Love-40 (25 page)

He did the same and frowned. ‘Ebonised to simulate ebony, I'd say.'

‘I thought they'd be fair,' Mrs Barnaby continued, as though the history of the table was nothing to her.

‘And they weren't?' Suzi tried to sound off-hand. Surely it had to be Stan and Terry trying to get them out of Secrets? Who else could it be?

‘It was the furniture,' Mrs Barnaby was explaining, as Josh got up, to prowl around the table in his biscuit-coloured suit, one moment muttering to Estelle or to himself, the next moment pulling at his short red beard or leaning over the table to leaf through the pages of one of his reference books.

‘She was done,' said Nigel. ‘I told her that chest was worth two hundred of anyone's money. Beautiful piece of walnut that were. Dealers like that lot next door should be –'

‘Too late now, dear.' His aunt took his arm.

But Nigel was stubborn, Suzi would say that for him. He stuck out his chest and pulled in his stomach. ‘It's never too late to give someone a piece of your mind,' he told her. ‘There's such a thing as trading standards. Mebbe even the police.' Estelle and Suzi exchanged a glance and Josh looked up.

‘Preying on vulnerable members of our community.' By now, Nigel was well into his stride. ‘Elderly folk who don't know no better.'

Mrs Barnaby blanched at this.

Suzi wondered if Mrs Barnaby's furniture had ended up in Germany and if so, how much Josh himself had paid for it. She shot him a meaningful look but he ignored her and returned his attention to the two-tiered table.

‘Simple, classical design,' he said.

‘How much is it worth?' Suzi asked. It was about time he was put on the spot.

‘Maybe about
£
500 in auction,' he said, without looking up.

Mrs Barnaby merely shook her head and glanced ruefully towards The Bargain Basement. ‘He seemed like such a nice man,' she said. ‘Three sugars in his tea. I teased him.'

‘Would you be interested?' Nigel asked Estelle. ‘In the table, I mean.'

‘Not for more than
£
300,' she said.

Suzi registered the flicker of approval in Josh's grey-green eyes.

‘I'd have to advise auction if you wanted a chance of getting its true worth,' she went on.

Mrs Barnaby sighed. ‘Though he wasn't pleasant about you, my dears,' she said.

‘Oh?' Suzi and Estelle exchanged another glance.

‘Inflated prices were mentioned.' Mrs Barnaby looked around the shop as if searching for evidence. ‘And I'm sure he said you wouldn't be in business for very long neither.'

‘He's got a bloody nerve.' Estelle's fists clenched.

Suzi cast her a warning glance and shoved one of their Sotheby's leaflets (for credibility, Josh had said) towards aunt and nephew. ‘We plan to be around for a while yet,' she said sweetly.

*   *   *

Suzi had already started packing up when an elderly gentleman with a stick tip-tapped his way into the shop. ‘You are still doing the roadshow?' he enquired as he got to the counter. What hair he had left was grey and slicked back from a wide forehead.

‘We certainly are.'

The man reached into his pocket. ‘My late wife's,' he said simply, as he placed a lapel clip carefully on the counter.

After a few moments, Suzi realised that both Estelle and Josh had gone very quiet. Estelle's colour was high as she examined the piece of jewellery under her microscope, Josh was frowning and flicking through yet another reference book. Suzi raised her eyebrows. Clearly not tat then, that was something.

‘Rock crystal,' Estelle said, after an eternity.

That didn't sound too great to Suzi. She got on with what she was doing.

‘And in the centre…' Josh's voice was low, ‘unless I'm mistaken, a line of rubies.'

‘Burmese rubies.' Estelle laughed – slightly hysterically, Suzi thought. ‘Precious stones in a natural setting.'

‘It's signed,' the old man said.

‘I know.' Estelle's voice was hushed now too, almost reverential. ‘And made in France. See the control mark.'

By now Suzi twigged that both Josh and Estelle were looking at her expectantly. ‘What?' She came closer. ‘Is it worth much?'

Josh and Estelle exchanged a glance that was close, Suzi thought, to being conspiratorial. She tried to suppress the ridiculous stab of jealousy. As if Josh Willis had anything to do with her, as if she'd discovered him, as if he meant something …

‘It's a platinum clip,' Josh said, speaking as if to a child.

So?

‘And these,' Estelle pointed, ‘are diamonds.'

Now Suzi was beginning to get the point. Clearly this was a coup of some sort, a kind of grande finale for their afternoon roadshow. ‘That's good then, yeah?' She looked from one to the other of them.

‘It could be worth up to two grand at auction,' Josh told the old man.

Suzi blinked.

‘I couldn't sell it, though, lad,' the old man said. ‘I wanted to show it to you, and it's nice to know. But it's too special, y'see.'

Too special. Suzi watched his eyes mist with tears, listened as Josh told him about insurance, urged him to take care on his way home. What was it like, she wondered, to have a someone who was as special as that? Would she ever know?

*   *   *

Suzi remained subdued as they packed up, barely listening to the conversation being tossed around between Josh and Estelle. She heard Estelle try and offer him some money in payment for his services, registered that he'd refused on the grounds that they couldn't afford it and anyway he'd had a bloody good time.

‘Call it a favour,' he said.

Ah, but what would he want in return? Suzi wondered. She was beginning to see ulterior motives everywhere, but at least it might stop her from being so flipping gullible.

It was after six when everything was sorted, the tables put away and the shop looked vaguely like an antique shop again. Well, like a shop anyway, Suzi decided.

Josh turned to her. ‘Fancy a drink – to celebrate?' he asked.

‘Not really.' She half-regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, observed his look of mild surprise, the slight narrowing of the grey-green eyes. She was supposed to be seeing Michael play – but it wouldn't have been hard to find an excuse; she'd been doing it often enough lately. Yes, and feeling guilty too. How did you tell someone to go? Someone who hadn't done anything wrong, someone who cared for you? Why couldn't life and love and that kind of stuff be more organised and logical? It wasn't exactly fair. And she knew that she wasn't being fair either.

He hesitated. ‘Estelle? How about you?'

She seemed to be considering the invitation. She looked at Suzi, who shrugged to indicate that it was all the same to her. Fat chance. She was heaving with jealousy and Estelle should be able to see that. She was supposed to be her best friend, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop her. There was no way she could tell Estelle that Josh might be the missing link between their financial problems and The Bargain Basement. How could she? It wouldn't do much for her credibility as a responsible business partner.

Anyway, Estelle was already putting on her jacket. ‘Beats going up to an empty flat,' she said. ‘Bear and Bottle suit you?'

Josh didn't even look at Suzi as they walked out of the door. ‘The Bear and Bottle suits me just fine,' he said.

Chapter 19

Michael knew that it was a mistake to play to an individual. The audience was the thing, and Michael's act depended on building a rapport. But it was hard, he found, as he played his favourite Bob Seger number, to stop looking at Suzi, who was seated at a small circular table over in the far corner of the pub.

She had arrived back at the cottage late this afternoon after her roadshow thing, in a very strange mood. Agreed to come tonight to his gig at The Brunswick in Seaton, with an, ‘of course I'm coming', and a deep frown. As if, he thought, she didn't usually find some excuse or other to back out of it. And in a way, he couldn't blame her.

She had changed into some black jeans and a clean top, waved some mascara in the general direction of her lashes, run her fingers through her spiky dark hair and announced herself ready.

Yes, she was here, but … Michael launched into the chorus of ‘Still The Same', she was preoccupied, only half-watching, occasionally taking a sip of her beer, even more occasionally glancing his way with a vague half-smile that could have been meant for anyone. Not really here at all.

Was it anything to do with this bloody antique dealer guy, Michael wondered, almost forgetting the first line of the next verse. She'd been jumpy and so hyped up before this roadshow of theirs you'd think it was going on the telly, not just some half-baked scheme to draw customers into the shop. He had a sudden thought – one he didn't like much. Maybe
he'
d been there – this Willis character.

But then … Michael finished the song and accepted the applause from the small crowd – gathered at the bar and seated at the dozen or so tables scattered in front of him, with a small bow. She had been preoccupied for a while now. When pressed, she insisted it was just the shop, but other than that she wouldn't discuss it.

Wouldn't discuss very much at all, he thought. She'd changed, or they'd changed. ‘Someone else not you'… He began to play the song he'd composed sitting in the garden of Suzi's riverbank cottage. The words were even more resonant now than they had been then, the song had become integral to his act.

As he played, he watched her, tried to spot a flicker of recognition. But there was nothing. Christ, Suzi hadn't even twigged he'd written the song for her. Were things that bad between them?

As the last notes died away, the applause was enthusiastic. Nice that, Michael thought, for one of your own songs. He grinned as he scanned the faces. Gave a guy a real buzz.

He launched into a Chris Rea number, ‘Fool if you think it's over', to finish the first part of his set. He usually enjoyed this one but tonight it only made him feel depressed. He hadn't played it lately, though he couldn't for the moment remember why.

Things with Suzi weren't too hot, he had to admit. On the surface they behaved like a couple living together. How did a couple living together behave? Michael frowned as he thought of Estelle and Liam – passionate whether they were kissing or fighting, and now seemingly split for good. Though that wasn't Suzi's style, he knew. She was kind. She avoided confrontation. She hated hurting anything – or anyone.

But all the deep-down stuff seemed to have fallen apart. Like the talking – the talking had changed from telling one another about their week away, taking apart the world around them to … Jesus, what to have for dinner? And as for the loving …

As he played, Michael noticed the side door of the pub open to admit the blonde. She paused mid-entrance, and he took his attention away from Suzi long enough to register that she was wearing black knee-high boots and a tight lycra-style mini dress. Sexy, he couldn't help thinking. Her make-up was faintly gothic – dark eyeliner, touches of violet around the lids. She always had this independent look about her – she never seemed bothered about being alone.

She glanced round, caught him looking, waved and smiled.

Michael decided to ignore her. This was only Seaton, but he was beginning to feel that she was following him round the country.

As he moved smoothly into the chorus, his voice caught and he remembered why he hadn't played the song for ages – he couldn't always get to that note, unless … Christ, he was in the wrong bloody key.

He could see, as he tried to extricate himself from the situation with an unscheduled musical break, that both the blonde and Suzi had noticed his gaffe. Suzi was looking concerned, but the blonde was smiling broadly with those dark painted lips of hers, mouthing something he couldn't quite make out. Ah well, in for a penny.

‘Wrong bloody key,' Michael announced, getting a laugh and a round of applause as he did a quick hop backwards, changed key and continued.

Encouraged, he performed a Catherine wheel-like movement with his right arm, strumming the guitar every time his splayed fingers passed it. It was something that he often did when he was mucking about – but hell, this audience were laughing. They liked it. ‘Hey…'

He took a step further on the rickety stage he wasn't used to, inadvertently hit one of the prongs of the microphone stand with the toe of a desert boot, saw, as if in slow motion, the microphone spring back, felt it deliver him a sharp blow to the chin.

‘Ouch! Bloody hell!' At first he wanted the ground to open up for him. Then he registered the continuing laughter, the smiles, knew in a second that they were on his side. And milked it. Boy, did he milk it. He staggered slightly, sank to his knees, continued playing. It worked. They loved it.

*   *   *

‘Clever stuff.' The blonde was on to him before he'd even slipped the guitar strap from his shoulder.

‘How d'you mean?' Michael had one eye on the blonde, one on Suzi, who had gone to the bar to get them both a drink.

‘That part of your act – the larking around.' She eyed him suggestively over the rim of her wine glass. ‘I like it.'

‘You do?' Despite himself, Michael was pleased.

‘Uh huh.' She half-turned around. ‘I see your girlfriend's here tonight. Serious with you two, is it?'

Michael wasn't sure of the answer to that one. ‘We live together,' he said, realising too late how ridiculously pompous that sounded.

But the blonde only smiled, the tip of a pink tongue appearing as she bit at her lower lip. ‘Have you played it yet?' she asked.

‘It?' Not ‘Lay Lady Lay', he hoped.

‘That song you wrote, “Someone Else Not You”, have I missed it?'