right, I’m usually in the cafe by now!’ he laughed for the first time that morning. ‘Can I get you anything before I go? A cup of tea, or would you prefer a coffee?’
‘Ah you are kind, but no thank you, I come prepared with my flask of soup and another of coffee.’
‘In my day it was a bottle of wine and another of whisky. Are you coming into the antiques centre later on today?’
‘No, I’ll pop in tomorrow though. I gave my stand a good clean and re-arrange on Friday so unless you have had a shipper in over the weekend I doubt much will need doing to it. Thanks Cliff, I appreciate your help this morning.’
Cliff walked away from Linda’s stall looking at his surroundings with fresh eyes. He had been on such a tight schedule for so many years, rushing here and there, needing to be in certain places at certain times, that he hadn’t noticed the world around him, his world, had changed so dramatically. He reached the cafe, ordered himself a cup of tea and a bacon roll, and walked over to the table already occupied by several dealers.
Tony was smiling broadly as he walked into the cafe. He was pleased with the deal he had done with Mark Kenyon, and this had buoyed his confidence and resulted in another very good deal with one of the postcard sellers once the indoor stalls were open for business. He already knew he had an online buyer for the postcards, so had no worries about the lack of available tradable stock or fears about attracting buyers from whom he could make a decent profit. He bought his food and drink and went to join Cliff and the other dealers. Unlike Tony’s, their collective mood was glum.
‘What’s up?’
‘Another of those fake bronzes has turned up. Cost John here a grand,’ grunted Cliff.
‘Oh no, I’m sorry,’ exclaimed Tony.
‘S’OK, not your fault.’ John Robson, an antiques dealer of indeterminate age who had been in the business forever, took another sip of his tea. ‘These fakes are turning up everywhere; this is the seventh one I have heard about recently. Just wish I didn’t own it.’
‘What did it look like?’ asked Tony curiously.
John sighed ‘She was a beautiful piece of art deco erotica, silvered.’ He made a clumsy attempt at imitating the statue’s pose, looking anything but erotic. Nobody laughed. The situation was too serious for levity, and John was not playing the clown, he was genuinely trying to describe the item which was responsible for a major dip in his financial stability, and therefore his ability to successfully trade. ‘My customer was not happy when it went bouncing back after last week’s auction; it will be a while before she will trust me again. This business is hard enough as it is without something like that turning up.’
‘How did she find out?’
‘Her customer bought it to sell at the Florida Antiques Fair, and weighed it in preparation for shipping.’
‘Ah, right. Brass was it then?’
‘Yup. Anyway, it’s done now. Won’t be buying any bronzes for a while, however stunning they appear to be.’
The group sat in grim silence.
John’s face suddenly lit up. ‘But look at what I have just bought, this beautiful piece of jade.’
The seventeenth century Chinese work of art was passed around the table as the dealers took it in turns to examine it closely, and pass on their congratulations to John on his successful purchase. He was popular if slightly feared by the other dealers, very knowledgeable, highly successful, and in his younger years could out drink and out fight anyone who chose to take him on. The stories of his alcohol intake on the nights they all used to sit in their vans on various runways and private roads waiting for the next antiques fair to open were legendary.
These days he was teetotal, the times of downing a bottle of whisky and sharing a bottle of tequila the night before a long day on an antiques stall long gone. He would look at his grandchildren and wonder at the fact he was still alive
‘Ah you are kind, but no thank you, I come prepared with my flask of soup and another of coffee.’
‘In my day it was a bottle of wine and another of whisky. Are you coming into the antiques centre later on today?’
‘No, I’ll pop in tomorrow though. I gave my stand a good clean and re-arrange on Friday so unless you have had a shipper in over the weekend I doubt much will need doing to it. Thanks Cliff, I appreciate your help this morning.’
Cliff walked away from Linda’s stall looking at his surroundings with fresh eyes. He had been on such a tight schedule for so many years, rushing here and there, needing to be in certain places at certain times, that he hadn’t noticed the world around him, his world, had changed so dramatically. He reached the cafe, ordered himself a cup of tea and a bacon roll, and walked over to the table already occupied by several dealers.
Tony was smiling broadly as he walked into the cafe. He was pleased with the deal he had done with Mark Kenyon, and this had buoyed his confidence and resulted in another very good deal with one of the postcard sellers once the indoor stalls were open for business. He already knew he had an online buyer for the postcards, so had no worries about the lack of available tradable stock or fears about attracting buyers from whom he could make a decent profit. He bought his food and drink and went to join Cliff and the other dealers. Unlike Tony’s, their collective mood was glum.
‘What’s up?’
‘Another of those fake bronzes has turned up. Cost John here a grand,’ grunted Cliff.
‘Oh no, I’m sorry,’ exclaimed Tony.
‘S’OK, not your fault.’ John Robson, an antiques dealer of indeterminate age who had been in the business forever, took another sip of his tea. ‘These fakes are turning up everywhere; this is the seventh one I have heard about recently. Just wish I didn’t own it.’
‘What did it look like?’ asked Tony curiously.
John sighed ‘She was a beautiful piece of art deco erotica, silvered.’ He made a clumsy attempt at imitating the statue’s pose, looking anything but erotic. Nobody laughed. The situation was too serious for levity, and John was not playing the clown, he was genuinely trying to describe the item which was responsible for a major dip in his financial stability, and therefore his ability to successfully trade. ‘My customer was not happy when it went bouncing back after last week’s auction; it will be a while before she will trust me again. This business is hard enough as it is without something like that turning up.’
‘How did she find out?’
‘Her customer bought it to sell at the Florida Antiques Fair, and weighed it in preparation for shipping.’
‘Ah, right. Brass was it then?’
‘Yup. Anyway, it’s done now. Won’t be buying any bronzes for a while, however stunning they appear to be.’
The group sat in grim silence.
John’s face suddenly lit up. ‘But look at what I have just bought, this beautiful piece of jade.’
The seventeenth century Chinese work of art was passed around the table as the dealers took it in turns to examine it closely, and pass on their congratulations to John on his successful purchase. He was popular if slightly feared by the other dealers, very knowledgeable, highly successful, and in his younger years could out drink and out fight anyone who chose to take him on. The stories of his alcohol intake on the nights they all used to sit in their vans on various runways and private roads waiting for the next antiques fair to open were legendary.
These days he was teetotal, the times of downing a bottle of whisky and sharing a bottle of tequila the night before a long day on an antiques stall long gone. He would look at his grandchildren and wonder at the fact he was still alive
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