The Bronze Lady (Woodford Antiques Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter 31

Saturday 23
rd
January 2016, 5.45pm

‘Sorry girls, it still gets dark earlier than I think it will.’ Jennifer, Lucy the greyhound and Suzy the Staffie were still ten minutes away from the car, the only ones on the Trailway, and without a torch. It was a beautifully still evening, and the owls were noisily hooting to each other up in the trees.

A different sound caught her attention, and Jennifer stopped to listen. She could hear regular rhythmic noises coming towards them. She turned and recognised the sight of a head torch bobbing up and down as the wearer ran along the track. Oh Lord, she thought as she moved herself and the dogs over to one side, is this friend or foe? At least I have the dogs with me. She looked down at Lucy and Suzy who had both obediently sat down when they realised she was waiting for the runner to pass them.

‘Well you two wouldn’t be much use as alert dogs would you, or protection,’ she whispered to them.

‘Hello Jennifer. Is everything OK?’ The runner stopped alongside them, but Jennifer couldn’t make out who it was other than a male with strong calves because the head torch was shining in her eyes. ‘You’re out a bit late aren’t you? Are you on your own?’

Ah, now she recognised that voice. It was Paul Black. Oh brilliant, what good timing, she thought sourly. Of all the people to meet at this time of night on the deserted Trailway, her walk has to coincide with her least favourite Woodford resident’s run.

‘Oh yes, we’re fine thanks Paul. I just got caught out thinking the evenings were getting lighter than they actually are,’ she laughed in an effort to hide the bad temper she was in.

‘Here,’ he was fishing around for something and then unclipped it from his belt and handed her a small torch. ‘Have this. Or I can walk back with you if you prefer?’

‘Oh thank you! No, no, you carry on. I don’t want to interrupt your run. We’ll be fine. You are very kind, thanks Paul. I’ll bring it back later.’ All her ill-feelings towards him dissipated, and were replaced with a lighter one of feeling grateful for his kindness and consideration. This was short-lived.

‘It’s a date,’ he grinned and ran off.

‘Oh flipping marvellous, I walked into that one didn’t I girls.’

Chapter 32

Sunday 24
th
January 2016, 7.30am

Cliff sighed; another Sunday morning spent wandering aimlessly round the stalls at Drayton Flea Market. This time last year he had been tucked up in bed, his own bed, content in the knowledge that his business was working well for him. This year he was freezing, miserable, and broke, struggling to keep his head above water in an ever-dwindling marketplace. What an idiot to let things get to this stage. Perhaps he should find himself a proper job, a nine-to-five job with a guaranteed steady income, and weekends off, and six weeks’ paid holiday a year.

‘Alright Cliff, how are you?’ the man whose stall he had just walked past called him back. ‘I thought this might be up your street, you buy things like this don’t you?’ He held out a small heavy object wrapped incongruously in bright blue tissue paper. As Cliff started to peel back the layers of paper his heart began to sing as the small jade bowl appeared.
This
is what dealing in antiques was all about, he thought to himself. Finds like these, falling into your lap. He had never worked out the statistics, but he knew the odds of having something beautiful and perfect and valuable just handed to him were way below those for chipped, cracked and broken cheap goods. Cliff was one of those antiques dealers who got a thrill from seeing and handling quality antiques; he always felt a slight tightening in his chest and a tingle up his spine when in the presence of items like this one.

‘You know about that sort of thing don’t you?’ the man asked.

‘Yeah, yeah, well I think I do. This is lovely. How much do you want for it?’

‘We cleared a house yesterday, brought most of the furniture up here today and only found it just now in the drawer of that cabinet up there.’ The man pointed to the far depth of his van where a large solid wood cabinet was lurking. ‘Don’t know much about that sort of thing myself, I showed it to Andrew Dover and he reckoned it four hundred. Everyone knows he’s a mean bastard, so if he is offering me that it must be worth more.’

‘Do you want me to bid for it?’ asked Cliff.

‘Yeah, if you like. What would you pay me for it?’

‘Double Andrew’s offer,’ said Cliff confidently, and putting the bowl and its wrappings down on the table reached into his trouser pocket for the roll of notes he kept there. ‘Will you take eight hundred now?’

‘Sounds fair,’ said the man, happy to have made a sale, his first of the morning. It was always hard to stall out when the weather was rainy and cold, the buyers didn’t want to hang around and had often left before the fair officially opened, leaving the label turners who then came in to kill an hour or so while they waited for an appointment in town, or for their train.

‘You have checked the other drawers are empty haven’t you?’ Cliff asked.

The man laughed. ‘Yes! No more treasures to be found.’

Cliff walked away much happier, buoyed up by his purchase. He decided to skip the rest of the stalls and head straight for the cafe. As soon as he walked into the building he could see something was wrong. The little group sat around the table had an uneasy air about them, the tension was palpable. Cliff bought himself a cup of coffee and a sausage roll, and went to join them, deciding not to mention his find until he knew what was upsetting the group.

‘Hello lads, have you all decided to stay out of the rain too?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood without risking turning their collective bad temper towards himself.

‘Alright Cliff, still pissing down is it?’ grunted John Robson, barely looking up from his tea, clearly not expecting an answer.

No one else acknowledged his presence, so Cliff got the silent message loud and clear and settled down to drink his coffee and eat his breakfast without making any more attempts at conversation. After a few minutes Rowland Mitchell also joined them, bringing with him his usual stench of ingrained cigarette smoke and exuding alcohol fumes.

‘What’s this I hear that you know who robbed you, John?’ he asked with his customary bluntness.

‘You’ve been robbed?’ asked Cliff incredulously. John Robson was well-known as a hard man in the Trade, not someone you would want to upset, and certainly not someone you would steal from. ‘What, someone stole from your shop in Portobello?’

‘Behave,’ John glanced at Cliff. ‘He means the bronze that came bouncing back end of last year.’ Turning to Rowland he said ‘I do have an idea about who is behind it all, yes. I think you do too.’

‘Right, I see,’ nodded Rowland.

Cliff became aware he was sitting slightly open-mouthed as this exchange took place, the air of menace around the table was stifling, and he suddenly shivered. Rowland Mitchell had been a stallholder in his antiques centre for several weeks, and this was possibly the first time Cliff had even been aware he was an accepted member of the clique which surrounded John Robson. Cliff was sure he had never seen Rowland talking, or even sitting down, with any of the other antiques dealers. He looked at his customer with fresh eyes, and wondered if maybe he had underestimated the man.

Rowland Mitchell seemed to have heard all he wanted to hear, and abruptly left the table, leaving behind his own unpleasant fragrance. No one commented on the exchange, or showed any curiosity about John Robson’s assertions. Cliff was dying to ask who John thought was responsible for the fake bronze figure which had caused him so much financial pain, but didn’t dare.

The group’s focus changed to a Chinese vase which one of them had sold on eBay for forty thousand pounds, and then on to Cliff’s newly purchased jade bowl which one of the other dealers bought from him for nine hundred pounds.

After that the group broke up, the dealers either going back out for another tour of the flea market, or heading out to a different fair, or off for Sunday lunch with their families. Cliff stayed where he was, waiting for Tony to come and find him. He didn’t have to wait long before Tony appeared, shaking the rain off his hat.

‘Would you like another drink, Cliff?’

‘I’ll have another coffee, thanks Tony.’

When Tony came back with the tray of food and drink, Cliff said ‘You know that chap who took a stall in my antiques centre last month, Rowland Mitchell. Do you know anything about him?’

‘Other than he stinks? No, why do you ask?’

‘Well, just before you got here John Robson and his gang were sitting at this table, and Rowland Mitchell came over and joined us as though it was the most natural thing in the world! John and Rowland clearly know each other very well, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had no idea he knew that lot, but no one else batted an eyelid when he joined us.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought Rowland dealt in the sort of things John does; he’s mainly a bit of this ‘n that type of dealer isn’t he? I’d have thought John was way out of his league. Still, you live and learn. What were they talking about?’

‘Ah, well that was the interesting thing. Apparently John knows who is behind the fake bronze he bought last year. From the way they were talking Rowland does too.’

‘Oh? Who is it?’

‘Now that they didn’t say. I was a bit surprised to find Rowland Mitchell was more in the know about these things than me, and that he was clearly included in the secret while I wasn’t. I suppose in their eyes I am little more than a shop owner. My dealer credentials have been tarnished.’

Tony chose to ignore Cliff’s moment of self-pity and focus on the interesting part of his information. ‘Really, he was welcomed into the conversation? So what did they say then? Does everybody else know? Who is it?’

‘No idea, no one was saying anything much. Just that John knew who was behind it, and Rowland did too. Whoever it is I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes. John Robson has a hard nut reputation; I wouldn’t cross him.’

‘No, me neither.’ Tony shivered. ‘Didn’t he put someone in a wheel chair permanently once? Years ago.’

‘Oh yes, that’s right. A dealer in Bermondsey Market who cheated him on some scrap silver wasn’t it? I’d hate to think what he would do to someone who deliberately sold him a fake.’

They both sat silently for a minute or two, until Cliff roused himself. ‘Right, are you finished here?’ he said as he collected all the empty debris from various drinks and breakfasts which had been left scattered all over the table.

‘Yup, you?’

‘Certainly am, let’s head home.’

Chapter 33

Monday 25
th
January, 9.30am

Paul’s change in routine of coming to work earlier than Rebecca continued, as did the requests for no disturbances while he was in his office. For a man who was usually so interactive with his staff, always out and about in the warehouse or the main office, chatting with customers and getting involved in queries and problems with his staff, and whose office door was rarely closed, he was transformed into a quiet introverted character who rarely left his desk. He still hadn’t confided to Rebecca what the problems were, and her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. The atmosphere at work had become permanently unsettled; everyone was on edge waiting for the next slight on their work from Paul.

Rebecca decided that today was the day to ask him what was going on. As far as she could see there was nothing wrong with the business, and yet whatever the problem was it clearly had something to do with the auctions because Paul was still being unusually picky about the goods they were accepting for sale. Daniel commented more than once to Rebecca that Paul had changed the goal posts and he no longer knew whether or not to say yes to items he would previously receive for auctions with no hesitation. Rebecca could see it was starting to undermine Daniel’s confidence, and thought that if Paul didn’t change his management style soon then Daniel would be off to another auction house. Similarly Paul’s recent behaviour had changed their office dynamics, and while she welcomed the more business-like relationship between her and Paul, she missed the banter and laughter. If things didn’t improve soon then she also may start scanning the vacancies pages of the Brackenshire Post.

The rift between Paul and Tony had widened to the extent that Tony was now banned from the Black’s Auctions premises, and after last week’s fallout it appeared Cliff’s name was also added to the list of people who were persona non grata. Cliff told Rebecca and Jackie all about Paul’s treatment of Tony’s daughter when he joined them for a family Sunday lunch cooked by Rebecca and their musician son Michael, and about Paul’s failed attempts to hook up with Jennifer Isaac. They were all in agreement that Paul was rapidly heading in the wrong direction and had taken on the mantle of desperation, and it wouldn’t be long if he carried on in this way he would be labelled a sex-pest. Michael and Charlotte, Cliff and Rebecca’s daughter, were friends with Christine and Paul’s children who were in the same school years, so the adults tried to keep the conversation from them, unsuccessfully.

Despite the general consensus that Paul was travelling down a slippery slope with his treatment of the women he came into contact with, Rebecca could not see how Paul’s failed attempts at romances could be resulting in his change of business practice. He had always behaved in this way towards women, although recent events suggested his modus operandi was changing from casting his hook and enticing the unfortunate women to follow it willingly back to heartbreak, to actually catching them and dragging them into his net before discarding them. Rebecca knew of several women through her Parent Teacher Association and Fête commitments who deliberately entered into relationships with Paul believing that
they
would be the one to make him change his ways. His reputation was so well known that no one in Woodford could possibly be unaware of it. That couldn’t be said for the unfortunate women he met online, and by hers and Christine’s calculations he had been online dating for at least twelve years, even before he and Christine had split up.

The front door opened and Peter Isaac walked in. Rebecca’s heart sank. Was this is it? Another disgruntled father coming to have it out with Paul about his treatment of his daughter?’

‘Hi Rebecca, are you well?’ asked Peter.

‘Yes, fine thank you!’ replied Rebecca as brightly as possible. ‘We don’t usually see you in here Peter, how can I help you today?’

‘Oh thank you, but I think I need to see Paul about this little matter,’ responded Peter gravely.

Here we go, thought Rebecca. ‘OK, I think he is in the middle of something at the moment.’

‘Oh don’t worry, he is expecting me,’ and Peter walked over to Paul’s door, knocked, and then opened it and went into his office.

Fifteen minutes later the door re-opened and Peter came out. Rebecca studied his face but could see no clues as to what had been going on. At least there had been no shouting that she could hear, and Peter’s face and hands appeared to be unmarked.

‘Bye Rebecca,’ he said as he walked on out of the front door without pausing.

Minutes later Paul came out of his office and walked over to the kettle. ‘Tea, Rebecca?’

‘That would be lovely, thank you Paul.’

‘Anything I need to know?’ he asked, quietly. Now she thought about it, Paul had been unusually quiet and unobtrusive since Cliff’s visit the previous Thursday. Paul was normally a live wire, similar to Cliff in that you could sense his presence even if he was concentrating on reading something or examining an item for the auction. But for the last few days his demeanour was a strange mix of simmering anger and defeat.

‘Nope, nothing I can think of Paul,’ replied Rebecca in as bright a tone as she could manage.

Paul looked at her intently. She looked away.

‘You too?’ he murmured, and returned to his office without completing his tea-making task.

Well that was uncomfortable, thought Rebecca, and tried to concentrate on the list of answer phone messages and emails which usually filled the first hour of her Monday mornings. Suddenly Paul’s door opened.

‘I’m just going out. Don’t know when I’ll be back,’ he said over his shoulder as he exited through the front door.

Rebecca sighed. Whatever was going on was interfering with their work now. Paul always let her know where he was, and he was always courteous when he spoke to her. For the last few days he had been abrupt and secretive about his movements. What to do? Presumably Paul’s pride had taken a battering, and he was feeling embarrassed and defensive if he thought everyone knew. But all he had been doing was behaving in typical Paul Black-fashion, so what was so different about this one? Maybe he actually cared about Lizzi? Or Jennifer? Or was there someone else?

Daniel walked into the room. ‘Hi Rebecca, is Paul in his office?’ he asked, peering through the open doorway as he asked the question.

‘No, he has just gone out. Is it urgent?’

‘Oh, no, nothing much, it is not really important. Where’s he gone? I thought he was going to help me work out the logistics for Wednesday. We have two house clearances to do: one in Swanwick and one here in Woodford. I need to know which we are doing first so I can book the guys who are helping with the one here in Woodford. It is Mrs Maxwell-Lewis’ old farmhouse so will be a massive job. Have you ever been in there?’

‘Ah, yes, a couple of times she invited me into the kitchen for a drink while we discussed Summer Fête affairs. One of those lovely old houses, crammed with knick-knacks and family history. You’ll never clear that in a day! Particularly not if you are clearing another house in different part of the county.’

‘No, that’s why we’re using the Higston lads and one of their vans. Mrs Maxwell-Lewis has already moved out, and taken everything she wants. She has also taken Simon’s belongings too. Cliff is meant to be going in tomorrow to sort through most of the saleable stuff, but when I saw him in the tearooms on Friday he seemed to think he wouldn’t be needed after all. I haven’t managed to speak to Paul since then, but I will need to take a van tomorrow and help Cliff if he is doing it, and I need to let the Higstons know what time we need them.’

‘OK, hang on a minute, I’ll try his mobile.’

Seconds later they both turned towards the sound of Paul’s mobile phone as the familiar ring tone of the theme tune to the Antiques Roadshow played in his office.

‘Ah, right,’ said Daniel. ‘Has he not told you where he is going? He can’t be far if he hasn’t taken his phone with him.’

‘No, no, he didn’t say.’ Secretly she wondered if he had gone down the road to Williamson Antiques and was healing the rift between himself and Cliff. Aloud she said ‘Are you clearing the house in Swanwick first?’

‘Yes, we’re picking the keys up from the estate agents at nine in the morning.’

‘And you are taking both Black’s vans up there?’

‘Yes.’

‘So do you think you will be finished by twelve noon?’

‘I should think so, yes, it’s a straightforward job. The house was a mid-terrace two bedroom holiday let so no personal belongings and only the bare minimum of furniture. One and a half vans for the dump and less than half a van back here with saleable goods.’

‘Right, I will speak to Cliff and find out what is going on. In the meantime why don’t you assume Cliff will be at the Maxwell-Lewis Farm with you tomorrow, and you can sort out the first dump load and the first auction van load from there between you, plus leave enough directions for what is rubbish and what are auction goods to keep the Higston boys busy the following morning until you get there, say, about one thirty in the afternoon?’

‘Yes, I think that will work,’ said Daniel, rubbing his chin as he tried to calculate how long it would take to ferry the rubbish to the dump, bring the items for auction back to Black’s and unload them, and then drive back down the road to the Maxwell-Lewis Farm which was less than two minutes away.

‘Hard day tomorrow with no time for a lunch break, and I reckon we will be working late into the afternoon. But the electricity hasn’t been switched off as far as I know, so at least we will be able to see what we are doing. I remember last year we were trying to clear a big old former rectory at the other end of Woodford where the electricity had been turned off so that by half past three in the afternoon we couldn’t see a thing! But the farm is still up and running, so they need the power. The cows are due to be auctioned off next month, but they still have to be fed and milked until then.’

‘Poor Mrs Maxwell-Lewis. She was absolutely heart-broken by Simon’s behaviour. And now she has to move so she can be nearer the prison just so she can see him. He is bound to be given a custodial sentence when his case comes to Court in April. They wouldn’t have kept him behind bars for this long if there was a chance he would be given a suspended sentence.’ The previous year the residents of the town of Woodford had been rocked by the revelations that a local couple, the Wildes, had masterminded a series of burglaries which became known as The Country House Thefts, and had used a local antiques dealer, Simon Maxwell-Lewis, to acquire the goods. Rebecca felt that of all the people who had been victims of the Wilde’s criminal businesses, Mrs Maxwell-Lewis was the least well-known but most affected.

‘Not just that, it was his ill-gotten gains which had been keeping that farm running for years. She couldn’t have afforded to keep it going without his financial input. She is lucky not to have been charged as an accessory.’ Daniel did not feel the same sympathy towards Mrs Maxwell-Lewis as Rebecca. He did not believe she was the innocent party Rebecca believed her to be, and in his view turning a blind eye to robbery and living off the proceeds was as bad as committing the original crimes. Rebecca thought it was an admirable point of view for a young man who dealt with valuable goods belonging to other people, and decided not to challenge him on his fixed black-and-white opinions.

‘True. I wonder who will buy the land? I don’t imagine anyone will want to keep it as a dairy farm.’

‘Not unless they need their heads examined!’ laughed Daniel. ‘No money and unsociable hard-working hours. My brother had designs on working there when he left college, so he is gutted it is being broken up. I expect he will end up at the Higston’s farm over in Brackendon, that’s where he has done most of his work experience and now that Tom is making his living from pulling pints they could do with someone like Nathan. I expect the Maxwell-Lewis land will go for development won’t it?’

‘I don’t think it can. Woodford has some sort of ring-fencing whereby only the land to the east, where I live, can be built on for domestic housing. I think the Maxwell-Lewis land has a covenant on it which means it has to stay as agricultural land.’

‘I think if you have enough money you can do whatever you want in this country,’ said Daniel.

‘Sometimes it does seem that way,’ agreed Rebecca.