The Bronze Lady (Woodford Antiques Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter 3

Friday 20
th
November 2015, 10.00am

‘Good morning Boss!’ Rebecca Williamson, Cliff’s estranged wife, looked up as Paul Black walked into the auction house and loudly greeted his employee. She had been concentrating on checking for new payments into the online bank account from a previous sale and took the opportunity of Paul’s arrival to push her chair slightly away from the desk and sit up straighter, rolling her shoulders as she did.

‘Morning Paul,’ she laughed. ‘Does that mean you are making the tea, if I am The Boss?’

‘Oh alright then!’ he faked a moody stance, hunching his shoulders and swinging his arms as he stomped over to the kettle, turning to look at her with his bottom lip pushed out.

Rebecca laughed again ‘My grandmother used to say she could fry bacon on a lip like that!’

She had known Paul for a long time, and viewed him to be like a younger brother, even though he was older than her. Nevertheless, she had been concerned about returning to work at Black’s Auctions after an eighteen year ‘maternity break’ for several different reasons. When she gave birth to her first child, Nicholas, she was fortunate to be in a situation which enabled her to stay at home with her baby, and as the years went by and two more children completed their family neither she nor Cliff felt there was a need for her to return to paid employment. But eighteen years later circumstances had changed and she and Cliff were separated; their children were becoming increasingly independent of their parents; and Rebecca now found herself in the position of delving deep into her reserves of inner-strength to step back into the world of employment.

Her reservations about returning to work at Black’s Auctions were not just because she had self-doubts about her own workplace abilities, but also because she knew Paul was likely to make life awkward by trying to sleep with her despite, or maybe because, her soon-to-be-ex-husband was his best friend. Within her first week back at work he had made a subtle attempt to seduce her, which if she hadn’t known him for over eighteen years and been friends with one of his ex-wives probably would have been successful. It had been years since anyone had made her feel so desirable and the revelations a few weeks before about her husband’s behaviour throughout their marriage had thoroughly shaken her, but Rebecca still had enough self-respect and perspective on the situation to kick Paul into touch on that first attempt. Since then he had adopted a lightly flirtatious attitude, which she enjoyed, and the pair of them had very quickly found a healthy workplace rhythm which suited them both.

Paul thought the world of Rebecca. He always had a soft spot for her since they first met when she was nineteen years old, and had been mildly envious of his friend’s successful marriage and home life. His own, he freely admitted, had been a disaster with two divorces and a string of affairs and failed relationships. Although originally his intentions had been less than honourable when he offered Rebecca a job, within the first week he had the good sense to see what a fantastic asset she was to his business and altered his personal expectations accordingly.

Black’s Auctions was established by Paul’s father in the 1980s. He successfully steered the company through the changing times of the antiques trade, his main attribute being willing to move with the times to maintain a profitable business. Although Mr Paul Senior, as he was familiarly known throughout the Trade, officially retired five years ago, in reality Paul had been running the company for the last eight years. He was a hard worker, dedicated to the auction business, and expected his employees to have the same attitude. In Rebecca he saw those attributes he admired, and he appreciated the organisational and diplomatic skills she brought to Black’s Auctions which had been lacking in the years since he had been in sole charge. But if she ever gave him the slightest sign that she was interested in him then he would pounce.

‘Anything I need to know?’ asked Paul, gesturing towards Rebecca’s computer where she was sorting through the morning’s emails.

‘Um, the first one is from Mrs Wheeler, and as always she wants to know when she will be paid from the last sale, so I could send back the usual reply?; Brian Askham wants to know if you can go round and price up his mother’s house clearance, you know, the big Georgian house on the left as you go out towards Brackendon, because she is moving into the nursing home as soon as a place becomes available; and Sarah Handley was asking about the portrait miniature in the job lot due to be in next week’s sale, do you have any more information on it? Oh, and there is a voicemail from the Antiques For All film crew. They are coming to film next Friday’s sale. That is, two weeks’ today.’

‘Oh are they? Alright then. Ummh, yes, you can answer Mrs Wheeler, you could probably cut and paste from the last five times she has asked. Oh I know Mrs Askham’s house; I should think I will need about three hours there so please sort out a time and date with Brian and put it in my diary. Oh, and tell Sarah she knows more about portrait miniatures than I do!’

‘Here you are,’ he said as he placed the Best Mum in the World mug Rebecca’s children had bought her as a Back To Work present, now full of tea, carefully on her desk. ‘I’ll be in my office for a while. There is something bothering me about one of the items in next Friday’s sale. I need to do some research on it confidentially, so if you can prevent anyone from disturbing me I’d appreciate it. I’ll tell you about it when I know something for sure, but just at the moment it is too damaging to someone’s reputation to start any unfounded rumours. Don’t worry!’ he said quickly when he saw the look on her face, recent events involving her estranged husband’s affair with a fellow antiques dealer were still too raw for her not to jump to conclusions. ‘It is nothing which involves any members of your family!  But just tell anyone who asks I am wrestling with the Accounts and do not want to be disturbed.’

‘Sure thing tea-boy,’ grinned Rebecca with relief, her imagination had started to run away, just as Paul suspected. ‘I’ll be here all morning, sorting out paperwork, so can act as your doorman and prevent anyone from disturbing you as you count your fingers and your toes.’

Chapter 4

Saturday 21
st
November 2015, 5.00pm

Rebecca Williamson’s mother, Jackie Martin, qualified as a veterinary surgeon, married, and gave birth to two daughters before she was twenty eight years old. By the time she was forty she was a single mum, and had established her own equine veterinary practice. Jackie was rapidly heading towards her sixtieth birthday, and for the past few years had been trying to take a step away from her career so she could spend more time holidaying in Portugal, but the pull to work proved stronger than her desire to relax.

The Woodford Equine Veterinary Practice was a small business, which up until the previous year had worked successfully with a number of veterinary nurses and a solid team of administration staff, and only Jackie Martin and her business partner Alastair Wilkinson in the role of vets. Jackie had officially been a part-time member of the team for the last five years, although her idea of part-time hours would be many people’s full-time work. But everything changed when Alastair’s wife, Hazel, retired from her teaching career and he decided to follow her lead and retire too, so Jackie had employed a new full-time vet, Peter Isaac. Alastair had a similar work-ethic to Jackie’s, and although officially he was retired from the Practice, he had been happy to keep up his professional qualifications so if ever Jackie needed him to help out, he could. Peter was proving to be a useful asset to the team, and Jackie was again thinking about having another attempt at working part-time.

Her last visit of the day was to a smart-looking yard, but behind the facade was a catalogue of cut corners and sloppy attention to welfare of both horses and staff. The yard owner was a lovely lady who had been a very successful eventer and dressage competitor thirty years ago, but was more likely to be found Happy Hacking her Connemara ponies around the Cornish countryside than over-seeing the competition yard in Brackenshire her husband had left to her in his will when he died two years previously. It was a place Jackie dreaded attending, the issues she witnessed were never serious enough to involve the welfare authorities, and the horses always looked clean and tidy and well fed, but she disliked the constant shouting at staff and horses, the way the horses flinched whenever she went close, and general air of chaos, fear and misery which pervaded the atmosphere.

When the owner’s husband was alive the environment was a wonderful combination of relaxed anticipation. The staff appeared to enjoy their work and love the horses, and the horses seemed to respond calmly and willingly. But when he died the owner could not bear to live there any longer so she employed a new member of staff to take over the management of the yard, and moved to Cornwall.

The yard manager, a bulky woman with short brown hair, was waiting for Jackie to get out of her car, and impatiently fidgeted from one foot to another as Jackie opened the boot and took out her ancient vet bag. Jackie’s only patient at the yard that day was a 16.3hh dark brown German Warmblood named Mikey, who was an Advanced dressage horse and heading for the Area finals in a couple of months’ time. He had been to a competition the previous weekend but his performance there was poor, and, as the two women walked towards the barn housing the internal stables where the horse was kept, the yard manager was telling Jackie that he had seemed disinterested in everything all week and was standing at the back of his stable every day. So why didn’t you call me four days ago, thought Jackie. As they entered the building and turned towards the patient the yard manager revealed his owner was coming up for a lesson on him the following day, which answered her unasked question.

As she began her assessment of Mikey, Jackie was thinking evil thoughts about the yard manager and her decision to leave a clearly unhappy horse for seven days without veterinary assistance. It wasn’t as though she, or even the yard, would be paying the vet bills as those were always paid for by the horse’s owner. Why on earth do people like this choose to work in an industry they clearly don’t enjoy, with the mental and physical welfare of living, breathing, feeling beings within their power, she chuntered to herself. Jackie continued her assessment by warming up the digital thermometer, carefully lifting the horse’s tail slightly, and gently inserting the thermometer into his rectum.

The next second she felt the most incredible pains shooting all over her body. It was all happening so fast and seemed to be never-ending, bang bang bang, every inch of her felt as though it was being ferociously battered.

‘Ow ow ow ow, ooooohhhh, ow ow ow ow!’ finally the onslaught came to an end and Jackie was able to draw enough breath to scream. The pain was incredible, and as she tried to gather her thoughts she realised she was lying on the deep litter bed of a stable floor, headfirst in the corner where she had been kicked repeatedly by the terrified horse.

The yard manager was in shock, and for a few seconds stood stock still as she stared at the figure of the tall slim blond haired vet crumpled in a heap on the floor of the stable. The sound of Jackie’s screams snapped the woman out of her frozen state and she immediately reverted to type, and began to shout.

‘Oh my god, are you OK?  I couldn’t hold the twitch when he flung his head up. What can I do?  Shall I phone for an ambulance?  Where do you hurt?’ The yard manager could see lawsuits in her mind’s eye and was desperate to make sure Jackie was taken care of as quickly and efficiently as possible, preferably away from the premises. Without waiting for a response she turned her attention elsewhere and continued to shout as she strode towards the opening of the stable which was blocked by the body of a second horse, leaving Jackie injured and vulnerable and still on the floor in the corner of the stable, and the horse who had kicked out at her cowering against the opposite wall.

‘What the hell are you doing, get that horse out of here!’ This last question and instruction was hurled with as much venom as the yard manager could muster at the poor girl groom who had been trying to bring another horse into the stable block. 

The girl who was being shouted at had been overwhelmed by the sheer size and power of the beast now filling the yard manager’s exit from the stable. The girl had been bringing him in from the field, and he was eager to reach the supper he knew would be waiting for him as soon as possible. As they had been passing the stable containing the horse Jackie was treating, the incomer had seen the invalid’s feed bucket and lunged through the open doorway leaving no room for his handler to follow, so she was still outside with only his hind legs, tail, and powerful backside to grab hold of.

Meanwhile the yard manager was stuck inside the stable with the two horses and injured vet. By now the cowering horse had realised he wasn’t going to be beaten, and had resumed his furious stance to defend his dinner from being scoffed by another horse, even though he hadn’t wanted to eat it a few minutes earlier. The yard manager knew she should have closed the stable door while Jackie was treating the horse inside, and was desperately casting around for someone else to blame. Meanwhile Jackie was still lying on the floor, by now in so much pain she could do no more than moan quietly, and was in extreme danger of being further trampled by eight metal-clad hooves.

Eventually the yard manager managed to push the trespassing horse out and pull the sick horse after her, all the time shouting and swearing at the girl who was clearly out of her depth and did not have the necessary horsemanship skills to manage the situation. Hearing all the noise and commotion, two other grooms appeared and between them the three girls removed both horses from the corridor and secured them safely in stables in another block, before returning to see what they could do to help their employer.

By the time the air ambulance arrived the three grooms had done their best to make Jackie as comfortable as possible by gently lifting and then resting her head on a stable rug, while the yard manager continually berated the unfortunate one who had lost control of her charge. It was clear that Jackie was in a tremendous amount of pain, she couldn’t tolerate the weight of a blanket being placed over her to warm her and try to alleviate the shaking of her shocked body, and she seemed to be unable to move herself so the girls left her in the crumpled position she landed in while one of them gently stroked her hand and kept up a running conversation with her.

The paramedics were fantastic, and from the time the yard manager dialled 999 to the time Jackie was safely installed on a trolley in Swanwick Hospital’s Accident & Emergency Department a total of thirty seven excruciatingly painful minutes had passed by. It would have taken over fifty minutes just to drive to the hospital, let alone all the time it would have taken the road ambulance to reach the livery yard, and the minutes the paramedics needed to take to assess her condition and compose an emergency treatment plan, before loading her into the ambulance and unloading her at the other end to be taken into the treatment room.

As anyone who has ever been in a hospital on a Saturday night will know the waiting rooms are full of people with alcohol- and conflict-related injuries, but as she had been in an accident with a horse Jackie was fast-tracked through the waiting room and into triage.

Jackie’s daughter Rebecca Williamson arrived almost two hours after a nurse telephoned to let her know about her mother’s condition, with quite a significant amount of that time had been spent trying to find somewhere to park and being rather shocked at the high parking charges required. By that time Jackie had been x-rayed and was waiting in a curtained cubicle for the Consultant to come and give her the bad news.

‘Oh Mum, are you OK?  What on earth happened?’  At the sound of Rebecca’s voice Jackie looked up into her daughter’s face, and thought how very beautiful she was.

‘First time in thirty six years of Practice I have been hospitalised,’ she said.

The Consultant was a smiley friendly chap who informed Jackie in a gentle manner that she had several broken bones including ribs, arm and leg, but no concussion, and nothing which couldn’t be mended given rest and time.

After he had gone Rebecca was upset to see that her mum was quietly weeping. Her mum who was always so stoic and practical and vibrant was lying in the hospital bed like a little old lady, looking twenty years older than her fifty nine years.

‘Oh Mum,’ she said, leaning in to cuddle her and realising she couldn’t without hurting her. ‘Please don’t cry, you’ll set me off too. You heard what the doctor said, in another few months all of these breaks will have healed and you will be up and about again doing exactly what you were doing before.’

‘I know he said that darling, but I am in so much pain I don’t believe him. What am I going to do for the next few months?  I can’t even brush my teeth!’

‘Yes you can, you only have one broken arm. You are resilient, a fighter, and I know you will work out how to handle a toothbrush with your other hand. Once they discharge you I will bring you home with me and we will work out what you need to get better as quickly as possible. What are you going to do about work?’

‘Oh I don’t know!’ she wailed. Her mind was too full of pain to think about anything else.

‘Does Peter know what has happened and where you are?’

‘I doubt it; I haven’t told him have I?’ Realising she was being unnecessarily rude to her daughter, who was only trying to help, Jackie took a moment to compose herself and then said, ‘please could you ring him and tell him darling?  I am meant to be On Call this weekend too, I do hope no one has been trying to get in contact about a horse emergency. If you can’t get hold of him, phone Alastair and see if he can help.’