by Ali McNamara
‘The cards!’ I cry joyfully, as we both look inside and see several large piles of postcards bound together with brown string. Then I quickly lower my tone. ‘Is it them?’ I ask hurriedly. ‘Can we get them out to check?’
Noah lifts one of the bundles of cards from the box and turns them over so we can see the writing. ‘It’s them,’ is all he says, before putting the cards swiftly back in the box and closing the lid. He tucks the box back at the bottom of the trunk, then he hesitates. ‘Oh…’ he says, lifting up the teddy bear now.
‘What? What’s wrong.’
‘Nothing is wrong,’ he says quickly, inspecting the ear of the bear, then giving it a quick squeeze before putting it back in the trunk and attempting to cover it with some of the fabrics. ‘Just as long as there aren’t any teddy bear experts bidding today. Come on,’ he says, beckoning me away this time instead of dragging me. ‘We need to move away from here. We don’t want to draw any extra attention to this lot.’
‘What’s up?’ I ask, as we take one of the seats in front of the auctioneer’s block.
‘I’m no expert but I’d say that bear might be an early Steiff.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s the most sought-after type of bear for collectors. Steiff is a German manufacturer and they still make toys today, but their early bears sell for a lot of money.’
My heart sinks. ‘But what makes you think it’s a Steiff?’
‘To be honest, it’s just a hunch. It’s the shape of him, his eyes, the colour of his fur, the fact when I squeezed him he made a crunchy sound like he was filled with excelsior – it’s a type of wood wool stuffing rather than a softer kapok. He doesn’t have a button in his ear – the classic Steiff logo – but there’s a tiny hole where one might have been.’
‘Do you think anyone else will have noticed him?’
‘Possibly. Bears always sell well at auction, but if that’s a Steiff, or someone suspects it might be, we could well have quite the battle on our hands when it comes to Lot 105.’
Twenty-Three
The room eventually fills with people – so many, in fact, that not everyone gets a seat and there are a large number standing around the edge of the room as the bidding begins.
This crowded scenario should have made me nervous, but as I wait with anticipation for our lot to come up, I find I’m feeling more excited than anxious at being in this confined environment.
I watch carefully as the auctioneer whizzes through each item, taking his time if it’s a popular one or moving on quickly if it’s not. I’m surprised to see that not every lot sells, and I secretly pray that ours might be one of those unpopular ones, so we can buy my cards quickly and easily.
Much faster than I’d expected we reach Lot 100. Not long to go now. It’s the box of records I’d been nosing around earlier. I sit up a little in my seat.
‘Lot 100,’ the auctioneer says from his elevated position, ‘is a box of vinyl records mainly dating from the mid-nineteen eighties. I’d like to open the bidding at thirty pounds.’
There’s silence in the room.
‘No, twenty pounds then? Ten pounds?’ he asks hopefully.
I put my hand in the air.
‘Ah, a lady with good taste, I see,’ he says, pointing to me. ‘You can’t be old enough to remember the eighties, though, can you, miss?’
There are a few titters from the other bidders, and I smile.
‘Do I hear fifteen pounds then?’ he asks, looking around the room. ‘Fifteen pounds? Thank you, sir.’
I turn back to see who else is bidding, but there are too many people in the room to see.
‘Do I hear twenty pounds?’
I thrust my hand in the air again, and the auctioneer nods at me. ‘Thank you, miss.’
‘Twenty-five pounds, sir?’ he says, looking out into the room at my rival. ‘No, it’s with the lady at twenty pounds then… going… gone!’ He bangs his wooden gavel down hard. ‘Number, please?’
Noah looking a little bewildered holds up his card.
‘Very appropriate,’ the auctioneer says. ‘Number one hundred and eighty.’
‘Is that our number?’ I ask, looking in astonishment at Noah as the next lot begins immediately.
He shows me the card.
‘Wow…’ I say under my breath.
‘Something wrong?’
‘No, on the contrary, everything is just right.’
I watch the next two lots unfold and then Lot 103 begins.
‘The next lot is a box of Volkswagen sundries including an original steering wheel, rear view mirror, hub caps and tyre cover. I’d like to start the bidding at one hundred pounds.’
I thrust my hand in the air.
‘Steady,’ Noah whispers. ‘You still have the important one to come yet.’
‘Malachi can use these,’ I say, my hand going in the air again as I’m immediately outbid. ‘I saw them earlier – they look in great condition.’
‘Are you sure they’re for the camper van you have, though?’ Noah asks. ‘I thought you said you had one from the sixties? These parts are for a 1976 model.’
I stare at him.
‘Miss?’ the auctioneer asks. ‘Do I have a hundred and sixty pounds?’
I shake my head. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper to Noah, ‘I was getting a bit carried away.’
‘I told you it was easily done. Let’s just concentrate on Lot 105.’
I nod and sit back in my seat. That was close – I’d nearly used up the postcard budget on something I wouldn’t have been able to use. I’d have looked a right idiot presenting that lot to Malachi and then finding out it was for a bay window camper van and not a split screen.
Ooh, I’d remembered the difference.
‘Lot 105,’ the auctioneer announces, and I jump in my seat, ‘is this handsome oak trunk.’ He gestures to where his assistant is displaying it. ‘It has some very nice detailing on the metalwork, as you can see, and it’s filled with various objets d’art including some hand-dyed silk fabrics, a Tiffany-style lamp and a pretty rose-patterned tea service.’
Yes! He hadn’t mentioned the postcards or the bear!
‘I’d like to start the bidding at fifty pounds.’
Noah grabs my hand, and for a moment I think it’s a romantic gesture of support, but then I realise it’s to stop me bidding too early.
‘No? Shall we try thirty pounds then?’ the auctioneer says, looking around the room. ‘Thank you, madam. Now, do I see thirty-five pounds?’
Noah allows the bidding to get to sixty pounds before he releases my hand. ‘Go for it,’ he whispers. ‘But don’t get carried away.’
‘Sixty-five pounds – my eighties friend is back in the game, thank you, miss,’ the auctioneer says, acknowledging my new bid.
The bidding very quickly escalates to a hundred pounds and then one hundred and fifty.
‘I think someone suspects the same as me about the bear,’ Noah says, looking around. ‘This could get expensive, Ana.’
‘I don’t care. The cards are coming home with me.’ I wave my hand in the air again to raise the bid to one hundred and seventy. It’s just me and one other bidder now.
Please stop before two hundred pounds, I think, raising my eyes to the ceiling. At this rate I’d have no budget left for the van, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell Malachi he would have to compromise on his renovations.
‘It’s with the lady at one hundred and ninety pounds,’ the auctioneer says. ‘Two hundred pounds?’ he asks again. The other bidder shakes their head. ‘No?’ The auctioneer looks around the room. ‘Anyone else?’
I grab Noah’s bidding number and hold it to my chest. Please…
‘It’s in the room at one hundred and ninety pounds then. Going once, going twice. Sold to my eighties friend!’ He bangs his gavel hard on the desk.
‘Yes!’ I shout, punching the air.
Everyone laughs.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise, holding up our number.
‘One hundred and eighty. Yes, I remember,’ the auctioneer says, grinning at me.
‘We did it!’ I whisper excitedly to Noah.
‘Correction – you did it,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘Well done.’
With the auction still going on, we leave the room and make our way to the reception desk again to pay for the two lots we’ve won.
‘Well done, lovey,’ Moira says, as I count my cash on to the desk. ‘You’ve got a nice pair of lots there. Just between the two of us, I thought that bear might be a Steiff.’ She looks at Noah. He silently nods his agreement.
‘That’s great, but I didn’t buy it for that – I bought it for the cards in the jewellery box,’ I say happily.
Moira looks puzzled. ‘You spent one hundred and ninety pounds, actually over two hundred pounds with our fees, on some postcards – they must have been special. Were they sent from Queen Victoria to Prince Albert?’
‘Not quite. It’s more that they have a sentimental value, so they’re very special to me.’
And hopefully to Lou and Frankie, I think, as we drive home with the trunk and the box of records in the back of Noah’s car, and a very happy me in the front, a pile of postcards on one knee and an old teddy bear on the other.
Twenty-Four
I spend the next couple of days poring over the new batch of postcards I now have in my possession. As I’d hoped, they cover the missing twenty years of Lou’s life and are fascinating to read.
It seems that after she bought Daisy-Rose her life changed completely. She very quickly went from being a new artist who sold the occasional painting to a prolific painter, who not only made a living from her works of art but was much sought-after too.
She appeared to have toured the country with Daisy-Rose acting as a sort of muse-cum-companion to her. The more Lou travelled with her camper van, the more successful she became.
This card of the Yorkshire moors from 1971 perfectly sums up what Daisy-Rose meant to Lou:
My Darling Frankie,
I’m here in God’s own county! Yes, that’s right – Yorkshire. And I can confirm that if it does indeed belong to God, then he chose very well!
Rose and I are here touring areas I’ve never visited before, and more importantly never painted. The scenery is breath-taking, and I’ve been very inspired. We’ve camped in some very remote areas, and have spent several days without seeing a soul, but as long as I have my Rose for company, I never feel truly alone.
Forever yours,
Lou x
They seem to have toured all over the place during the seventies, with Lou stopping to paint when she felt inspired to do so, and when the eighties arrived it seems Lou and Rose’s travels took them even further afield with new countries added to their ever growing list of travels.
This postcard to Frankie from 1985 with a photo of the Eiffel Tower on the front is one of my favourites from this bunch:
My Darling Frankie,
I’m sending you this card from Paris! Can you believe it? Rose and I have made it across the Channel! I was honoured to be asked to come over here to teach a class of French art students – they were very eager and talented, and I’m not sure what help I was to them, but they seemed very grateful to have me there.
Now Rose and I are touring France together and having a wonderful time. We’re a bit early for the Beaujolais Nouveau race but I’m enjoying the odd glass of wine while I’m here – it would be rude not to.
I still wish you were here with us – even after all these years.
Forever yours,
Lou x
The postcards are very entertaining, but more importantly they help me piece more of Lou’s life together. Now I have a fairly complete picture of a young girl who followed her parents’ wishes, went to a traditional university and came away with a very good qualification in law, but after doing what was expected of her she eventually followed her heart and pursued what became a very successful, and by the sounds of it lucrative, career as an artist, where she was able to not only paint for a living but also travel the world while doing so.
However, what the postcards still don’t bring me any closer to discovering is how I’m going to find Lou so I can return the cards to her.
I sigh as I sit back in the armchair and let the sun that’s pouring through the French windows warm my face. It was a welcome change from the cool, wet weather that had blown in across the sea this morning. As so often happened here, what took place in the sky in the morning was no indicator as to what might take place later in the day.
There must be something in the cards that might be a clue, I think, as I stare into space. But what?
I’m jolted from my thoughts by someone knocking at the front door. I go downstairs to see who it is and I’m pleased to find Noah standing self-consciously on my doorstep.
‘Hello,’ I say, ‘this is a surprise.’
‘Yes, it is. I mean, hi there.’ He hurriedly holds up a carrier bag. ‘I have these, you see – I mean I have fish – mackerel to be precise. A grateful customer brought them in to us after we helped him with his mother’s house clearance last week. I mean it was the house clearance that was last week, not when the fish were caught. They’re very fresh. Caught this morning.’
‘Yes, I gathered that.’ I smile.
‘Sorry… only Jess doesn’t like mackerel apparently. First I’ve heard of it, though.’ Noah shakes his head as though that was one of the things Jess should have put on her CV before coming to work in the shop. ‘I wondered if you might be able to use them?’
‘Don’t you like them either then?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes, I love mackerel, but there are too many here for one person and I wondered if you might like them? They’re very tasty barbecued.’
‘That’s very kind of you. I love fish, but sadly I don’t have a barbecue.’
Noah holds up his other hand. ‘It’s only disposable,’ he says innocently, waving another bag at me, ‘but it would do the trick… I could light it for you if you want?’
‘And stay to cook and eat the fish, I hope?’
Noah’s face reddens.
‘Sure.’ I grin. ‘Why not – come on in. Can we barbecue on the balcony though? I don’t have a garden here.’
‘If the wind is in the right direction, we can,’ Noah says, looking pleased. He follows me inside. ‘I’ve come prepared. I brought firelighters and matches in case you didn’t have any.’
‘Matches, I can do. Firelighters, I doubt it. You took a bit of a chance, didn’t you?’ I say, taking the fish from him and placing it on the kitchen draining board. ‘What if I didn’t eat mackerel, like Jess?’
‘This was all Jess’s idea actually. I was unsure to be honest – it seemed a bit forward just turning up on your doorstep, but she was very keen on the idea.’
That made more sense. I was finding it hard to believe Noah had decided to do all this himself. It was so bold, and not like Noah at all.
‘Well, it was a very good one. When do you want to eat – now or later?’
‘The barbecue will take a little while to heat up, so shall I make a start now? I’ll need to clean the mackerel first, but at least they won’t need de-boning.’
I’m amused that Noah, as a man, assumes he’ll be the one barbecuing, but I don’t disagree. ‘I wonder if the bakery will have any bread left now?’ I look at my watch. ‘It’s a bit late but they might have something. Some fresh bread and salad would be perfect with mackerel.’
‘Sounds great to me. Do you want to pop down and see while I get this set up upstairs?’
‘Sure. I’ll just grab my purse first.’
I leave Noah cleaning the fish in the kitchen while I sprint upstairs to fetch my bag. I can’t help popping into the bathroom to check what I look like while I’m up there. I hadn’t been expecting any visitors – Noah was lucky I was still wearing jeans and hadn’t slipped into my comfy PJ bottoms as I often did when I was alone.
I run a brush throug
h my hair, stroke some mascara over my eyelashes, then add a dash of gloss to my lips for good measure. I’m not really sure why I felt it necessary, but I didn’t want Noah to think I didn’t care about myself. Then without thinking about it any more I grab my bag and head back downstairs to the kitchen.