The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon (11 page)

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Authors: R. F. Delderfield

Tags: #School, #Antiques, #Fiction

BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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"I'm glad it was successful," said Mr. Sermon modestly, "but I would have felt a good deal more confident if I hadn't been dressed like I am."

"You got a point there, Perfesser," said Tapper, urging the van up the hill and pulling into a space bordering a birch wood. "You sound right but you don't look right. Now at this here auction we might come orf with a bob or two, so let's take a bit o' trouble an' dress yer for the part. What exactly you got in that there rucksack in the way o' duds ?"

"Nothing very impressive, I'm afraid," said Mr. Sermon, "but at least I could put on a collar and tie."

"You do that," said Tapper, seriously, "you do that right now but before I forget let's settle up!" He took out his wallet and peeled four fivers from the depleted roll, pressing them into Mr. Sermon's hand and closing his fingers on them.

"I say, look here," began Mr. Sermon, "I can't possibly take that amount for a mere piece of nonsense. You've already forfeited fifteen pounds by paying the deposit."

Tapper looked at him in astonishment. "Lost fifteen pounds? Lost it? How do you mean, lost it?"

"Well, you aren't going back for the pictures, are you?"

"Well, o' course I'm not," said Tapper, "but that on'y means I paid eighty instead o' sixty-five for the French bit don't it? And what's eighty for a piece like that? Lumme, I ain't greedy like some of em! I'm satisfied with two hundred per cent. If I give you twenty pounds the commode stands me in at a straight hundred, don't it ? And if I don't get three for it I ought to put the flippin' shutters up soon as I get "ome!"

"Three hundred?" gasped Mr. Sermon, "you'll re-sell the commode for three hundred?"

"An" fifty fer the jardiniere," Tapper reminded him. "Ain't a bad start to the day, is it? Now go on mate, get changed an' we'll push on to the sale."

As they were pottering along at about twenty-eight miles per hour they heard an imperious hooting immediately behind them and Tapper glanced into his mirror and gave a snort of indignation.

" 'Ullo, "ullo!" he growled, "if it ain't Old Chipper Trowbridge,

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blast his eyes! 'Ere, we'll 'ave a bit of fun with him!", and to Mr. Sermon's alarm he began to put on speed and hold to the very middle of the road while the man behind, driving a smart, unladen station-wagon, made several ineffectual attempts to pass.

"Is he a friend of yours ?" demanded Sebastian, presently, as the man's hooting trumpeted the motorist's furious impatience.

"Friend? Christ, no!" said Tapper. "He used to be, a kind o' friend, tho' I never reely liked him. Too flippin' dicey and too smooth be' arf! Besides, I don't reckon he's honest!"

Mr. Sermon found this hard to digest. Coming from a man who had just purchased goods for a hundred pounds and hoped, within a matter of days, to dispose of them for three hundred, the remark seemed rather sanctimonious but Tapper must have divined his thoughts, for he said:

"We got standards! You mightn't think so but we 'ave and it's all a matter of how you approach a buy I reckon. Now when it comes to sellin", particularly to the public, the sky's the limit, perviding mindjew that you points out any restoration, fer that way you don't get no comebacks! But buying's diff rent. Take that Mrs. Starch-an'-Vinegar we met back there, I didn't fault her stuff, did I ? You didn't hear me tell her that French bit was late an* dolled up to look period? No, I told her the flippin' truth! I said it was a good, saleable piece, an" I give her gettin' on for what she asked for it. It wasn't up to me to tell her French was in the fashion was it? Or that the price o' that kind o" stuff was rocketing month be month? That's for 'er to find out on her own in them bloody magazine articles I was tellin" you about. But this bloke be'ind, Chipper Trowbridge, he gets all his buys be faulting. He comes into my place and tries to tell me that the Gillow couch I got ain't right because it's got two sabre legs an' two turned ones. Yet he knows as well as I do that they was turning legs long before Vicky days but still he comes the old Irish every time he looks in. An' that ain't all neither!" he added, weaving hard right just in time to prevent the infuriated Chipper from overtaking. "He double-crosses the Trade, not on'y me but others. I left him to bid for me at a sale one time because I had an important appointment and I asked him to get me one thing-one thing mindjew, a Persian rug it was that the

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missus wanted fer the flat. I didn't get that rug, mate, it went in the ring and Chipper held it when they dished out the kitty and when I offered him a profit on it you know what he said ? He said he had a customer who was mad keen to buy it an' so I tracked that customer down an' found out what he paid for it. Twenty-eight pun-ten it was, an' Chipper bought it for seven and stuck on another fifty bob in the knockout. Now is that right ? Is that fair ? I ain't forgotten and I'm gonner fix him sooner or later!"

Having got this grudge off his chest, Tapper relented and pulled in to allow Chipper to pass. The station-wagon whizzed by in a flurry of blue exhaust and a triumphant blare on the horn, as though the driver was doing something extremely skilful in overtaking the ancient van. Mr. Sermon caught a glimpse of the driver, a plump, florid man about fifty, chunky and rather arrogant-looking, with a fair-haired woman sitting beside him.

"Is that Chipper's wife ?" he asked, when they had settled down to their easy pace once more.

"Not 'er!" said Tapper. "His wife ran off with a Scoutmaster who was camping in Chipper's orchard a year or two back! Don't blame her, neither! Sexy bit she was, dark an' cha-cha-looking. No, that's Chipper's bit o" consolation, an' she's more upstage than wot he is! She sits in the car all the time he's buying, looking like the flippin' Queen o' Sheba when King Solomon's out on the knock!"

They were drawing near a large village now and Mr. Sermon saw signs of considerable activity on the outskirts, cars parked all along the road and a policeman directing traffic into a farm-gate on the right. There were saleboards announcing "Sale This Day" and knots of people sitting about on the grass verges of a lane that led to a largish house in the dip. He was amazed at the number of vehicles and the apparent prosperity of their owners. Some of the women were fashionably dressed and all the men wore heavy, country tweeds and looked as though they had just come from a point-to-point or an Agricultural Show.

"Are all local sales as popular as this?" he asked Tapper.

"This kind is, good-class property out in the country. You get a diff'rent clientele at town-houses, dozens of housewives taking the day orf an' a swarm of fringe dealers, dabblers mostly, but they

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don't show up at places like this. Nothing in it for 'em so they keep more to the kind o' stuff I got aboard, you know, bread an' butter lines. But this is a day for The Boys, for Chipper an' suchlike! I expect Steve Vinnicombe's here, in fact I know he is somewhere. Steve's the King-o'-the-Ring and a nice chap when you get to know him. Regular customer o' mine and fair mindjew, fair as they

come!"

They nosed down the lane and found a place to park in the rear of the house. Tapper said: "Now you sit tight, Perfesser, an' let me scout around a bit, I got a notion we might do a bit o' good here but first I'll have to see Steve an' the boys, an' find out what they're after an' 'ow much they're going up to. Yerse, it's a dealer's day orl right, the flippin' public won't get a look in! Wait here an' I'll be back in ten minutes or so!" and he writhed from the driving seat and disappeared into the house, shouldering his way through the crowd like a man with a definite purpose in mind.

He was back in ten minutes and Mr. Sermon noted that he was pleased and excited. His face glowed and there was mischief in his brown, restless eyes.

"It's our lucky day!" he said. "We're gonner pull a fast one on Chipper! I had a word with Stevie and Abey Steiner, and some of the' others is comin" in, chaps like George Dickon an' Bill Cooksley. Bella McCoy an' her boy-friend, they're game as well, it's like I said, they all got it in fer Chippy! Now you c'n help work this Perfesser, in fact, I don't reckon we could work it without you. Hurry up, mate, they're just about to restart. All the bedroom stuff has gone and they're half-way through the dining-room, up to Lot 2oi," and he almost dragged Mr. Sermon from the cab and steered him through the mob that was converging on the dining-room.

Tapper pointed out Steve Vinnicombe and several other dealers, who had congregated in a group near the fireplace and Mr. Sermon at once recognised them as an elite for they were calm and poised, chatting easily with one another and sometimes laughing quietly. They looked, he thought, like a knot of professional performers at an air-display, men and women to whom this was all in a day's work and very far from being an entertainment. There was a kind

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of aloof strength in the way they stood and gestured, holding their folded catalogues like batons and eyeing the auctioneer as jockeys eye the starter. Mr. Sermon, however, had little opportunity to enquire about any of them for Tapper whisked him into the little study that lay between the dining-room and drawing-room and pointed to a small, marquetry chest of drawers with a label announcing it to be Lot 311.

"That's the piece!" he announced, "that's what we're going to drop on Chipper when he don't expect it!"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Sermon, involuntarily, and then smiled at himself, for he realised that Tapper was speaking metaphorically and devoted all his attention to the dealer's instructions which were, however, almost incomprehensible to him.

"You're an up-country dealer, see? From York, where the family's gone. You come down special to get this one piece for the owners. A special bit, see? Got a history to it an' they want it real bad!"

"Then why would it be included in the sale?" asked Mr. Sermon, bluntly, but Tapper gave a gesture of impatience. "Executors have to put everything in the sale to stop argy-bargy from the benner-fisheries!" he grunted, "but don't side-track me, mate, we ain't got time. Chipper will be in here any minnit, they almost finished the dining-room before lunch."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" asked Mr. Sermon, plaintively, for he remembered the tough look of the dealers in the fireplace and was nervous of crossing the least of them.

"Look at it!" said Tapper. "No, not now, chum, when Chipper an' the others are here. Get down on yer flippin' grovellers an' sniff it! Worry it! Poke it! Keep looking at this here catalogue as if you was consultin' it, but make sure he's around. I know Chipper and the minute he sees you he'll start pumpin' you because Steve will have already told him who you are an' what you're 'ere for, got me?"

"Well, partly," said the harassed Mr. Sermon. "As I understand it, you want me to pretend to an interest in this one piece? Then, you hope to get this Chipper to bid against me?"

"You got it, you got it!" said Tapper, happily, "but there's a bit

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more to it than that! He'll try an' find out why the family's so keen on it and you'll tell him it's because of its 'istory, see ?"

"But what is its history?" asked Sebastian.

Tapper clicked his teeth and glanced towards the door.

'"Ow the hell do I know? You're the perfesser of'istry aren't you? Someone well-known in 'istry give it to one of the fam'ly in the year dot-think of someone, someone who was alive when that piece was knocked up!"

Mr. Sermon looked hard at the chest but his brain was befogged.

"When would that be? About eighteen-ten?"

Tapper looked puzzled for a moment and then smiled, revealing his half-inch gap. "Well, if you think so, why shouldn't he?" he said, jubilantly. "In fer a penny in fer a quid and as ter price, watch me, see? I'll give you the come-on or drop dead sign!"

"I say that's all very well," protested Mr. Sermon, "but suppose this man Chipper doesn't . . ." but he trailed off, realising that he was now talking to himself, for almost as though he had bounced, Tapper shot away and began to study some ivories on the far side of the room. At that precise moment, Chipper drifted into the room, looking about him with the air of a patriarchal squire who has been asked to put in an appearance at a village fete but is wishing that rain would relieve him of the obligation.

Mr. Sermon, his ears burning, knelt beside the chest as though it had been a prie-dieu and from the crowded dining-room he could hear the half-jocular, half-protesting monologue of the auctioneer . . . "Any advance on thirty-three-ten? I'm not going to dwell, it's going at thirty-three-ten ... !" followed the almost inaudible tap of his gavel and the softly-spoken words "Sold to Mr. Vinnicombe."

As the auctioneer opened bidding on the next lot, Mr. Sermon was conscious of Chipper's bulk standing over him and a rather reedy voice saying, "Nice little piece, should fetch a good price, shouldn't it?" At the same time Tapper left the room without a glance in their direction and Mr. Sermon, feeling on his mettle, replied firmly, "I hope not too much, I came a long way to get it!"

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