The Bronze Lady (Woodford Antiques Mystery Book 2) by Kathy Morgan Page B
Authors: Kathy Morgan
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matter in hand. Where did John buy it originally? And who did he buy it from?’
‘Ah well that is the interesting bit. He bought it from a Knocker ( Kathy’s note: a Knocker is a cold caller looking to buy antiques, some of whom advertise for specific items in the local paper and refer to the advert as a method of proving their respectability ) who bought it from a lady whose husband had been caught with his pants down - as you have so often mate. She responded to one of the Knocker’s adverts for old pens and basically sold him everything in the house which belonged to her husband, including the art deco bronze which now turns out to be brass, and what John thought was a late nineteenth century cold-painted Vienna bronze of a bulldog by Bergmann. He’s worried about the authenticity of that, too.’
‘Well the Bergmann factory did make spelter imitations of earlier bronzes, so it could have been genuine. Maybe he isn’t as far off his game as he thinks he is,’ said Tony. ‘Did John say what else he bought in that house? Sounds like an interesting haul.’
‘Yes, that is where he bought the stonking silver cruet set from the Officer’s Mess in Norfolk he sold for seven hundred pounds, and those medals you bought from him back in September. Didn’t you know?’ asked Cliff curiously. ‘I thought you had twigged when he was talking about it all on Sunday?’
‘Ah it was that house!’ said Tony. ‘I still have those medals. They are beautiful examples.’
‘Oh what I wouldn’t give to see inside your shed,’ said Paul longingly. ‘I imagine it is a real treasure trove. Have you made a Will? I don’t suppose you fancy leaving it all to Black’s Auctions to sell for Lesley do you?’
Tony suddenly went very pale ‘Don’t joke about things like that Paul. It isn’t funny.’
‘Sorry mate, what’s up? You haven’t had a dodgy diagnosis from the doctor or anything have you?’
‘No! I am perfectly healthy!’ Tony seemed to regain some of his former good humour. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of leaving anything in that shed after I am dead. That is my pension, and it will all be sold while I am alive so I can enjoy the proceeds of all my hard work. Cheers boys! Another?’
Without waiting for them to reply he got up and went over to the bar.
‘I don’t want another thanks Tony!’ Cliff shouted after him.
‘Nor me!’ called Paul.
‘I’m heading off home for a coffee. Want to come?’
‘Um, no thanks, but I’ll see you in the morning? Seven o’clock on The Green?’ Paul looked hopefully at his friend. They had been running partners for years, but the recent upheaval in Cliff’s life meant that he hadn’t been putting effort into looking after himself and keeping up his fitness levels, so Paul had been out on his own most mornings. ‘There is no ice forecast for tonight so we should be fine. I want to do fifteen miles tomorrow, if you are up for it. Thought I’d try the Trailway and run up and down each set of steps by the bridges five times, rather than do our usual Cosham Hill route. It was really muddy a fortnight ago when I ran it, when you were....er...’
‘Stinking in my pit? Engulfed in my own misery? Reaping the rewards of a misspent marriage? It’s alright, you can say it.’ Cliff grinned, to Paul’s relief. It was good to see his friend starting to recover some of his former good humour. ‘I’ll meet you at seven tomorrow morning on the Green, but I don’t think I am back up to running more than eight miles at the moment, sorry. Although if you are going on the Trailway why don’t I borrow your bike? Then I can cycle the distance, and get off to run up and down the steps with you?’
‘Good idea! I’ll bring it with me. See you in the morning.’
Chapter 11
Tuesday 30 th November, 9.30am
When Rebecca Williamson arrived for work she was surprised to see that Paul was already in his office. Although he lived next door to
‘Ah well that is the interesting bit. He bought it from a Knocker ( Kathy’s note: a Knocker is a cold caller looking to buy antiques, some of whom advertise for specific items in the local paper and refer to the advert as a method of proving their respectability ) who bought it from a lady whose husband had been caught with his pants down - as you have so often mate. She responded to one of the Knocker’s adverts for old pens and basically sold him everything in the house which belonged to her husband, including the art deco bronze which now turns out to be brass, and what John thought was a late nineteenth century cold-painted Vienna bronze of a bulldog by Bergmann. He’s worried about the authenticity of that, too.’
‘Well the Bergmann factory did make spelter imitations of earlier bronzes, so it could have been genuine. Maybe he isn’t as far off his game as he thinks he is,’ said Tony. ‘Did John say what else he bought in that house? Sounds like an interesting haul.’
‘Yes, that is where he bought the stonking silver cruet set from the Officer’s Mess in Norfolk he sold for seven hundred pounds, and those medals you bought from him back in September. Didn’t you know?’ asked Cliff curiously. ‘I thought you had twigged when he was talking about it all on Sunday?’
‘Ah it was that house!’ said Tony. ‘I still have those medals. They are beautiful examples.’
‘Oh what I wouldn’t give to see inside your shed,’ said Paul longingly. ‘I imagine it is a real treasure trove. Have you made a Will? I don’t suppose you fancy leaving it all to Black’s Auctions to sell for Lesley do you?’
Tony suddenly went very pale ‘Don’t joke about things like that Paul. It isn’t funny.’
‘Sorry mate, what’s up? You haven’t had a dodgy diagnosis from the doctor or anything have you?’
‘No! I am perfectly healthy!’ Tony seemed to regain some of his former good humour. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of leaving anything in that shed after I am dead. That is my pension, and it will all be sold while I am alive so I can enjoy the proceeds of all my hard work. Cheers boys! Another?’
Without waiting for them to reply he got up and went over to the bar.
‘I don’t want another thanks Tony!’ Cliff shouted after him.
‘Nor me!’ called Paul.
‘I’m heading off home for a coffee. Want to come?’
‘Um, no thanks, but I’ll see you in the morning? Seven o’clock on The Green?’ Paul looked hopefully at his friend. They had been running partners for years, but the recent upheaval in Cliff’s life meant that he hadn’t been putting effort into looking after himself and keeping up his fitness levels, so Paul had been out on his own most mornings. ‘There is no ice forecast for tonight so we should be fine. I want to do fifteen miles tomorrow, if you are up for it. Thought I’d try the Trailway and run up and down each set of steps by the bridges five times, rather than do our usual Cosham Hill route. It was really muddy a fortnight ago when I ran it, when you were....er...’
‘Stinking in my pit? Engulfed in my own misery? Reaping the rewards of a misspent marriage? It’s alright, you can say it.’ Cliff grinned, to Paul’s relief. It was good to see his friend starting to recover some of his former good humour. ‘I’ll meet you at seven tomorrow morning on the Green, but I don’t think I am back up to running more than eight miles at the moment, sorry. Although if you are going on the Trailway why don’t I borrow your bike? Then I can cycle the distance, and get off to run up and down the steps with you?’
‘Good idea! I’ll bring it with me. See you in the morning.’
Chapter 11
Tuesday 30 th November, 9.30am
When Rebecca Williamson arrived for work she was surprised to see that Paul was already in his office. Although he lived next door to
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