Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘How much do you want for this?’ said a clipped male voice.
I stopped nattering to Alice and turned my attention to a short man on the other side of my stall. He was a dead ringer for Captain Mainwaring.
‘Fifty pounds,’ I said.
It was only ten o’clock in the morning, but the fete was well underway. My sister and brother-in-law were already here. Sally and Alec had popped by to say hello before disappearing into the swelling crowd.
The Starlight Society had taken no chances today. Certain activities – like the bucking bronco – meant potential injuries. Cilla had covered all bases with a local ambulance provider. The vehicle idled in one corner of the grounds while the two paramedics visited the hot drinks stall.
Cilla, flushed with the success of money pouring into the society’s coffers, was now dispensing smiles and largesse.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ Her voice floated across the hall.
She sounded like an actress on opening night.
‘Take a brochure.’ This implied the distribution of glossy booklets.
The reality was a pamphlet with a single staple holding it together.
However, it held all the necessary information about today’s events.
The setup within the hall was almost transformative. The village’s community centre might be a scruffy building with drafts around the windows and brown circles on the ceiling, but each stall had been dressed to perfection.
Cilla had come up trumps for me. I’d never so much as attended a boot sale before, never mind set up my own paste table and make an attractive display. Fortunately, Cilla’s creativity skills were something else.
‘You’re wasting your talents in that pub of yours,’ Alice had said, when we’d set up earlier.
‘I agree’ – Cilla had confided – ‘but I’ll stick to the living I know. However, suffice to say, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself!’
Her hands had briefly rummaged in a huge canvas bag. She’d pulled out a roll of red velvet material.
‘Et voilà! Start laying out your wares, Jen,’ she’d instructed.
As I’d plonked things down willy-nilly, Cilla had deftly rearranged. She’d also added stacking boxes to give improved visuals and allow the more expensive items to stand out. She’d then dug deep again and produced some beautiful artificial flowers and a synthetic evergreen plant.
‘I’m going to pop these here,’ she’d said, placing a glass vase of stunning silk roses to the left of my table.
‘And this one can go over there.’ The pretty evergreen had been placed next to an upside-down packing crate.
The plant’s leafy boughs had set off the very painting that Captain Mainwaring was now enquiring about.
‘Fifty pounds?’ he repeated, looking up at me. The overhead lights glinted off his pebble glasses.
‘Yes,’ I confirmed. It was hard to read the chap’s expression with those gleaming specs hiding his eyes.
Actually, maybe not. He was now looking astonished.
‘If you feel that’s too much money’ – I demurred – ‘what sort of sum did you have in mind?’ Oh dear.
Please don’t let him offer a paltry fiver, otherwise my contribution to the Starlight Society’s fund wouldn’t be off to a great start.
‘Look,’ I tried again. ‘Nobody is twisting your arm to buy anything from my stall.’
Captain Mainwaring straightened up.
‘My dear lady. Do you know what you have here?’
‘Yes, it’s a painting of… somewhere… at night. It once hung in my late husband’s office.’
‘I’m an art dealer,’ Captain Mainwaring explained.
‘And this painting is worth quite a bit of money. I could do you out of a small fortune, but I’m honourable.
Here, take this.’ He held out a business card.
‘Put the painting under the table and give me a call later. I’ll get you a much better price than’ – he gave a derisory snort – ‘fifty quid.’
Alice, who’d been earwigging, chose that moment to interrupt.
‘An art dealer, you say?’ she queried. ‘Well, helloooo! Want to have a peek at my work? You could be talking to the next female equivalent of Van Gogh, Rembrandt or Botticelli.’
Captain Mainwaring gave Alice a thin smile.
‘No offence, my dear. Your work is pretty and I’m sure you will fetch a fair few commissions today, but your work is more whimsy than genius.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ Alice huffed. ‘So how much is this boring painting worth?’ She nodded at the canvas now in my hands.
‘About five thousand,’ said Captain Mainwaring.
‘Five thou-’ I gasped.
The words died on my lips, and I nearly dropped the blimmin thing. Alice and I exchanged an incredulous look.
‘I’ll buy it,’ said a male voice. Not Captain Mainwaring.
My head whipped around. Standing to the left of my craft table was Liam Lancaster.