The Patron of Lost Causes

by Mark Daydy

  “I’ve never said we were perfect,” Libby finally uttered.

  “No… it’s a shock though.”

  “More a disappointment, I’d say.”

  Libby looked wistful. Was that a tear in her eye?

  “The family ruined things sometimes,” she said.

  “Oh?” Lucy was a little shocked herself. Was Libby about to spill a secret? “What happened?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “What was a long time ago?”

  “It has nothing to do with my chalice, Lucy.”

  That seemed quite final.

  “Okay… so, why is Eleanor writing a family history?”

  “She does have lots of old photos.”

  “The truth though? Please?”

  “Ah yes… well… the truth is she fears the internet. She fears all the wrong stuff being discovered by others. She wants to find where the internet information is stored and burn the place down.”

  Poor old Eleanor.

  “The internet, eh?” Lucy said as lightly as possible. “I suppose I ought to get back onto one of those ancestry sites and look everything up.”

  “You won’t find us.”

  “Why not?”

  “Howard isn’t the family name.”

  “Oh? And was Eleanor planning to share this in her book?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Libby, I’d appreciate you telling me everything you know.”

  “No, this has gone far enough. I really don’t think the research you’re doing is serving any useful purpose.”

  Lucy was annoyed. Her aunt was a lovely woman, but this was just plain obstinacy.

  “It’s my family too. I have a right to know.”

  “There’s really no point.”

  “Then I’ll ask Eleanor. I’ll demand she tells me everything.”

  “No, please don’t talk to Eleanor. We need to protect her from all this.”

  “I don’t think Jane sees it like that. In fact, I’m pretty certain she’s having exactly this talk with her mum right now.”

  “I see.”

  “Libby, if we’re not Howards, who are we?”

  “Yes, well, I suppose if the cat’s out of the bag…”

  “The truth, please, Libby.”

  “Yes, alright, if you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Very well then. Sir George Howard was born George Bonner in Southampton in 1877 to Herbert and Alice Bonner. Herbert’s family were rope makers…”

  24. Lucy’s Next Move…?

  After a light lunch, Lucy walked round to Taylor’s Antiques on the High Street to update Nick on her findings – on the assumption that he might be interested. She could have phoned him, but as a wise man once said, it’s better to see the whites of their eyes. You’ll know if they’re being honest with you.

  Halfway there, her phone rang. It was Terry.

  “I have some more information.”

  “I’m not made of money.”

  “It’s a special offer. Thirty quid.”

  “I’m not driving to Chichester to give you thirty quid.”

  “Use Paypal then.”

  “I’m really not interested.”

  “Twenty then. It’s good info – direct from Fast Frankie.”

  “I’m not having someone with the epithet ‘Fast’ using me as a source of income.”

  “Look, fifteen quid. We’re starving ourselves to help you.”

  “This had better be good.”

  Lucy sat on someone’s low front garden wall and made the transaction. She was soon the owner of a decorative Victorian hat pin.

  She called Terry back.

  “Okay, so the fake antique collection. Billy used it to commit an insurance fraud.”

  “I know.”

  “Yes, well, according to Frankie, Billy used the insurance payout to fund crime all over Sussex with a man called Pleasant Peter, who wasn’t very pleasant. Interesting, eh?”

  “Hmmm…”

  Lucy ended the call and continued on her way to see Nick. This would be their first meeting since he accidentally fell into Jane’s bed. He would probably wish he could turn the clock back. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, Lucy wanted to know for herself. If he wanted to get something going longer term with Jane, she wouldn’t be any kind of obstacle to that.

  Of course, the best thing – at least for her sanity – would be to foster friendship. Lucy and Nick, good buddies. It would be a relief. No hurt for Lucy Holt. Not this time. Relationships were always risky. Her parents failed. She recalled the separate bedrooms… the slamming doors. Then she thought of Greg, James and Leo. They never slammed doors, but they did all close them firmly shut on her.

  Entering Taylor’s to the tinkle of its bell, she found Fay saying goodbye to a sprightly, smartly attired man of similar vintage. She stepped aside to let him out.

  “Hello, Fay. Is Nick about?” she asked as the door closed behind her.

  “He’s upstairs in the bathroom. I think he’s popping over the pub to see someone.”

  The door opened again. It was Mr Sprightly.

  “Fay? Could we make that eleven-fifteen?”

  “Yes, of course, Ralph. Eleven-fifteen it is.”

  He nodded and departed again.

  “Ralph’s a friend of mine,” Fay explained. “He’s got a dental appointment on Monday at ten. He doesn’t like to keep me waiting, but it’s only a check-up. He’s bound to be there half an hour before me.”

  “Be where?”

  “Our coffee morning at the café. We go once a week on a Monday and do the Wednesday keep fit class together to work off the calories. We also occasionally take a stroll on the Downs.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Well, we have to keep in shape. Once a year we go all the way.”

  “All the way?” Lucy’s mind grappled with the idea.

  “Yes, we walk the length of the South Downs Way.”

  “Oh? That…” kind of all the way “…sounds a bit more than a stroll.”

  “A hundred miles,” said Fay, proudly.

  “Wow.”

  “It’s the Annual South Downs Way Walk. We spend nine days walking. Sometimes talking, but usually just taking in one of England’s most wonderful trails.”

  “That sounds brilliant.” That sounds daunting.

  “It’s every June. We get hundreds from all over the world. We walk one direction, one year and the opposite way the next. Next year it’ll be Eastbourne to Winchester.”

  “Amazing.” But Lucy needed to change the subject. “Um… what pub is Nick going to? Not that I’m stalking him.”

  “Sorry, not sure.”

  A silence fell, but Lucy wouldn’t allow it to set in.

  “He mentioned growing up in a pub,” she said.

  “It didn’t end well,” said Fay.

  “No… he said he ended up homeless and sleeping on friends’ sofas.”

  “That was his launchpad.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He slept on friends’ sofas at night and spent his days at the library reading about antiques. He decided to go for it and become a successful dealer. Daft, eh? He was only seventeen, bless him, but he thought it was a sink or swim moment.”

  “Hello, hello…” It was Nick emerging from the door at the back of the shop.

  “Hello,” Lucy called back. “I found out a thing or two. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to know.”

  “I do – but I’m seeing someone in two minutes about a country house clearance. Could I get back to you? Um, it could be a while.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Lucy walked back to Libby’s.

  On the way, she accepted that Jane was seeing Nick, and that her cousin was a good person. She also accepted that Jane hadn’t had a silver spoon upbringing, with money to help her get started. The truth was that her cousin tried and failed many times from her late teens until well into her thirties. While Lucy bemoaned her lot, Jan
e worked her socks off. Some of her businesses failed, but each reverse taught her a valuable lesson. In the end there was no failure, only success or learning.

  At Libby’s, Lucy admired the cheery flowering clematis. She didn’t go inside though. Instead, she got in the car and drove.

  It was fifteen minutes before she stopped and checked the sat-nav map.

  She wasn’t far from Slindon.

  Ten minutes later, the car was parked, and she was walking. Having bought a few essential supplies in the village, she was on a trail into the beautiful, peaceful South Downs. She thought briefly of Fay, but no – this wouldn’t take nine days.

  It was a steep walk up the path leading to Nore Folly. Quite exhausting really. Again, she thought of Fay – this time with even more admiration.

  Eventually, she reached the folly – a stone construction that resembled a grand gateway.

  She consulted her guidebook to discover that it was built in 1814 and was a purely decorative construction which led nowhere.

  She laughed.

  I’ve found my true-life gateway.

  The guidebook went on to report that the folly was built for the Countess of Newburgh’s picnic parties.

  Lucky ol’ countess.

  The outlook though… that was glorious, with views over the countryside, including the distant coastline, Portsmouth’s Spinnaker Tower, Chichester Cathedral, Bognor Regis… and, much nearer, Halnaker Windmill.

  She imagined a picnic.

  Then she thought of Libby and the fact that Billy Brown had robbed her of twenty thousand pounds.

  Would she allow herself to give up? Wasn’t it a lost cause?

  Or was nothing a lost cause while there was hope?

  She considered all the information she had. The real loose end was Mr William Brown. He knew plenty. Obviously, he wouldn’t want to see her, but that was too bad.

  She was coming for him anyway.

  25. Hello Again

  Just after four that afternoon, Lucy beheld a mint green door set beautifully into a pristine white rendered wall beneath a tiled portico.

  She stepped forward and rang the bell.

  An elderly woman answered the door.

  “Oh hello,” said Lucy. “I’m calling about the police matter regarding Billy Brown.”

  “Oh, Billy lives opposite.”

  “Ah sorry – wrong house.”

  Lucy backtracked down the front path, pleased at how this offered an excellent view of Billy’s front door – which she approached next. She was quick to ring the bell.

  “You again?” he exclaimed on opening the door. “Is it money you’re after?”

  “Money? No. Well, possibly – for Libby.”

  Take a chance.

  “You were friends with Eddie. You gave him a fake cup as payment for whatever services he provided. Was it meant to be real? If so, shouldn’t you be paying Libby twenty thousand?”

  “That bloody cup… listen, Eddie stole it and was waiting for me to die before selling it. He had no idea it was fake.”

  Lucy was stunned. It took a moment to gather her thoughts.

  “Why didn’t you demand its return?”

  “How could I? I had no idea who’d stolen it.”

  “You just said Eddie stole it.”

  “Yes, but I only found that out yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yes, when you told me he had a silver cup.”

  “Me?”

  “Until you turned up, I had no idea. It could have been anyone.”

  Lucy checked that they were being spied on by the elderly woman on her doorstep opposite.

  They were.

  Lucy raised her voice. “Didn’t the police get to the bottom of it?”

  “The police?” Billy glanced across at the old lady and back to Lucy. “You’d better come in.”

  She followed him inside. It was a lovely home, with framed photos of family and friends, past and present, on the walls in the hall, and in the lounge too.

  “You’re quite safe,” she reassured him. “I work at a theological college.”

  “The police weren’t involved, okay. I got into trouble at sixteen and went to juvenile prison. I turned my life around after that, even though I had to bend a few rules to do so. I mean this is life. We can’t let a little reverse stop us.”

  “No…”

  Lucy could see so clearly how, at a similar age, she’d lacked Billy’s resilience.

  “I was just about to make some coffee,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”

  “That’s very kind, thank you.”

  He left her to peer out of the rear window over a beautifully manicured garden in bloom. Approaching the middle of September, it still felt like summer.

  She turned into the room. A cabinet seemed to be home to…

  A collection of old silver.

  Wow. Fancy.

  There was a jug, two goblets, a few different plates, a couple of candelabra…

  She heard him coming back and so glanced across a forest of photos on the mantlepiece. A vista of smiling faces of all ages and eras. The photos on the wall to one side had a more outdoor feel. A teenager on a bicycle, a young swimmer, and a handsome young man standing in front of an old racing car, possibly from the 1960s. There was something written on the side of the vehicle. Roc… it disappeared behind the young man standing proudly in front of the car. It had to be young Billy. A long time ago, but, yes, the eyes and cheek bones…

  “Lovely car that,” said Billy, standing in the doorway with a tray. “Went like a bloody rocket, it did.”

  “Lovely.”

  “What did you think of my silver collection?”

  “Oh, I never really noticed it.”

  “What piece stood out for you?”

  “The jug?”

  “Good choice.”

  “Good fakes. Unless the jug’s authentic?”

  “Bloody cheek. They’re all authentic. Look around, you’ll see I’ve got full security, cameras, lights, the works. In my pocket is a panic alarm. I press that and the police will be all over the house in minutes.”

  “How reassuring.”

  Lucy took a seat as Billy set the tray down on the low table. The coffee pot, cups, milk jug, sugar bowl and plate with the digestive biscuits all matched. Lucy had seen enough Antiques Roadshows to know it was Clarice Cliff.

  He smiled at her.

  “Tell me a bit more about your aunt and how you’re hoping to help her.”

  “The silver chalice… Libby assumed it was genuine, but it’s not.”

  “So you told me.”

  Billy poured the coffee.

  “Yes, so Fast Frankie said it took years to put together…”

  “Fast Frankie?”

  “Yes, he said you got a pile of fake silver antiques, hired a dodgy valuer to value them, had them insured and then had them stolen. Then with the insurance money, you funded crime all over Sussex.”

  Billy nodded. “Sounds plausible. Quite clever, in fact.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “There’s just one problem – it’s wrong. I created a collection of fakes to use as collateral to raise a loan. The man with the money wasn’t from my local High Street bank, if you know what I mean. His name was Pleasant Peter.”

  “That’s the name Frankie gave me. He said he wasn’t very pleasant.”

  “He was so called on account of his lovely manner and fresh rose daily in his lapel. If you crossed him, the rose ended up on your shallow grave in the forest.”

  “Why would you deal with that kind of man?”

  Apart from to spread crime across West Sussex.

  “I had a criminal record from my younger days. I couldn’t go to a High Street bank.”

  “No… of course not.”

  “I paid a needy valuer at a good auction house to value the collection and hold it in storage – neutral territory, so to speak. This valuer was given written instructions that if I defaulte
d on a single monthly repayment, the whole collection would go to Pleasant Peter.”

  Lucy could only imagine the pressure that had put Billy under – if it were true.

  “So,” he went on, “I used the money raised on the fake collection to get myself into a legit business. It took a few years, but I paid off the loan and got the fake collection back. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone they were all fakes as Pleasant Peter wouldn’t have been too pleasant about becoming a laughing stock.”

  “No, I expect not.”

  “So,” said Billy, fixing her with his gaze. “Who do you believe? Me or your friend Frankie?”

  Lucy sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I can’t really help you any more than that.”

  “No…”

  Lucy took a sip of black coffee. It was good quality.

  “Did you follow up on your family?” Billy asked.

  “No, of course not. Okay yes. I found out that Sir George paid cash for his title.”

  “People, eh?”

  “I also found out the family lost every penny in the Lloyd’s Names scandal. Have you heard of that?”

  “Yes. Thankfully, my pennies were invested elsewhere.”

  “Very wise.”

  “Let me tell you something. I’m a respectable retired businessman, okay? I worked hard for everything I have – including my genuine antique silver. I never had the privileges of the Howards, but I did okay.”

  Lucy got up and studied the collection.

  “I’m actually getting into antiques myself,” she said, admiring the silver jug. It really was stunning.

  “Not another Antiques Roadshow nut?” Billy suggested.

  “No, more than that. I have a few pieces at home. Well, three to be exact.”

  “It’s the passion that counts.”

  “I do have passion. I’m looking into the history of an antique rocking horse I had as a child. My mum had it before me, so now I’m keen to learn more.”

  She showed him the photo.

  “Wow.”

  “You like him.”

  “Yes, he’s perfect.”

  “We know he’s Victorian, but we don’t know anything about the maker beyond his initials – H. S.”

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  “There’s a lady I’m looking for who had it before us. I’ve put posters up around Arundel but…”