Mourning Doves (33 page)

She found that there were second-hand dealers and antique dealers, and a third group which catered for collectors, mostly small things, like china, medals, coins or old toys.

‘You’d be amazed what people collect,’ one lady told her. ‘I’ve a chap on my list who does nothing but collect corsets, the older the better.’ She laughed. ‘He’s not perverted. He dresses exhibitions in museums, and to make the garments hang right, he needs proper underwear under them.’

Celia looked so innocent that, at first, it was apparent that the dealers assumed she attended sales for amusement rather
than to buy. Until they began to know her face and heard her bid, they would talk quite frankly about fake antiques and cheap copies of better quality furniture.

She accepted any bit of information she could pick up, though she and Edna had had the advantage of living in a circle of people whose homes were invariably beautifully furnished, and had acquired, without realising it, an eye for fine design and finish. As a result, they could make a reasonable guess at the probable age of a piece.

After a while, the two women found themselves part of a fraternity of dealers, who, though often hostile to each other, tended to hang together at estate sales. As time went on, more than one client of Celia’s Antiques turned out to be a person sent to them by another dealer, who did not have in stock what the client wanted. She took care to reciprocate.

While she waited with what patience she could muster for word from Alec regarding the two paintings he had taken away, Celia announced an art sale, everything one guinea, to get rid of those paintings which he had said were done by amateurs. She kept on the walls of her shop those which John had told her were done by local professionals.

On a fine October day, she set out the amateur efforts along the frontage of the shop. She herself sat in the doorway.

She discovered that pictures of flowers went very quickly, and two framed samplers were snapped up by an elderly lady who said she collected them. One street scene was stolen. Anything dark and gloomy failed to move.

John advised her to enter the stolen painting in her account book as one guinea lost by theft. ‘It’s an expense of doing business,’ he explained calmly. Celia, who was learning about life almost too quickly, ruefully followed his advice.

It was news to her that people collected old samplers,
and she decided regretfully that she had probably sold her samplers far too low.

As soon as it was fairly apparent that the business was beginning to thrive, John also advised her to take out fire insurance, which she did. ‘Fire’s what I fear most,’ John told her. ‘It can wipe you out.’

Both Edna and Celia had begun to doubt that they would ever receive an opinion on the painting of Hoylake Sands, but, totally unexpectedly one Saturday afternoon, Alec came hurrying into the shop.

Celia was seated behind her little counter table and he saw how her face lit up at the sight of him.

Hat in hand, he bowed, and apologised. ‘I am sorry to have left you so long in suspense. Getting the college back to a peacetime footing without our principal has taken up more time than we expected.’

Celia was so pleased to see him that the paintings seemed suddenly unimportant. She smiled, and said, as she pointed to a chair conveniently set near her, ‘It doesn’t matter. Do sit down and tell me what happened and how your principal is. Would you like a cup of tea?’

He refused the tea, as he seated himself and laid his hat on a sideboard at the back of him. Then he turned to grin at her cheerfully. The smile made her heart jump.

‘Well, good news and bad news. The old boy is fine and was very interested, once he had a chance to really examine them. When I told him where I had got them from, he was cautious, however. He thinks they may be genuine, that is to say, not good copies, but is not sure. He has suggested I show them to an art expert.’

‘Where do we find one?’

‘I thought, first, of the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool, and then I thought we might as well go to the Turner specialists and take them to London to the Tate Gallery. They have a whole Turner collection. And, in addition,
they would probably know a Ramsay if they saw one. I am sure someone there would be kind enough to look at both of them.’

‘Would they really bother with us?’

‘I think so. After all, it was Tate of Tate and Lyle, the sugar people, in Liverpool, who founded the gallery. They owe something to Liverpudlians like us.’

Celia laughed. She was so happy, so glad to see him. ‘Of course. Do whatever you think fit. It is most kind of you to be so interested.’

‘Well, I spent the summer helping to plan a new curriculum and special extra lectures for ex-servicemen; and I never got an autumn break because of the absence of our principal – we’re still so short of staff. But, as soon as the exams are finished, I’ll get a few days’ holiday – before Christmas – and I would be very glad to take them to London – if you’ll trust me with them a little longer.’

‘Of course, I trust you.’

By God, she really does, he thought, and he enjoyed the feeling it gave him.

Then he said, ‘Well, you know, Miss Gilmore, it would be wonderful if we could announce the discovery of another Turner painting. If it happens to be true, it will give you enough capital to assure the continuation of the business, and enough to invest elsewhere for future use. I can tell you that it will put Celia’s Antiques on the map.’

‘Would it really? The lack of ready money to replace our stock has worried both Edna and me. And, by the way, do please call me Celia – John always does.’

His eyes twinkled, as he replied, his voice holding a little surprise. ‘Well, thank you – I’m Alec. Now, keep your fingers crossed, Celia,’ he teased. ‘The Ramsay will be a nice find, too, if it is genuine.’

As he picked up his hat from the sideboard, he paused and, almost diffidently, asked her if, on the following Friday
evening, she would like to go with him to the cinema to see a motion picture.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, and said she had never seen a film. He assured her that they were the coming thing in entertainment. ‘
The Birth of a Nation
isn’t a new film, but I am sure you would find it interesting,’ he urged.

As a result, Celia entered a new magical world. She also enjoyed having her hand held during the more exciting scenes.

She did not tell her mother that she had sat in the dark holding the hand of a man she barely knew. She accounted for being so late home by saying she had spent the time rearranging the books in the shop for a sale the following week.

She decided that she would certainly never ever mention to Louise that, after the cinema show was over, they had walked along the shore and he had put his arm round her waist, while they watched the waves breaking on the distant sandbanks. And he had kissed her goodbye at the top of King’s Gap, before they ran laughing across the road to the railway station and he had put her on the train for Meols. And she was going out with him again next week.

Sometimes you have to lie for peace, she decided after much quiet thought on the subject, and she felt so wonderful that she could not bear to have the feeling shattered by an angry parent. Nobody in the whole world, she knew for certain, had ever felt like she did; she was in love.

Edna laughed, when she confessed this to her, and said she was delighted. She had to have Alec described in detail to her, because she had, as yet, never met him. Celia spent about half an hour on the subject, without even stopping for breath.

Edna said wistfully that she wished she was as lucky as her sister. And Celia realised that the tables had indeed
turned; Edna must be envious, much as she had been on her sister’s wedding day.

She gave Edna a big hug, and said with conviction that Edna’s time would come.

Edna nodded with a quiet smile, and went upstairs to her bedroom to smoke and to write to Vital.

As winter crept on, the shop became quite busy, with fur-clad customers in search of ornaments, pictures and books for Christmas gifts. It was clear that Edna, just as much as Celia, had become a part of Celia’s Antiques and Collectibles. She obviously enjoyed the battle of wits as they bought and sold, whereas Celia found it difficult to maintain a firm stance in the face of some clients who tried to force her prices down. It was Celia, however, who kept carefully the proof of the provenance of particularly good antiques, and, when they were occasionally asked to sell pieces on commission, it was she who kept note of the furniture’s ownership. She also cleaned the store, polished the furniture and kept the accounts.

Despite her fear of bargain-hunting clients, she spent more and more time in the shop, while Edna bought at estate sales. If driven into a corner on the subject of price, Celia would say that she must consult her partner before agreeing to bring it down by more than ten per cent.

On occasions, clients would criticise a piece of furniture because it had minor scratches or chips or the upholstery was shabby. This gave the young women a chance to bring John Philpotts to the fore on the subject of repairs, and his salesmanship often clinched a deal.

They also went half shares with John in the purchase of a handcart and a better trolley to facilitate the movement of both his repairs and their stock. ‘One day,’ John promised, ‘we’ll buy our own van for deliveries.’

‘Will you teach me how to drive?’ Edna teased.

John was unexpectedly silent. Then he said reluctantly, ‘We’ll see when the time comes.’

It was only later that Edna was told by Eddie Fairbanks that John blamed himself for the death of his fiancée while driving an ambulance in France.

‘You see, love, if he hadn’t taught her, she’d probably never have gone to war. Not that the poor girl would have got much comfort from him if she’d stayed at home waiting for him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Didn’t you know? The poor lad’s so wounded he’ll never be any use to a woman. You don’t have to tell every Tom, Dick and Harry, of course.’

Edna nodded her head slowly. ‘I suspected it from a few hints he dropped, though, naturally, I would never actually ask him straight out,’ she said. ‘But you do hear of men coming home disabled in every way, and their wives and fiancées stay with them and care for them.’ She looked thoughtfully down at her feet, as if shy at discussing such a delicate matter, and then she suggested, ‘I think, at times, that love can be an all-encompassing and forgiving emotion. And his fiancée might well have stood by him, even if the marriage could not have been consummated. He’s a very nice man.’

‘Oh, aye. It’s possible.’

‘Well, anyway, he’s an excellent friend to both Celia and me – like you are.’

‘Well, thank you, Miss Edna.’ The old man grinned and returned to picking rosehips off the bushes in his front garden. What a fine, understanding lady Miss Edna was. He hoped she would find a nice man some day. He snipped three particularly lovely Christmas roses, and then called her back to give them to her.

Without Ethelred, the women admitted, they would have been lost. Much of the furniture was heavy, and, before it was sold, often had to be moved more than once. Eventually he became their full-time employee, at a very modest weekly wage, and he divided his time between their garden and the shop. As the newspapers reported an increased number of unemployed, his mother, knowing his limitations, was pitifully grateful.

‘You’ve given him pride in himself, like nobody else would have bothered to do,’ she told Celia almost tearfully, as one day she brought in the sandwich lunch which he had forgotten to bring with him to work.

‘Well, he’s the sweetest person to work with,’ Celia replied. ‘And he is so honest – I never have to worry about that. Of course, the shop isn’t making very much yet – but we hope to improve his wages as time goes on.’

Alec Tremaine did not bother Celia with details of the convoluted situation he found himself in, as he sought to prove the origins of the two paintings he had taken away. Because he would not entrust them to anyone else, he had to wait for opportunities such as his pre-Christmas holiday to take them personally to show to various experts to hum and haw over.

The Ramsay was indeed a Ramsay, he was assured at the Tate, and the two women agreed, when asked, that it should be auctioned in Edinburgh.

During a weekend when Alec begged a Friday off he took the train to Scotland. He was armed with an introduction to the Director of the art gallery in Edinburgh. He was agreeably surprised when the gallery itself made an offer for it.

He made a long-distance call on a crackling telephone to his new-found friend at the Tate. His friend pointed out that the price seemed a little low. If he wanted to try for a better price, the gallery could bid at an auction.

Thoroughly out of his depth, Alec said he would consult the owner, and went back to Hoylake.

‘Take it,’ said Edna. ‘We could get the finding of it written up in the Chester newspaper and even in the
Scotsman
, perhaps. It would give us wonderful publicity, that we made a find like that – and anyway, we need the capital.’

And so it was arranged. She was right about the publicity.

Instead of using the money for the Ramsay to buy stock, Alec suggested that it would probably more than pay a first-class specialist to clean the Turner.

‘It would have to be done by a most reputable firm,’ Alec warned. ‘Because it could be easily damaged – it would have to be taken out of its frame, which nobody has tried to do up to now.’

He looked at Celia, and said, ‘As I told you, the chap at the Tate is dead sure it is genuine. But he did say that to sell it on the international market – and it would be international – you’d do better if you had provenance to support the claim that it is a real Turner; otherwise, it is going to cost you a lot, with insurance and transport, while other experts nod their heads over it.’ He paused to whistle under his breath, and then added, ‘I suspect that, if it were cleaned, all the glorious Turner colours would come up and it would look more convincing.’

Celia was loath to chance losing what they had gained. She protested gently that they needed the money so badly.

‘Tush, Celia. We take chances every day,’ responded Edna. ‘We make all kinds of blunders when we’re buying and selling. Let’s take this one big chance. It could be the best investment we ever made.’

Finally, they all crossed their fingers, and, once more, Celia packed the painting up very carefully.

The decision entailed two more visits to London, the first, a day or two later, to deliver the painting to an art restorer recommended by the Tate. The second, for which
he took a day’s leave one Friday some three months later, was to collect it after the cleaning was completed. Alec began to think that he was buying the London, Midland and Scottish Railway Company with his own small salary. ‘The things I do for love.’ He smiled at his predicament, and began to give earnest thought to engagement rings and to introducing Celia to his mother.

When the picture was finally returned to its owner, it glowed with colour. The man who had so painstakingly cleaned it had raved over it, and for the first time Alec was himself completely convinced that it was a genuine Turner.

While all three of them were in doubt as to what they should do next, Great-aunt Blodwyn became the unexpected source of confirmation of the picture’s origins. When Celia wrote to her aunt for her birthday at the end of March, she mentioned her adventures with the shop and the good news about the portrait by Ramsay. She also said how much she wished the Turner was a real one.

She received by return of post a registered letter.

‘I have preserved a lot of my grandfather’s letters and papers, because he was an interesting man,’ her godmother wrote. ‘He did a considerable amount of writing about the state of the arts in his day. I always knew that Turner painted that picture – only Louise never seemed to realise that it was valuable and should be taken care of. I am glad you have more sense.

‘Grandpa loved the picture – he said Turner did it from memory. I believe it was my grandfather’s single biggest investment in a painting, though, as you know, he had quite a collection, some of which ended up in your house.’

Attached to her letter was another, rather crumpled epistle, in which in faded copperplate Joseph Turner acknowledged the safe receipt of a bank draft from Sir Thomas Gilmore in full settlement for an oil painting called
Hoylake Sands
.

Alec looked stupefied when he was shown the letter.

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he exclaimed, and sat down, so flabbergasted that he forgot to apologise for using a swear word.

‘This will do it,’ he said with a satisfied grin. ‘It will do it! You’ll have plenty of capital to do whatever you want.’

Deeply moved, he got up and put his arms round Edna and hugged her, kissing her on either cheek. Then he smiled down at her little sister, and took her in his arms and did the same.

She blushed profusely as he held her for a moment before releasing her, and Edna decided that it would be very nice to have a brother again. As they discussed the moves they must make to put the painting on the market, she lit a cigarette and longed for Vital.