A French Affair (13 page)

Later, having had a quick look at what was in the cardboard box, Gina decided to see if Matthew was in. He might have arrived without her noticing. She needed help with pricing up and she wanted him to know that Bill Morrison was definitely on side with regard to the Christmas event. She’d also had another idea she wanted to run past him and the box was a good excuse. She’d met most of the dealers now, but going on what Bill Morrison had said, most people would be keen to do anything to get more business into the centre which had
once thrived. Although Bill was too discreet to say as much, Gina got the impression that everyone believed Matthew had lost heart, but as Bill hadn’t said that directly, she couldn’t ask why he thought it.

As she went up to the next floor with her box of bits she found herself wondering slightly why Bill, who seemed to be doing better from his other spaces, should still keep a stall in the French House. It seemed the French House had a lot of loyal dealers but why were they loyal? And was it to the centre, or to Matthew? Or even the memory of his father? The more she talked to people the more she realised what big boots Matthew had to fill. She knocked on the door of the office and opened the door when he answered.

‘Hello!’ she said brightly, rubbing Oscar’s chest, flattered that he’d got up to greet her. ‘Bill Morrison kindly bought me a job lot at an auction and I wondered if you’d help me sort it out and price up what’s suitable. I’ve got an idea to share with you too.’

Matthew put down his pen. He seemed to have been buried in the accounts again. ‘Of course. Fire away,’ he said from behind his desk.

Gina decided he must have been a headmaster in a previous incarnation. She couldn’t bring herself to accept his authority unchallenged, however. He brought out a devilish desire in her to keep prodding at the hornets’ nest. She spotted something. ‘Why do you have that ghastly china dog up there? It’s hideous.’

‘Is that your idea? To tell me you think the Foo dog is hideous?’

‘No. It just struck me as odd. It did the first time we came but I didn’t know you then. It seems odder now. Everything else sort of fits in. Not the dog.’

‘I’m very fond of it,’ he said, putting an end to the matter. ‘But now you’ve shared your feelings perhaps you could show me your box or tell me about your idea. Otherwise I’ve got things to do.’

Gina drew a breath. She’d never had a client so difficult to get through to. ‘You know about my plans for a Christmas event?’

He sighed. ‘Not intimately but we are almost on Christian name terms.’

Gina ignored his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Well, I thought we should have regular events, throughout the year.’

‘An idea is for life, not just for Christmas?’

She refused to acknowledge this attempt at humour. It was just too dry for her taste. ‘Yes. I thought: Why not set up meet-the-expert events?’

‘What sort of expert?’

‘An antiques expert, you dummy.’ Gina’s patience expired. ‘I’m not suggesting people bring in their bicycles to have them checked over. I’m suggesting we leaflet the town and the surrounding areas with something like “Is that perfectly hideous dog on your mantelpiece really valuable? Bring it in and find out.”’

‘It’s not valuable, I’m just fond of it.’

‘Right. In which case the expert will say, “It’s a very appealing item but the true value is in what it means to you.”’

Gina sensed the tiniest glimmer of interest in his expression but realised she might have imagined it.

‘So what would a good outcome be?’ he said. ‘Supposing it isn’t a Foo dog but a genuine carriage clock or something?’ he asked.

Clutching firmly at this possible warming to the idea
on his part she said, ‘It would depend but the expert might say, “I’d be very happy to offer you a hundred pounds for it.” Or even, “I suggest you put it into a good auction house” – and say which one – “to see what it raises.”’ She leant forward and put her hands on his desk, going in for the kill. ‘The point is, there doesn’t necessarily have to be a sale or money changing hands but the visitor has to have a good experience while here.’

‘We’re not a theme park.’

She rolled her eyes in a good imitation of the Foo dog. ‘Are you kidding me? Wow, I bet you have loads of people coming in here looking for the rollercoaster.’

‘No need to be sarcastic.’

‘Sorry. It’s catching.’ She glared at him. She was trying so hard to help and she knew her ideas were good. Why wouldn’t he accept a little upset to his ordered world?

Matthew shook his head. ‘I do see where you’re coming from but the meet-the-expert thing really is something an auction house would do.’

‘It doesn’t mean we can’t do it too,’ she growled in frustration. ‘It would get people through the doors. And auction houses can seem a bit daunting. Lots of little old ladies would rather go into a nice house which is really a shop. But if you think we’d be stepping on the auction houses’ toes, we could invite an auctioneer along. We could do food.’ She was not going to give up.

‘I’m not sure that would be cost effective but I do know a very nice auction house. Anthea Threadgold might come in.’ At last! He rummaged in a box on his desk and produced a card. ‘Here.’

Gina took the card and decided not to mention providing
food and nibbles again. He’d given her a contact name and hadn’t said no. She was ahead.

‘So we can do the meet-the-experts thing?’

He shrugged. ‘It would mean people coming in on extra days or we might run out of experts.’

‘I don’t think they’d mind if there was going to be something in it for them.’ Really, this was like trying to shift Stonehenge a little to the left. ‘I’ve had another idea for the Christmas event too—’

‘You want me to have a pole fixed so Santa’s Little Helpers can dance round it?’

Gina ignored this. ‘It would be a spot-the-object competition for the children. Like a treasure hunt—’

‘No. Definitely not. It would be a disaster. I’m not having children trooping round here trying to spot the cuckoo clock.’

He was so adamant Gina decided it was time to show him her box. In her job it was important to know when to push and when to stop pushing. She would bring her idea up again when he was in a more receptive mood – which would probably be some weeks after hell had frozen over. She got up and lifted her box on to the desk.

‘So, have I bought ten pounds’ worth of rubbish? Or is there a profit in here?’

Matthew pulled back the flaps of the box. ‘If Bill thought it was worth you having it, it is. He and Rainey used to buy for each other sometimes. He had a soft spot for her which you seem to have inherited.’

‘Talking of inheriting things, have you told the solicitor we’ve made a profit and so can get our bit of extra cash?’

‘I have actually.’ He seemed pleased with himself. Then
looked rueful. ‘And sadly, I’ve found out how much the extra cash is, which isn’t very much.’

‘Well?’

‘Another two hundred and fifty each.’

Gina took this in. Not precisely a life-changing amount, but better than nothing. ‘Well, if I can make money out of ten pounds’ worth of junk, that seems substantial.’

He laughed. ‘Let’s have a look at the junk then.’ He pulled out something wrapped in newspaper and revealed a jug. ‘Oh, this is nice. Bill’s done very well . . .’ He was back where he felt comfortable.

He sorted through the box and Gina made a list of the contents and how much Matthew thought it should sell for. It came to well over a hundred pounds so Gina was very pleased.

‘But no scent bottles,’ he said when the box was empty.

‘No. But Carmella Romera, the woman who bought them all, has started setting up her shop. I saw it as I came through and had a peek.’ She frowned, wondering if she should mention seeing her ex-boyfriend there but decided not to. Her personal life was nothing to do with him. She was curious, though, as to why Egan had been there.

‘Well, let’s hope she can start up a new business in these hard times,’ he said, suddenly bleak.

‘Luckily the French House is already established,’ she said buoyantly. ‘We’re not starting from scratch.’ She paused. ‘Are we all set for the centre to open this Sunday?’

He sighed, but the bleakness seemed to lift a trifle. ‘If you
absolutely must. But you’ll have to get Jenny to brief you about the locks and the alarm system.’

‘That’s fine. I’ll sound out the others on being experts. And I’ll get in touch with the auctioneer.’

GINA TOOK HER
laptop on Sunday morning, just in case no one came in – proving Matthew right. She could then get some work done and not waste her time completely. She could have a look at the website again and see if it could be improved. She had been slightly surprised the centre had a website at all – Matthew seemed so embedded in the Dark Ages.

It took her a while but eventually she had unlocked the doors, disabled the alarm and set herself up in the front of the centre so she could see if anyone approached the front door.

As she waited for her laptop to boot up she thought about her encounter with Egan. She hadn’t told Sally and she hadn’t quite worked out how she felt about it. Seeing him had been a shock, there was no doubt about it, but did she really care? She was well over him and although the fact he still owed her money jarred was he really a threat to her new way of life? And what was his connection to Carmella? She couldn’t help speculating that he’d found a new and obviously more lucrative source of income but was he playing her for a fool too? Somehow
she couldn’t imagine him daring to do the dirty on Carmella – she’d eat him alive!

It wouldn’t be good if she had to see Egan often, but she thought him turning up in the same town was probably OK; they might never see each other again. She pushed out of her mind the fact she’d told Sally he was hard to avoid in London. He was probably just down for the weekend.

She heard a sound and looked up from the screen. The noise had come from behind. Had someone actually come in to help her man the (silent) barricades? She glanced at her watch and saw it was only five to ten. The centre wouldn’t actually be open for another five minutes.

‘Hello,’ said Matthew. Oscar, trotting beside him, sighed and flung himself to the floor.

Gina suppressed her delight at seeing them both. ‘Are you the only person who could make it in today?’

‘Don’t sound so disappointed or I’ll go away again. Actually I was the only person I asked. I didn’t have much else on.’

Gina got up, trying not to smile. Considering how grumpy he always was she was surprisingly pleased to see him. ‘I’ll make you some coffee. And I brought croissants. I thought if I was dragging someone away from domestic bliss I should offer some reward.’

As she found a mug, milk and plates for the croissants she wondered
why
she was pleased it was Matthew she’d be working with. It couldn’t be because of his up-beat personality, that was for sure. It was probably because he knew she was almost entirely ignorant about antiques. She wouldn’t have to pretend with him.

‘The croissants are going to make hideous crumbs,’ said Matthew, accepting his plate.

‘
Fortunately, Eeyore, I know how to use the hoover,’ she said and sat down with her own plate. ‘And I’m sure Oscar will do his best to help out.’

Matthew had taken her chair, cutting her off from her laptop. It made her feel faintly unsettled but was determined not to show it.

‘I see you’ve been looking at the website,’ he said. ‘See, we do have an online presence, of sorts.’

Gina finished her mouthful. ‘Ye-es.’

‘I suppose you see a lot wrong with it.’ Matthew took a bite.

‘Would you like me to tell you what?’

‘Can I stop you?’

‘You asked. You want to know really,’ said Gina firmly. ‘First of all, it looks dated.’

‘We’re an antiques centre. That’s our USP.’

‘Antique and dated are not the same thing. What you want is it to be easy for people to find out things. And I really do think you should make it possible to buy online.’

‘No. At least not now. If you’re going to drag us into the present please do it in stages.’ Half of his mouth smiled. His smiles were so rare it reminded Gina of the sun coming out from behind the clouds after a stormy day: it wasn’t exactly blazing sunshine but it lifted the spirits.

‘OK. But could I ask my mate who does websites to have a look? I could make a start, change that ghastly font for example—’

‘That’s old English! It’s supposed to look antique.’

‘It looks dreary. You want something that is stylish if not modern. This ye olde stuff just looks naff.’

‘You’re telling me our website is naff?’ He was outraged.

‘Only a little bit . . .’

If Oscar had looked at Gina like that she’d have got something between them double quick; Matthew’s scowl was terrifying. ‘How much do you think it would cost?’ he said eventually and Gina suddenly understood he wasn’t so much scowling at her but scowling at life. The sun had gone in again.

Gina did sums in her head. ‘I think we should budget for five hundred but I could ask my friend what she could do for, say, three hundred.’

He sighed. ‘Get her absolute best on it then.’

Gina looked at him, almost shocked at the weariness of his tone. Why had she never before appreciated what it must be like to be Matthew with all his responsibilities? It wasn’t just the financial side of it, there was the personal side, too. Some of the dealers had been part of the centre for decades. If Matthew couldn’t make it work, these people – old friends of his father’s – would be devastated. From what some of the other dealers had let slip and from her own observations she knew that things weren’t rosy – far from it: the French House was barely ticking over. Why then was Matthew stubbornly wedded to keeping things exactly as they always had been rather than accepting that life had moved on and the centre had to move on with it? He wasn’t stupid – far from it – so presumably he had his reasons, but as far as she could see all they led to was him burying his head in the sand. Well, she wasn’t going to let him ruin himself. It was personal now.