And Thereby Hangs a Tale (11 page)

'The insurance company sold them back to Mr
Abbott at a slightly reduced price, on the understanding that neither side
would refer to the matter again.'

'That's a relief,' said Benny, 'because I've
got a favour to ask you, Inspector Matthews.'

'Isn't two years off your sentence enough to
be going on with?'

'It certainly is, Inspector Matthews, and don't
think I'm not grateful, but it won't be long before Bryant works out the reason
you haven't arrested Abbott is because the diamonds are kosher, and I
double-crossed him.'

'Go on,' said the detective inspector.

'I just wondered if you could find it in
your heart, Mr Matthews, if I was ever foolish enough to be found wanting
again, to make sure that I'm never sent back to Belmarsh.'

Matthews rose from the bench at the far end of
the gym and looked down at the old con.

'Not a hope, Benny,' he said with a grin. 'I
can't think of a better way of ensuring that you finally get yourself a proper
job and stay on the straight and narrow. And by the way, there may even come a
time when you want to come back to Belmarsh.'

'You must be joking, Mr Matthews. Why would
I ever want to come back to this shit hole?'

'Because the judge was as good as his word,'
said Matthews. 'He's cut Bryant's sentence in half. So, with good behaviour, he
should be out in a couple of years' time. And when he is, Benny, I have a
feeling it won't be Mr Abbott he comes looking for.'

W
HEN THE DOORBELL RANG, Julian Farnsdale
looked up.

The first decision he always had to make was
whether to engage a potential customer in conversation, or simply leave them to
browse. There were several golden rules that you adopted after so many years in
the trade.

If the customer looked as if he needed some assistance,
Julian would rise from behind his desk and say either, 'Can I help you?' or, 'Would
you prefer just to browse?' If they only wanted to browse, he would sit back down,
and although he would keep an eye on them, he wouldn't speak again until they began
a conversation.

Julian wasn't in any doubt that this
customer was a browser, so he remained seated and said nothing. Browsers fall
into three categories: those simply passing the time of day who stroll around
for a few minutes before leaving without saying anything; dealers who know
exactly what they are looking for but don't want you to know they're in the
trade; and, finally, genuine enthusiasts hoping to come across something a
little special to add to their collections.

This particular customer unquestionably fell
into the third category.

Julian studied him out of the corner of one eye,
an art he had perfected over the years. He decided he was probably an
American -- the tailored blazer, neatly pressed chinos and striped preppy tie.
The man may have been a browser but he was a browser with real knowledge and
taste because he only stopped to consider the finest pieces: the Adam fireplace,
the Chippendale rocking chair and the Delft plate. Julian wondered if he would
spot the one real treasure in his shop.

A few moments later, the customer came to a halt
in front of the egg. He studied the piece for some time before looking across
at Julian. 'Has it been signed by the master?'

Julian rose slowly from his chair. Another golden
rule: don't appear to be in a hurry when you're hoping to sell something very expensive.

'Yes, sir,' said Julian as he walked towards
him. 'You'll find Carl Fabergé's signature on the base. And of course the piece
is listed in the catalogue raisonné.'

'Date and description?' enquired the
customer, continuing to study the egg.

'1910,' said Julian. 'It was made to
celebrate the Tsarina's thirty-eighth birthday, and is one of a series of
Easter eggs commissioned by Tsar Nicholas the Second.'

'It's magnificent,' said the customer. 'Quite
magnificent. But probably out of my price range.'

Julian immediately recognized the bargaining
ploy, so he mentally added 20 per cent to the asking price to allow a little
room for manoeuvre.

'Six hundred and eighty thousand,' he said calmly.

'Pounds?' asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes,' said Julian without further comment.

'So, about a million dollars,' said the custom-er,
confirming that he was American.

Julian didn't reply. He was distracted by a screeching
sound outside, as if a car was trying to avoid a collision. Both men glanced out
of the window to see a black stretch limousine that had come to a halt on the double
yellow line outside the shop. A woman dressed in a stylish red coat and wearing
a diamond necklace, matching earrings and dark glasses stepped out of the back
of the car.

'Is that who I think it is?' asked Julian.

'Looks like it is,' said the customer, as
the woman stopped to sign an autograph.

'Gloria Gaynor.' Julian sighed as she
disappeared into the jewellery shop next door.

'Lucky Millie,' he added without
explanation.

'I think she's doing a gig in town this
week,' said the customer.

'She's performing at the Albert
Hall on Saturday,' said Julian. 'I tried to get a ticket but it's completely
sold out.'

The customer was clearly more interested in the
jewel-encrusted egg than the jewelcovered pop star so Julian snapped back into antique-dealer
mode.

'What's the lowest price you'd consider?' asked
the American.

'I suppose I could come down to six hundred and
fifty thousand.'

'My bet is that you'd come down to five
hundred thousand,' said the American.

'Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,' said
Julian. 'I couldn't consider a penny less.'

The American nodded. 'That's a fair price.

But my partner will need to see it before I can
make a final decision.' Julian tried not to look disappointed. 'Would it be
possible to reserve the piece at six twenty-five?'

'Yes, of course, sir.' Julian pulled open a drawer
in his desk, removed a small green sticker and placed it on the little
description card fixed to the wall. 'And when might we expect to see you again,
sir?'

'My partner flies in from the States on
Friday, so possibly Friday afternoon. But as he suffers badly from jetlag it's
more likely to be Saturday afternoon. What time do you close on Saturdays?'

'Around five, sir,' said Julian.

'I'll make sure we're with you before then,'
said the American.

Julian opened the door to allow his customer
to leave just as Miss Gaynor walked out of the jewellery shop. Once again she
stopped to sign autographs for a little group that had gathered on the pavement
outside. The chauffeur ran to open the door of the limousine and she
disappeared inside. As the car slipped out into the traffic, Julian found
himself waving, which was silly because he couldn't see a thing through the
smokedglass windows.

Julian was about to return to his shop when he
noticed that his next-door neighbour was also waving. 'What was she like,
Millie?' he asked, trying not to sound too much like an adoring fan.

'Charming. And so natural,' Millie replied,
'considering all that she's been through. A real star.'

'Did you learn anything interesting?' asked Julian.

'She's staying at the Park Lane Hotel, and she's
off to Paris on Sunday for the next leg of her tour.'

'I already knew that,' said Julian. 'Read it
in Londoner's Diary last night. Tell me something I don't know.'

'On the day of a concert she never leaves
her room and won't speak to anyone, even her manager. She likes to rest her
voice before going on stage.'

'Fascinating,' said Julian. 'Anything else?'

'The air conditioning in her room has to be turned
off, because she's paranoid about catching a cold and not being able to
perform. She once missed a concert in Dallas when she came off the street at a
hundred degrees straight into an air-conditioned room, and ended up coughing
and sneezing for a week.'

'Why's she staying at the Park Lane,' asked Julian,
'and not Claridges or the Ritz where all the big stars stay?'

'It's only a five-minute drive from the
Albert Hall and she has a dread of being held up in a traffic jam and being
late for a concert.'

'You're beginning to sound like an old friend,'
said Julian.

'Well, she was very chatty,' said Millie.

'But did she buy anything?' asked Julian,
ignoring a man carrying a large package who strolled past him and through the
open door of his antique shop.

'No, but she did put a deposit down on a
pair of earrings and a watch. She said she'd be back tomorrow.' Millie gave her
next-door neighbour a warm smile. 'And if you buy me a coffee, I'll tell her
about your Fabergé egg.'

'I think I may already have a buyer for
that,' said Julian. 'But I'll still get you a coffee, just as soon as I've got
rid of Lenny.' He smiled and stepped back into his shop, not bothering to close
the door.

'I thought you might be interested in this,
Mr Farnsdale,' said a scruffily dressed man, handing him a heavy helmet. 'It's
Civil War, circa 1645. I could let you have it for a reasonable price.'

Julian studied the helmet for a few moments.

'Circa 1645 be damned,' he pronounced.

'More like circa 1995. And if you picked it
up in the Old Kent Road, I can even tell you who made it. I've been around far
too long to be taken in by something like that.'

Lenny left the shop, head bowed, still
clutching the helmet. Julian closed the door behind him.

Julian was bargaining with a lady over a small
ceramic figure of the Duke of Wellington in the shape of a boot (circa 1817).
He wanted 350 pounds for the piece but she was refusing to pay more than 320 pounds,
when the black stretch limousine drew up outside. Julian left his customer and
hurried over to the window just in time to see Miss Gaynor step out on to the
pavement and walk into the jewellery shop without glancing in his direction. He
sighed and turned to find that his customer had gone, and so had the Duke of
Wellington.

Julian spent the next hour standing by the door
so he wouldn't miss his idol when she left the jewellery shop. He was well
aware that he was breaking one of his golden rules: you should never stand by
the door. It frightens off the customers and, worse, it makes you look
desperate. Julian was desperate.

Miss Gaynor finally strolled out of the
jewellery shop clutching a small red bag which she handed to her chauffeur. She
stopped to sign an autograph, then walked straight past the antique shop and
into Art Pimlico, on the other side of Julian's shop. She was in there for such
a long time that Julian began to wonder if he'd missed her. But she couldn't have
left the gallery because the limousine was still parked on the double yellow
lines, the chauffeur seated behind the wheel.

When Miss Gaynor finally emerged she was followed
by the gallery owner, who was carrying a large Warhol silk-screen print of Chairman
Mao. Lucky Susan, thought Julian, to have had a whole hour with Gloria.

The chauffeur leapt out, took the print from
Susan and placed it in the boot of the limousine. Miss Gaynor paused to sign a
few more autographs before taking the opportunity to escape. Julian stared out
of the window and didn't move until she'd climbed into the back of the car and
had been whisked away.

Once the car was out of sight, Julian joined
Millie and Susan on the pavement. 'I see you sold the great lady a Warhol,' he
said to Susan, trying not to sound envious.

'No, she only took it on appro,' said Susan.

'She wants to live with it for a couple of
days before she makes up her mind.'

'Isn't that a bit of a risk?' asked Julian.

'Hardly,' said Susan. 'I can just see the
headline in the Sun: Gloria Gaynor steals Warhol from London gallery. I don't
think that's the kind of publicity she'll be hoping for on the first leg of her
European tour.'

'Did you manage to sell her anything,
Millie?' asked Julian, trying to deflect the barb.

'The earrings and the watch,' said Millie, 'but
far more important, she gave me a couple of tickets for her concert on Saturday
night.'

'Me too,' said Susan, waving her tickets in triumph.

'I'll give you two hundred pounds for them,'
said Julian.

'Not a chance,' said Millie. 'Even if you offered
double, I wouldn't part with them.'

'How about you, Susan?' Julian asked desperately.

'You must be joking.'

'You may change your mind when she doesn't
return your Chairman Mao,' said Julian, before flouncing back into his shop.

The following morning, Julian hovered by the
door of his shop, but there was no sign of the stretch limousine. He didn't
join Millie and Susan in Starbucks for coffee at eleven, claiming he had a lot
of paperwork to do.