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A TIMELY INTERVENTION

The doorbell jingled and stirred him from his Collector’s Guide. He rose slowly and casually, hands behind his back, strolled out of the office and into the shop. He was about to ask, “Is there anything I can help you with madam?” when she turned to him and said, “You know, I shall never cease to be impressed by the skill of 19th century craftsmen……these,” and she waved her hand at the walnut furniture, “are really quite superb!”
He beamed with a genuine appreciation and said, “There’s a matching pair of fireside chairs in the window.”
“I know, it was those that tempted me in.” she replied, lovingly caressing the smooth, beeswax finish.

He watched timidly over the top of his half-frames and tried to make an ex bank manager’s assessment. At the bank, he would have ouzed self confidence but he was relatively new to the antiques game and still a little apprehensive. He noted that she was tastefully dressed, well mannered and seemed knowledgeable about antiques. A woman of high standing, a successful businesswoman.  ”I’ll leave you to browse madam, if there is anything you need, I’ll…..”
“Well yes,” she said and took a small wooden box from her bag, offered it to him and asked, “Would you be kind enough to have a look at this?”
He carefully extracted the parcel, removed the wrapping and placed a small, silver clock on a table top. He peered intently at the ornate timepiece for several seconds before he dared breathe again.

‘It’s a Louis XIV’ he thought, as the waves of excitement sent a ripple of goose bumps down his spine. He screwed his jeweller’s eyepiece into place and examined it in fine detail.
‘The silversmith’s markings are right, along with the maker’s name and the date. My God, one of these sold for over thirty thousand last month.….it’s really quite magnificent!’ and his heart skipped a beat or two.
“It’s a Louis XIV isn’t it,” she called casually over her shoulder, from the far side of the shop, “It’s been in the family for years, my husband thought we ought to sell it and refurnish the library!”
His mind swam in a sea of uncertainty……’does she fully realise what it is worth?’…..’does she know the value of late 19th century furniture?’…..is she so well-off that she really doesn’t care?’……’does she simply want to trade it for the inexpensive furniture…..?’

They never told him that antiques dealing would be quite as exciting as this!

The soft trill of the telephone startled him and he cursed silently, turned to face her and begged, “Please excuse me for a second.”
He watched her moving between the narrow rows of furniture near the clock as he listened to someone inquiring if he had any Regency style items in stock. He dispensed with the caller quickly and was back in front of the table in under a minute.

“It’s a superb piece,” he felt he had to concede, “I haven’t seen one like it for ages. There, er, is a certificate of ownership, I assume?”
“Naturally!” she replied and he smiled weakly at his lack of tact and trust.

His mind reeled with uncertainty and his confidence floundered. A brittle silence hung in the air and he fidgeted, coughed and wrung his hands as he fought to make a decision. Eventually she broke the ice and asked, “What would you say Mr Harris……it is Mr Harris isn’t it…….oh, how rude of me, I’m Anne Barrington-Cox…..I live at Gables Court, near Botley.” And she thrust her right hand forward.
“What would you say Mr Harris, if I were to suggest a straight trade. I take the  two walnut cabinets, the bureau, the matching fireside chairs and the two rather nice Petersen water-colours by the window………..and you take the clock!”
He looked at her momentarily and he put his hand to his mouth to conceal his surprise at her extremely attractive bargain.
“Er, give me a second would you please?” and he began to scribble figures on a scrap of paper. He knew that the clock was worth three times the value of the furniture and that it would sell with in a week.

He was about to agree when she said, in a voice soft and appealing “Look, I’m being very greedy aren’t I? Forget the water colours, I’ll just take the furniture, and you take the clock!”
He took a deep breath, and swallowed a little apprehensively, thrust his shoulders back, held out his hand and announced, “I think that we have a deal Mrs Barrington-Cox!”
They beamed at each other with a deep satisfaction. “Oh super!” She exclaimed. “Now, there’s a removal’s man here in town who I often use. Perhaps I could telephone him from your office while you complete the bill of sale.”

She stood behind his desk and dialled the number, spoke briefly, then held her hand over the mouth piece and said, “He can come immediately if that’s all right with you.”
He nodded but his mind was engaged in the beauty of the tiny silver timepiece.
She went back to browsing whilst he impatiently shuffled some papers about and waited for the removals man. The once, stuffy atmosphere, was now crisp and vibrant, with a whiff of mutual satisfaction and success.

The door opened with a jingle and Harris looked up to see a man in a brown coat walking towards him. He stood and was about to give him instructions on loading the furniture, when the tall, gaunt newcomer formally asked, “Are you Peter Harris?”
Slightly shaken, Harris looked up to see not a removal man but a balding, shallow faced man, holding up a warrant card. “Sergeant Fraser, City C.I.D. I’m investigating the theft of some period, diamond jewellery. Have you been offered any quality stuff recently sir?”
Harris pursed his lips and Mrs Barrington-Cox moved quietly away to the front of the shop. “No, nothing sergeant!” his voice abrupt and edgy.
“Can I leave you with a description of the stolen stuff sir? They may get around to you later.”
“Oh very well, very well,” he snapped impatiently, his mind more on the pending transaction than stolen jewellery, “leave it here and I will look at it later!”

The policeman looked at him sharply and noticed a sudden tic in the dealer’s left eye and a bead of sweat on his brow. He stared at Harris for several seconds, perhaps wondering why the elderly antique dealer should be so brusque and touchy. He then glanced slowly and suspiciously around the shop as if making an investigative assessment and his eyes eventually settled on the clock, still sitting in the centre of the table.
He glanced at Harris again and then at Mrs Barrington-Cox and a broad, impish  grin, spread slowly across his tired, shallow face.

“You’re new to the antiques game aren’t you Harris!” he said, without respect.
“Yes…..yes…… why?” Harris replied sharply.
“Why?  Because I’ve just saved you a lot of money, that’s why!”
“Now just what is going on?” demanded Harris.

The detective ignored him and approached the clock, slowly peering to his left and right. He stopped, bent his knees and stretched his arm into a gap between two small cabinets.
“Viola, mes enfants, chronometre numbre deux!” he announced in appalling French and gently placed an identical clock alongside the original. The dealers eyes opened wide with amazement, his jaw dropped and he was lost for words.
“First the ‘real McCoy’, to tempt your appetite,” said the detective, “then, whilst you’re distracted, the switch. Then poof…..you lose some of you best stock, the original clock is recovered and you are left with a cheap replica. It’s the oldest trick in the book” and he then turned to face her, ”Isn’t it Molly?”

He grinned broadly at her and said with feigned sympathy. “Just not your day is it old girl,, another few minutes and you, and his best stock, would have been heading up the M3 to a waiting buyer. Perhaps you’re loosing your touch. What a shame!”
Then he moved quickly, snapped a pair of ‘cuffs on her, phoned his HQ on his mobile phone and requested a squad car, then placed both clocks in a cardboard box and jotted some details in his notebook.

As the squad car pulled away, Harris lifted the ‘phone, “…..no, it’s been a quiet day,” he sighed, ”then an hour ago, a woman came in and tried to pull the old ‘two clocks trick’. I was on to her straight away and had switched the clocks around and had negotiated a deal with that cheap, reproduction furniture. Then, a copper came in and spoilt it all! I’ll be home in an hour…….I was going to pick up an expensive bottle of bubbly………… but now it’ll have to be a bottle of £3.99 plonk!”