?’
Daphne’s throat was so dry she had to clear it before she could speak. ‘Fine, yes, fine,’ she answered.
‘Is there much stuff?’
‘A bit. Actually, it turns out the Mckenzies are brother and sister, not husband and wife.’
‘Really?’ Lucy sounded surprised. ‘How sweet. Anyway, Sarah and I are going to the pub for some lunch. Hanna’s joining us and I thought you might like to come too.’
Daphne stopped walking as a wave of dizziness came over her. ‘I – uh, actually, I’m not feeling all that hungry, dear.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s probably just the heat getting to me a bit. Where are you now?’
‘We’ve just arrived at the pub. Where are you?’
‘On my way home, but I won’t stop off. I’ll see you this afternoon when you get back. Bon appétit, all of you,’ and clicking off the line, she put a hand to her head to try and stop it from throbbing any more than it already was.
By the time she reached the farmhouse sweat was pouring from her skin, and she felt as though she might be about to pass out.
‘Ah, Daphne, you’re back,’ Maureen declared, coming out of the barn as Daphne crossed the courtyard heading for the office. Maureen was a tall, fleshy woman with a great liking for red lipstick and chunky jewellery that jangled a percussive accompaniment to her clipping kitten heels as she walked. ‘Godfrey rang about ten minutes ago,’ she informed Daphne, ‘they’ve managed to get the Mortons’ grand piano on the lorry, so they should be on their way back by now. I was just making sure …’ Breaking off as she seemed to realise Daphne wasn’t listening, she said, ‘Daphs? Are you all right, my old love? You’re looking a bit peaky, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I’m fine,’ Daphne said, breathle
ssly. ‘Just the climb up the hill in this hot weather …’
‘I’ll fetch you a drink, that should sort you out. Go on in and sit down now, I won’t be a tick.’
‘No, please don’t worry. I can get one myself. I – uh, that’s good news about the piano. Very good. Do we … Actually, you know, I think I will get a drink. You carry on, I’ll come to find you in a minute,’ and turning back to the house, Daphne went in through the open stable door and closed the bottom part behind her.
‘Brian,’ she said, when she was diverted to her husband’s voicemail, ‘I need to speak to you, dear. Please call me, but don’t worry, because I’m fine. Maureen’s here and she’s being very kind. I’m not sure what to do, Brian, so please call as soon as you can.’
Chapter Eight
MUCH LATER THAT day, Lucy was in the office with Maureen Crumpton going over the list of items Sarah was submitting for sale. The terseness of Maureen’s assessments was confirming Lucy’s suspicion that in spite of whatever her mother might have said to her and Godfrey they were still considering themselves overlooked, and possibly even cheated. In some ways, Lucy could understand their disgruntlement, since they’d been involved with the business virtually from the day her parents took over, and no one would ever dispute how invaluable their input had been. However, they must surely have been aware that Daphne and Brian had always intended to keep things in the family, provided that was what Lucy wanted, and Lucy had never hidden the fact that when the time came she was extremely eager to take over.
So, for Maureen to be throwing her ample weight around the way she was now, tutting at Lucy’s valuations and being as negative as she dared about the items themselves, was making it abundantly clear to Lucy that she was not going to avoid an uphill struggle where Mr and Mrs Crumpton were concerned.
‘We don’t tend to go in for all these flowery descriptions,’ Maureen commented sourly as she scrolled down the page Lucy had sent over to her computer. ‘We like to keep it nice and simple so that the bidders aren’t misled in any way. And see here, item seventeen, you’ve got so carried away that I can’t make head nor tail of what it’s supposed to be.’
Lucy located the offending article and tried not to smile as she read: A pair of Lovatt Langleys with individually stylised hand-painted decorations from the fascinatingly inventive art deco period. OK, it was over the top, but she and Sarah had had fun concocting it and it wasn’t as if it was inaccurate. ‘They’re vases,’ she said mildly. ‘Sorry, I missed that bit out, but it’s quite a well-known brand …’
‘I’m aware of that, but not everyone is, so it’s important to be precise and concise. People like your mum seem to have a natural gift for it, but not everything runs in families, does it?’
Catching the barb, Lucy almost smiled again. ‘No, I suppose not,’ she replied evenly, keeping her eyes on the screen.
‘Take mine, for example,’ Maureen rattled on. ‘I know for a fact that our Tina would be hopeless at all this, whereas I, as her mother, found myself taking to it like a duck to water.’
Knowing that Tina was no more than twelve, Lucy decided to breeze over the ludicrous comparison. Making a start on trying to win Maureen over, she said, ‘I know I have a lot to learn and I’m extremely thankful that you and Godfrey are going to be around to guide me.’
Maureen’s eyes narrowed as she flicked Lucy a sidelong glance. Clearly she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not she was being mocked, and in all honesty Lucy wouldn’t want to be called on it.
‘We’ve worked hard building this place up with your parents,’ Maureen told her, as if she didn’t already know. ‘Its reputation and its fortunes mean a great deal to us.’
‘Of course, and I hope they’ll continue to matter every bit as much in the future.’
Maureen sniffed and returned to her perusal of Lucy’s amateur efforts. ‘I’m going to enter all this the way I think it should be done,’ she said, ‘then we can go through it together once everything’s come in. That way you’ll be able to get a better idea of what I’m talking about.’
Considering that to be a complete waste of time, since it would make far more sense to rewrite it once she’d seen the items, Lucy merely smiled acceptance and closing down her own copy of Sarah’s file, she opened an Excel sheet containing the figures for the last auction.
‘What are you doing?’ Maureen asked, craning her neck to try and see Lucy’s screen.
‘I thought it would be interesting to make a study of the last few sales,’ Lucy answered.
‘Why?’
‘Well, to give myself some idea of trends and comparisons …’
Maureen heaved a weary sigh. ‘You don’t want to be bothering with all that now,’ she declared. ‘That’s advanced stuff. It would be like jumping in the deep end when you haven’t even learned to swim. What you’d be better off doing is sorting out some of that filing over there.’
Lucy glanced at the untidy pile Maureen was indicating. ‘Isn’t Maeve coming in tomorrow?’ she asked pleasantly.
Maureen’s nostrils flared. ‘Tomorrow’s one of her days, yes.’
‘Well, as filing’s a skill I don’t need any practice at, and I don’t want to be accused of taking Maeve’s job, I think I should stay focused on the complex systems around how the business is run. So,’ she went on before Maureen could object, ‘I’m interested in what you might know about someone called Eric Beadle.’
Maureen’s frown darkened. ‘What are you asking about him for?’ she demanded.
Lucy explained about the phone call she’d taken that morning.
‘Oh, you don’t want to be taking any notice of the likes of that old skinflint,’ Maureen snorted. ‘He’s a bloody troublemaker, is what he is. I told your mum she should never have anything to do with him, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m telling you, she’s too soft by half she is, and the likes of Eric Beadle would walk all over her if I wasn’t around to send ’em on their way. Me and Godfrey, we can see those sharks coming a mile off, and they know it, which is why they don’t mess with us. So, any more calls from Mr Beadle, you get him to ring back when I’m here, and I’ll tell him exactly what he can do with his bloody solicitor’s letters. That’s if he’ll speak to me, and I’ll bet you a pound to a penny he won’t.’
‘I see,’ Lucy said carefully. This was a side of the business she hadn’t considered before today, that certain clients might require a particular sort of handling, and if Maureen and Godfrey were already practised at it, then who was she to go blundering in where angels, like her mother, clearly preferred not to tread? On the other hand, without wishing to seem like a control freak, she’d have rather had her hands more firmly on the reins so that she too could deal with problem punters when they cropped up. ‘If it’s all right with you,’ she said to Maureen, ‘I’d like to know, in the interests of learning, you understand, how you handle these people. I mean, I fully appreciate how protective you feel towards my parents, and I’m very glad you do, but I think it might be a good idea for the Eric Beadle types to know that someone at the top is ready to take them on too.’
Though she hadn’t intended to outmanoeuvre Maureen, one look at the woman’s face told her that she had accomplished precisely that – and written in the margins was the steaming resentment at being unable to come up with a suitable response. Fortunately she didn’t have to, because at that very moment Lucy’s mobile rang, and seeing it was Joe she clicked on right away.
‘Hello,’ she said in a tone designed to let Maureen know the call was personal.
‘Hey,’ he replied chirpily, ‘not too busy to take my calls. That’s a relief.’
Feeling suddenly irritated, she said, ‘Never too busy for that. How are you?’
‘I’m cool. Just hanging out with a few of the guys while we wait for the call back, and catching a couple of shows while we’re here. You wouldn’t believe how much is going on in this city. Outside London it’s got to be …’
‘Oh, Joe, hang on, sorry. The pho
ne’s ringing and Maureen’s just gone out … I’d better take it. Can I call you back?’
‘Sure, if you have time,’ he said tightly.
‘Don’t do that,’ she snapped, and cutting their connection she picked up the landline saying, ‘Hello, Cromstone Auctions, can I help you?’
After dealing with three calls in quick succession, two about sale dates and one asking for a rough valuation on a set of pine drawers, she tried ringing Joe’s number, only to find herself diverted to messages.
‘Hey Mum. Seems you’ve really pissed off Dad.’
‘Ah, there you are,’ Lucy said, turning round to find Hanna coming in the door. ‘Please don’t swear like that.’
‘Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah.’
‘Where did you get to after lunch? You were there one minute and gone the next.’
‘This would be because I have a life beyond you.’
‘Don’t be clever. Where were you? Granny’s not well and …’
‘Exactly. Which is why I rushed back when Maureen called to tell us that, and left you gassing to Sarah. You were like so into each other, you two. I just told Dad I think you might be turning gay.’
‘Well how very helpful of you, my darling. I expect it was exactly what he wanted to hear.’
Hanna shot her a look that could have choked a snake, and started to leave.
‘Where are you going now?’
‘I have things to do.’
‘Oh really? In the land of no hope and let’s-completely-forget-about-glory?’
Hanna grinned. ‘Did I say that? It’s pretty good, isn’t it?’
Suppressing a sigh, Lucy said, ‘Is Granny still lying down?’
‘Yep. She was asleep when I left her. She reckons she’s got summer flu.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. She works too hard, that’s her trouble. She’s probably exhausted and doesn’t even realise it. I’m going to call Grandpa and find out when he’s coming back.’
‘No need, he’s on his way apparently. Should be here in time for tea.’
Lucy brightened. ‘That’s good. I suppose we ought to think about what we’re going to eat, then we can pop over to the supermarket when I’ve finished here.’
