The Bronze Lady (Woodford Antiques Mystery Book 2) (17 page)

Chapter 43

Wednesday 24
th
February, 2.30pm

‘Oh no! You didn’t tell me your mother was going to be here,’ groaned Peter as his daughter drove them into the yard. Peter and his now ex-wife, Diana, separated after several years of misery for both of them, finally divorcing the previous year. They were now in happy new relationships, but they hadn’t settled their differences and rarely spoke to each other. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his ex-wife.

Peter and Jennifer travelled up from Brackenshire together that morning to visit Brenda, the owner of the horse Danny, who had been successfully rehabilitated barefoot from his injuries, but first they visited the market where Jennifer originally bought what she believed was a cold painted Vienna bronze of a Staffordshire Bull Terrier for Peter and Gemma’s wedding present. After all the talk of bronze versus brass in the tearooms over the last few weeks, Gemma and Peter had discussed it, and in the end Peter took the figure to Paul Black for verification that it was bronze. But Paul had broken the bad news that the figure was actually made from brass. Peter and Gemma decided they didn’t care; they still loved it, and appreciated the thought behind the gift. Jennifer wasn’t so pleased, after all she had paid for a bronze figure, not a brass one, and she wanted some money back. She intended to find the stall holder and demand compensation.

The market was full of vendors, and Peter couldn’t believe the array of goods for sale: clothes, ornaments, china, glass, furniture, food, vinyl records, jewellery, silver, paintings, and statues. They searched the market but Jennifer couldn’t locate the stall where she bought the brass figure three months earlier.

By the time they arrived at the yard they had eaten paella and venison burgers, two hours apart, and had a bag containing several pots of olives in an assortment of oils and herbs and spices to take home to Gemma.

‘I didn’t know she was going to be here. Brenda must have told her we were coming up. I wonder what she wants?’ Jennifer got out of the car and walked over to where her mother was standing. Diana Isaac was a small petite woman, always smartly dressed even at the stable yard, and wore her dark hair in short soft waves.

‘Hi Mum,’ Jennifer said as they hugged and kissed. ‘This is a nice surprise! I don’t think Dad is so pleased to see you though.’

‘Hi darling, lovely to see you too. No, I don’t suppose he is, but I’d like his advice. I have brought Monty over with me for him to have a look at. For all our differences I am sure he won’t refuse.’

‘Oh no what’s happened to Monty?’ Monty was Diana Isaac’s nineteen year old dressage horse, a Belgian Warmblood who had been in the family since Peter bought him for his then-wife eighteen years before. Jennifer couldn’t remember family life without him, although she was eight years old when he arrived.

‘Oh I don’t know. The farrier has been excellent and kept him going for years with different type of pads and shoes, but even he has now run out of ideas on how to keep him sound. I thought maybe your father could wave his magic barefoot wand over him and fix him,’ explained Diana, in a mildly derogatory tone.

‘Now now mother, don’t start a fight. We’re here to see Brenda and Danny, Dad wants me to be as enthusiastic about barefoot as he is but he’s got a job on his hands convincing me. The poor man doesn’t need you on his case as well!’

‘No, you are right darling, I don’t want to interfere. I know Brenda is terribly keen for him to see Danny again. She has been trying to explain this whole barefoot rehabilitation process for hoof and leg injuries to me, but I just can’t get my head around it. Surely these damaged hooves need shoes for support? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe your father will allow me to listen in to their conversation?’

Jennifer looked over to where Peter and Brenda were leaning over the stable door. ‘Well I’ll ask him if you like, but you must promise not to say a word. No bitchy comments or put-downs. Please Mum.’

Diana gave a big sigh. ‘Yes, OK, Brenda said more or less the same to me when she confessed yesterday that he was coming up here. I’ll be good, look, zip!’ and she mimed zipping her lips together.

Brenda Davies had been around horses all of her life. Her parents owned a specialist yard where they would take in horses belonging to other people and train them to win competitions. Brenda’s mother had been a keen horsewoman and regularly competed in dressage, show jumping and cross country events throughout Brenda’s childhood, and so Brenda followed her mother’s example and continued the family business after her parents retired. She still lived in the same house she grew up in, and she was still married to the local farmer’s son who had moved in with Brenda and her parents after their wedding, and he managed their land and farm animals. Brenda and her husband had three children, none of whom showed any inclination to make farming or horses their careers. Diana and Brenda became friends at school, and had always stayed in touch, sometimes competing against each other at equine events.

‘Diana.’ Peter and Brenda had walked over to join them. ‘Brenda says you would like to join us for our discussion about managing a horse barefoot?’

‘Hello Peter. Yes I would. Please. If that’s alright with you?’

‘Yes, OK.’ Peter turned to Brenda, ‘come on then, let’s go and see Danny, and you can tell me all about how you have been getting on for the last year. When did I last see you both? At that One Day Event last March?’

Off they went, chattering away, with Jennifer and Diana trying to keep up behind them. For the next hour and a half Diana had no problem keeping her promise to Jennifer as Brenda and Peter talked non-stop while looking at the contents of the feed room, walking around the fields where Danny spent most of his time when he wasn’t being worked, before Brenda rode Danny up and down the concrete yard in walk, trot and canter while Peter videoed them, before she took him into the outdoor school and they jumped a small course of show jumps.

‘Thank you for letting me come up and see Danny, and for sharing all your experiences Brenda. It really is great to see him looking so well three years on. Jennifer,’ Peter said, turning to his daughter as though suddenly remembering the point of the visit was to educate her. ‘What do you think? Do you have any questions for Brenda?’

Jennifer had been watching the whole thing with increasing interest, having come along with the attitude of if she showed willing her dad would leave her alone, because she really didn’t believe in all this barefoot nonsense. But Brenda had shown them Danny’s final Magnetic Resonance Imaging report which detailed the extensive damage to soft tissue within in his leg. The vets and farriers were united in their view that there was nothing more they could do to help him back to work, and it was against their advice that Brenda had sent him to the barefoot rehabilitation centre in Devon. Jennifer was amazed at how sound and comfortable and athletic he was three years later.

‘Yes I do. You have spent all this time talking about what he eats and where he lives and the work you do with him, but you haven’t mentioned anything about who trims his hooves, and which barefoot trimming school they trained with?’

‘He trims himself Jennifer!’ Brenda laughed.

‘Does he? But who makes sure his hooves are balanced properly?’

‘We both do. It is up to me to feed him correctly so he isn’t footsore, to work him over enough abrasive ground so his hoof walls can wear away as much as they need to and not to overwork him beyond our preparation. It is also up to me to make sure I don’t let him slob along on his forehand or, just as bad, all tense with his head and neck up and a hollow back.’

‘Right, I see,’ said Jennifer, who clearly didn’t really understand.

‘May I ask a question?’ Diana tentatively stepped forward, all her earlier antagonism and cynicism having evaporated within minutes of watching her friend having so much fun with her horse. Diana remembered the two years of dark days before Brenda had discovered the rehab yard; the seemingly endless heartbreaking tears and despair into which her friend had fallen into as her beloved horse’s health deteriorated before their eyes. But she hadn’t really paid all that much attention to Danny’s recovery, and it was only now that her own horse had been diagnosed with a similar injury that she was starting to question whether her previous understanding of hoofcare was as comprehensive as it could be.

‘Go on,’ said her ex-husband, cautiously.

‘Brenda, I can remember Danny was crippled. Every time the farrier took his shoes off to re-shoe him you had to have a folded towel on the floor for his unshod hoof to stand on or he couldn’t even put it on the ground, and yet here you are cantering him up and down this yard before going into the school and jumping seven jumps. What do you put on his soles and frogs to make him comfortable enough to do all that?’

Brenda laughed, kindly. ‘Nothing! I changed what I was putting into him, Diana. Once he was eating food which was supporting and not detrimental to his whole body then his hooves stopped being so unbearably, literally, sensitive.’

Peter smiled as he looked at his ex-wife and his daughter, both of whom had identical puzzled expressions on their faces. After a lifetime of believing that horses needed shoes, they were so far out of their comfort zones at seeing a horse they knew had been incapable of even standing with one unshod hoof on the ground, now comfortably showing off his paces with four unshod hooves, their brains couldn’t comprehend what their eyes were seeing.

‘Come on you, two,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see old Monty and you can tell me what’s been going on with him, Diana.’

While Brenda untacked Danny and turned him back out to join the rest of the herd in the fields, the Isaacs went over to one of the stables where Diana’s horse was looking very sorry for himself; a contrast to Danny who was now checking that everyone else in the herd remembered that
he
was boss, even if he had been missing for an hour or so, and was taking them all for a gallop and a rearing and bucking contest to counteract the bitter winter wind which had blown in.

By the time Brenda called them into the kitchen they were all ready for the tea and cake she prepared for them, and Diana had some homework Peter had given her so she could start to do some research into how to rehabilitate Monty herself.

‘So, Jennifer, how is your love life? Found anyone gorgeous down there in Brackenshire yet?’ asked Brenda, cheekily.

‘Oh don’t ask!’ groaned Jennifer. ‘There’s this one chap, an antiques auctioneer, who is a right pain in the butt. He is old enough to be my father but thinks he is in with a chance. He has a string of ex-girlfriends, a really poor track record with two divorces behind him, and yet still thinks I will give him the time of day!’

‘An antiques auctioneer? You know the elderly couple I clean for,’ Brenda directed her question to Diana, who nodded. ‘Their son is an antiques dealer. When I went over there yesterday he was there. He was attacked as he opened his front door on Sunday; I think they said someone hit him in the face with a baseball bat. Oh, his poor face! He also has a broken arm; it was a really vicious attack. He is going to be staying with them for a few days while he recovers, but I don’t know that he is going to want to go back to his own house again after that.’

‘That’s awful!’ exclaimed Jennifer. ‘Who did it? Did they steal anything from him?’

‘No one knows who his attackers are. He didn’t get a chance to see their faces although he thinks there were at least two of them. He thinks they were going to break in to his house, not realising he was up and about. In the end he doesn’t think they did steal anything. He was had already started his van engine to defrost the windscreen before leaving for some antiques market, and his van was loaded ready for the fair, but they left all of that behind. His parents are very worried for him. I think they do some work for him, restoring various items in their workshop in the back garden, but neither of them would be capable of stalling out at the antiques fairs for him so they are all concerned about how he is going to be able to earn any money for the next few weeks. Poor chap; I do hope he recovers soon, for all of their sakes!’

‘That’s awful. What’s his name, maybe Paul knows him?’

‘Mark Kenyon. Apparently this sort of thing happens in the antiques world. Probably best you stay away Jennifer!’

‘Don’t worry, I intend to.’

Chapter 44

Wednesday 24
th
February, 6.30pm

‘Good evening Gemma, we don’t often see you in here on your own.’ Sarah Handley was writing up the evening’s Specials on the menu board as Gemma Isaac walked in through the front door of The Ship Inn.

‘Hi Sarah, no I am home alone this evening. Peter and Jennifer will be back later, they have popped up to Shropshire for the day to see a horse, as you do!’ she laughed. ‘So, Lisa and I decided to treat ourselves to a Works’ Night Out, and here we are. Well, here I am. Lisa won’t be far behind. Are you OK? You seem to be moving a little oddly?’

‘Oh I’m fine. Nicola and I went to our first Zumba class last night, and I can feel it.’

‘Oooh you be careful, you’ll feel worse tomorrow. Was it good? I hear people talking about it in the tearooms but can’t say it is something I have ever felt the urge to do.’

‘Oh it was brilliant!’ enthused Sarah. ‘Couldn’t get a step right all evening but it didn’t matter. You should come with us next week.’

‘Oh, er, I’ll have a think about that Sarah,’ said Gemma, clearly not jumping at the invitation. ‘Can we have a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon please? I can make a start on that while I am waiting for my little sister.’

The door opened again, and both women turned to see who was coming in.

‘Hello ladies, oooh I’m a bit stiff today Sarah, how are you feeling?’ Nicola walked carefully doing a good but involuntary impression of a duck, towards them.

‘I think I am feeling a bit better than you from the look of you! G&T?’

‘Yes please, although it is a school night, but I think after today I have earned it. There has been one topic of conversation this week in the antiques centre, has it been the same in the tearooms Gemma?’

‘Do you mean the one about that antiques dealer up in Gloucestershire or wherever who was beaten up?’

‘Yes, that’s the one. I think he lives in Shropshire though, unless this is another one? I first heard about it on Sunday when they said he had been surprised as he opened his front door and bashed with a bat, and by this afternoon he had been beaten up at a petrol station so badly all the fingers on one hand had been broken and all his teeth had been knocked out, and all his stock had been stolen. Honestly, antiques dealers do love a good gossip, even if one of their own has had a horrific experience!’

‘Oh yes, we’ve been hearing about him all week in the tearooms too. It does sound very frightening, whatever happened to him. No one down here fortunately, but they are all taking extra precautions.’

‘It is quite hard to know what more they can do though isn’t it?’ queried Nicola. ‘I mean, I do know of one of the silver dealers who has a number of stop-off places around the country where he can swap vans so it will make it harder to follow him home, and he varies the times and even the days he leaves for fairs, but if someone wants to find you they will.’

‘Is that what he dealt in, silver?’ asked Sarah.

‘I don’t know, do you?’ Gemma shook her head. Nicola carried on ‘I’m not sure anyone has said what he deals in. How curious. Cliff and Tony helped him on Sunday, but Cliff hasn’t been saying much. Ah thanks, cheers!’ she raised her glass to the other two, just as Lisa walked in through the door.

‘Hi Lisa, just in time, pull up a chair and have a glass of wine. Would you like to join us Nicola?’

‘Are you eating here tonight? Thank you, yes I will, that is very kind of you both. Have you ordered? I won’t take long to choose.’

Once Sarah had taken everyone’s food orders to the kitchen and returned the front door opened, and all four women turned to see who else had come in.

‘Evening ladies,’ said Paul Black cautiously. ‘Can I come in, or are you all going to bite my head off and give me a piece of your minds about my chatting-up technique?’

‘Oh Paul, have people been giving you a hard time,’ laughed Sarah. ‘If you can desist from hitting on any of us then I am sure we can resist criticising your ... technique.  You’re a big boy, you can handle it. What would you like to drink; the usual?’

‘Yes please. And OK, it’s a deal,’ Paul grinned, relieved to be back on speaking terms with his fellow locals. He was having a hard time in his working life; he didn’t want to feel alienated during his leisure time too.

‘We were talking about the antiques dealer who was beaten up at the weekend, Paul. Do you know anything about him?’

‘Oh do you mean Mark Kenyon? Poor man. It sounds as though he went through a terrible ordeal. But no, I don’t know any more than you three probably. Doesn’t Cliff know him Nicola?’

‘Only to speak too, I think Tony Cookson dealt with him more than Cliff did when they go to the Drayton Flea Market.’

‘Ah,’ said Paul thoughtfully. ‘That’s interesting. Anyway, I’ll take my pint, thank you Sarah, and leave you to carry on without me. Excuse me.’

They watched Paul as he walked away from them and into the snug.

‘He is very subdued isn’t he?’ commented Lisa. ‘Not like the usual Paul Black we are used to.

‘That may be my fault,’ admitted Sarah. ‘I had a go at him about his behaviour towards women a few weeks ago.’

‘Oh, and there was me feeling guilty because I did too!’ laughed Gemma.

‘Did you? Well then maybe he is finally taking some notice. I don’t know how Rebecca puts up with him. I’m not sure I could work for a man like that.’

‘Oh isn’t she amazing?’ said Lisa. ‘I really admire her, after all she has been through she just picked herself up and got on with her life. But she has known Paul a long time, and since she has been working at Black’s Auctions I think she has been very happy there, don’t you?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Gemma. ‘Daniel thinks a lot of her, he says the place has been transformed since she joined them last August. Didn’t she work there before she married Cliff?’

‘Yes she did,’ said Nicola. ‘It was Paul’s dad who ran the place in those days.’

‘Oh of course, you have known them since before they were married.’

‘I did too,’ said Sarah. ‘I grew up here, Nicola and I were best friends at school, the same school year as Rebecca and Christine, and I think we were five years below Paul? Cliff moved into the area about twenty odd years ago.’

‘Mind you, Daniel hasn’t been enjoying working at Black’s for a few weeks now,’ Gemma lowered her voice, even though there was no way Paul could hear what she was saying from where he now sat in the snug. ‘He says that Paul has been quite difficult to work for, and has even upset a few long-term customers. You know that Tony Cookson won’t put anything into Black’s now?’

‘I understood that was because Paul thought that Tony’s daughter was fair game, and Tony got the hump about it?’ Sarah had left her place behind the bar to join them and was whispering too.

‘Not according to Cliff,’ contributed Nicola. ‘He was quite upset because he and Paul fell out a few weeks ago over it, and it turns out Tony made it all up. Paul and Lizzi Cookson haven’t even spoken to each other. Why would you do that to a friend? What a horrible way to treat someone.’

While the rest of the group digested this news the kitchen bell rang to signify their meals were ready, and Sarah disappeared to fetch them. Gemma in particular was feeling a little awkward.

‘Tony made it up that Paul had tried to move in on Lizzi?’

‘Yes, according to Cliff. Paul was upset that Cliff had believed it even after he denied it.’

‘Well yes, I should think he would be upset about that, after he stood by Cliff all through his troubles last year. And we all saw what Cliff had been up to!’

‘Oh yes,’ laughed Lisa. ‘I for one could do with having those images erased from my mind.’

‘What’s the joke?’ asked Paul. ‘Another pint, and can I order a lasagne please?’ he said to Sarah as she walked in with the starters.

‘Yes of course Paul. Do you want to eat in the snug or out here?’

‘Oh sit with us Paul,’ invited Gemma. ‘So long as you don’t mind watching us eat our starters.’

‘Well thank you, I will join you,’ Paul said as he settled in next to Lisa.

By the time Jennifer and Peter arrived back from Shropshire, Sarah had left Tom in charge of the bar and was sitting with Gemma, Nicola, Lisa and Paul where they were sharing a plate of cheese and biscuits and sampling the dessert wines.

‘Hello darling,’ said Gemma enthusiastically as she jumped up from her chair and weaved unsteadily towards her husband.

‘Hello darling,’ he laughed as he caught her before she fell past him. ‘Have you had a good evening? You look as though you have.’

‘Marvellous evening, thank you. Are you hungry? There is plenty left,’ she waved in the general direction of the table.

‘No thanks Gemma,’ replied Jennifer. ‘Brenda fed us plenty of cake and biscuits before we left, and we ate loads of food at the market before that. I wouldn’t mind a coffee though, if that’s OK?’ she looked at Sarah.

‘Yes of course, no hot food now, but hot drinks we can do. Just ask Tom, he’ll sort something out for you.’

‘Would anyone else like tea or coffee?’

There was a general murmur of agreement that coffee all round would be a good idea.

‘I’ll come and give you a hand,’ offered Paul, who had drunk two pints all evening and was the only sober one of the party.

Once they were at the bar, waiting for Tom to finish serving another customer, Paul took his opportunity. ‘Jennifer, I just wanted to say I am sorry if I have been making you uncomfortable for the last few weeks. I know what people say about me, and some of it is true. I don’t have a great track record where relationships are concerned, and I am guilty of only looking for the next conquest rather than anything more meaningful. So, I apologise, and promise I won’t make any attempt to ask you out in the future.’

Jennifer looked at him as he stood slightly away from her with his hands up as though surrendering, and thought that if this was another of his moves it was truly pathetic.

‘Thanks Paul,’ she said, shortly, and turned back to the bar where Tom was now waiting for her order.

They waited in awkward silence while Tom worked the coffee machine and produced six cups of coffee, a couple of jugs of milk, and a bowl of sugar, divided between two trays which Jennifer and Paul carried back to the snug, maintaining their uncomfortable silence until they rejoined the others.