Silver Guilt (3 page)

‘Provenance?' Nella barked.

‘Good but confidential,' I said.

She ignored me. ‘Not your usual area, Griff.'

‘That's why we brought it along for you to look at, Nella,' he said, with something of a bow.

‘So why should anyone ask you to sell something you don't know about?' She addressed Griff.

Brusque, Griff had said. I'd have had her down as bloody rude, all the more peculiar when Aidan was always so wordily polite.

‘Lina's got a kind heart. And she's a divvy,' he added, with a huge grin at me. ‘If she finds something, I know it's good. She's only operating on commission, but naturally wants to make the seller as much as possible.'

Nella turned to me. ‘So what made you pick it out?'

‘The owner asked me to. So I did.' I flashed a smile at Griff.

‘Just like that? Well, I suppose you could see it was silver gilt.'

‘She couldn't see anything when she brought it home,' Griff corrected her. ‘It took her a good hour to get it back to this state. Her restoration work on anything beats mine hands down.'

Holding it by two of the corners, she twirled it round so that it looked like a gold orb.

‘Well, you picked well. Have you really no idea what it is?'

‘I've been hunting round the Internet a bit. But maybe I've been looking in the wrong places. I know it's European, of course. But that's all.'

‘Seventeenth-century Hungarian. If I take it to a LAPADA fair I should get you between five and six thousand. Nearer six. Minus my commission, of course.'

‘That would be a lot more than we'd get at the fairs we go to,' I said. ‘And of course, it's not the sort of thing we usually handle, so we might not attract a buyer looking for something like that.'

‘I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I? Good. Now, more nibbles, anyone? Aidan, my glass is empty – what's happened to the bloody shampoo?'

Although I was technically a guest, of course, I made myself as useful as I could, my efforts with the canapés having attracted a couple of approving nods. I always left Griff and Aidan on their own together as much as I could. And although she was so . . . brusque . . . she seemed glad to have my help, even if it was just to clear the starter plates from the dining table and transfer the vegetables from the steamer to the appropriate dishes.

‘So you've become Griff's apprentice? Well, he needs one. So long as you don't start telling mops and buckets to clean the floor.'

What was she on about? And then it dawned on me. Mickey Mouse!

‘You mean like
The Sorcerer's Apprentice
?' I hummed a bit of the music, and her eyes widened. ‘He teaches me all sorts of things,' I said. I couldn't quite call her Nella, but refused to call her ma'am.

‘And what do you do in return? Apart from sniffing out goodies?'

‘I keep an eye on him,' I replied seriously. ‘He doesn't drink half as much as he did. And I make him take some pills the doctor's given him for his – oh, dear, I never can pronounce this right . . . Chol . . . chlor . . . The tablets are called statins, anyway.'

Her smile made her look a bit like a frog. ‘I didn't quite mean that. I meant professionally.'

‘Oh, you mean like the restoration work? And driving our van – his eyes aren't what they used to be, and even with glasses he hates driving after dusk. And I set up at fairs. Is that the sort of thing you mean? Oh, and I clean the house. He pretends to – he's got this fluffy duster on a stick – but my last foster mum told me always to use a damp cloth. And he always skimps the kitchen, so I do that and the bathroom too. I love seeing everything coming up shiny.'

She frowned as she squeezed some baked potatoes to see if they were cooked. ‘I hope you don't over-restore.'

Where did that come from? Because I'd said I liked cleaning? What a weirdo. But I mustn't let my hackles rise. ‘He's got these friends near Wolverhampton who restore stuff for museums. They taught me – a mini-apprenticeship. And it's our policy to tell anyone wanting to buy if I've repaired anything.'

‘
Our
?' she repeated, as if she hadn't heard the word right.

‘Yes. Griff said it was better for taxes and stuff if we were proper business partners. He got a solicitor to do everything.' He'd also insisted on giving me something called Power of Attorney, in case he was ever really ill and needed, he said, someone reliable to switch off the machine. But she didn't need to know that, not if the idea of a business partnership shocked her. Aidan knew all about it, since he shared the Power of Attorney, but if he hadn't told her, I didn't think I ought.

‘Hmm. Now, can you reach that pie out of the oven? I've got more arthritis than I like in the old wrists and I'd hate to drop it. Made it at home and brought it down with me. Wouldn't dare spill anything in here, would I? Does Aidan ever use it? He always was one for show. The best pony though he hated riding, the best tennis racquet though he was rubbish at serving – that sort of thing.'

‘At least in Griff he made a good choice,' I said firmly, reaching the pie out as I spoke and carrying it through to the dining room, where Griff had seized all the place mats and was putting them in a heap to protect the wonderful Regency table.

The pie was full of tough meat and mushy vegetables.

It was only as I cleared the plates and loaded the dishwasher – Aidan's stuff was expensive, but also very practical – that I returned to the subject of Nella's wrists.

‘How do you manage if you're handling valuables all the time? Especially something that can be heavy, like silver?'

‘Let's just say it's a good job I don't deal in china. Does he prefer cheese or pud first?'

I was startled. Didn't brothers and sisters know things like that?

‘Your brother likes cheese first, but he always gives way to Griff, who likes dessert first. And I like cheese second too.' There were some cheeses I wasn't at all sure about, but I'd never had a dessert I didn't like.

‘Dessert it shall be, then. Bloody hell, this dish was heavy enough when it was empty – and now it's full of sherry trifle . . .'

I took it from her, as if I was just inspecting it. ‘It's Stourbridge lead crystal, isn't it? From the days when Stourbridge actually made things. Thomas Webb?'

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Is that divvying or knowledge?'

Which would she respect more? ‘Knowledge,' I said truthfully. ‘I recognize the pattern.'

‘And where did you take your degree?'

Hadn't she noticed what I said about my apprenticeship? I didn't think she was the sort of person who'd like to hear that I hadn't got so much as a GCSE. ‘Griff thinks learning on the job's best. And what he can't tell me I can pick up from books and the Internet. There's a lot of time to kill at fairs and in the shop.'

‘And you put it to good use?'

‘Fairs are best. I can read about something and then go and see it for real. And some of the dealers are very kind.' Some weren't, of course. Some would peel you alive if they thought they could sell the skin. And some were real crooks, who wouldn't let you get near anything, because everything they handled was fake or stolen.

‘So why didn't you find out about that dish for yourself?'

‘Because it only came into my hands yesterday, and I spent the whole of today trying to repair a Chelsea figure for a client. Someone had broken off the poor lady's hand and lost it, so they asked me to help.' I spoke modestly but she should know how much skill it took to model a limb from scratch.

But if I hoped for a nod of acknowledgement, I was disappointed. ‘Who?' she barked.

‘A private collector. Not someone who'll try and sell it as perfect.'

‘Do they drink proper coffee or decaf?'

It seemed the interrogation was over.

A
s I had predicted, the television and its magic Sky dish had brought the world of international cricket into our sitting room. Lord Elham was so jealous that any day now he'd invite himself over to watch.

One day, with no fair, no sales and Griff minding the shop, I headed for Bossingham with a batch of home-made casseroles to put in the freezer I'd made him buy. He might not be cooking himself, but at least I could guarantee that my stuff came without any supposedly nasty additives. Griff wasn't especially happy, but he conceded that I needed to practise cooking as much as I needed to practise reading and writing.

This time I found no trace of any visitor, which was surprising. Lord Elham didn't do cleaning or tidying, and yet the fag ends had disappeared. Even the kitchen bin was empty, the first time I'd known it not to be stinking.

‘Your visitor's been back?' I said, trying to appear more interested in a pile of jewellery than in his answer.

I must have been too convincing; he came and stood beside me and started reminiscing about who had worn the pendant or necklace I was holding. Since I was interested in what was, after all, my family, even if they were the other side of the blanket, it was a very good ploy. I got so absorbed in the relationship of the woman in this locket to the man who'd owned that fob that I got completely sidetracked.

There were a couple of rings which might fetch something, but I always hated flogging anything so personal. And the stones weren't up to much either, considering their provenance. Since my divining-sense seemed to be on strike, I left everything where it was, taking just a pair of hideously fiddly Derby potpourri vases that might, when clean, fetch about £800 and left him to watch
Neighbours
in peace.

I was just cleaning one of the vase lids when the phone went. I left Griff to answer it. It was usually one of his old friends, and they could talk for hours about their days on the stage. Once or twice when I'd picked up the phone I'd not recognized the name at the other end, much to my embarrassment and probably the ageing star's as well.

At last I'd finished the lid and its mate, too, so I decided to nip down and make a cup of the green tea I'd read somewhere would do Griff good. He wasn't at all keen at first, but drank it to please me. In fact, I rather think he'd started to like it, because sometimes he drank it even when I wasn't there to nag him.

‘Don't you want to know who was on the phone?' he said.

‘One of your old muckers?'

‘Not exactly. It was Nella.'

‘Aidan's Nella?' I asked stupidly, as if I knew any other Nellas.

‘Indeed. It seems she's in a hole. Her assistant has broken her ankle, and won't be back at work for six weeks. Which, given Nella's bad wrists, is a disaster, when there's a big show in the offing.'

‘She just needs a couple of heavies.'

Griff laughed. ‘I think we can trust her to ensure that her property and her vehicle are well-guarded. But she needs someone to help on her stand at the next NEC event, and she wondered if you might like to go, just for the experience.'

‘The NEC? Antiques for Everyone? We always do that. Together.' And if it was a choice between working with Griff and working for her, I knew which I'd prefer. Every time.

‘No, loved one. The Fine Art and Antiques Fair. A LAPADA fair. A few select dealers, with a guaranteed time line. Punters wanting to buy instead of bringing their junk along and expecting us to give a free valuation.'

‘When?'

‘This week.'

‘I'd stay in our caravan?' I was obviously wavering.

‘Oh, no. Nella has a property up there.'

I froze. ‘The same sort of place as Aidan?'

‘Not quite. I'll take that as a yes, shall I?'

‘No! No, don't. I'd rather stay in our caravan, Griff. Honestly. I can drive up and park actually in the NEC.' Our caravan was a home on wheels. It was where Griff and I had spent some lovely evenings with dealer friends. We'd even gone on holiday in it a couple of times. It was safe. Staying in a posh house would be anything but safe.

He took my hand. ‘I know. But it would look very strange if you did, especially as Nella's home is near Leamington, no distance from the NEC.'

‘But eating with her . . . Sharing her bathroom . . . And what if she has a guard dog?'

‘You've already eaten with her and lived to tell the tale. She's probably got more bathrooms than you can shake a stick at. No dogs or cats to worry about. And her husband is a very pleasant man, who will, I have no doubt, treat you with every courtesy.' He gathered me to him and hugged me. ‘My darling child, you are young and beautiful and people like you. Nella tells me you're a credit to me. I said you were a credit to yourself.'

‘Let me think about it,' I said, meaning there was no way I'd agree.

‘You haven't got long, my love. She wants you to catch a train tonight. She'll reimburse you for your train fare, which will be considerable without prior booking discount. She'll meet you at Birmingham International, so you won't have to worry about changing trains after Euston.'

‘Tonight! But what do I take?'

‘Your best suit and three or four tops. Those lovely patent pumps. That's all you'll need for the day. For the evening, that embroidered skirt, a pair of trousers and a selection of fancier tops. Clean undies. Diamonds. Make-up. Your eyeglass. Your sponge bag. Your mobile phone. Use that wheelie case I gave you for Christmas.'

‘What about towels and—?'

‘I'm sure you'll find the largest, fluffiest towels in the world. And a bathrobe. My darling, I promise you that you are going to have a wonderful time. And even if you hate it, the fair only lasts four days.'

I'd never travelled by train on my own before, and only occasionally with Griff, so it was a good job I hadn't had time to worry about that, too. As it was, I got into the London train from our village with about a minute to spare, spent the whole tube journey being afraid of going round for ever and ever, like some underground Flying Dutchman, and then being sure that I would buy the wrong ticket and fetch up in Newton Abbot. OK, wrong station for Newton Abbot. Some travellers took off coats and scarves and even their shoes for the journey. I was so afraid of being whizzed past the NEC and into darkest Brum that I kept my coat on and my case beside me. My bag never left my lap. I did risk reading. Griff had found me a book on silver, which I studied as if I had to take an exam on it. I didn't want to let Nella down. More to the point, I didn't want to let Griff down.