‘It wouldn’t do. I mean, it’s only the table I sold you I am possibly interested in. Mr Jeffs, can you quickly give me the name and address of the person who bought it?’
This question caught Mr Jeffs off his guard, so he at once replaced the telephone receiver. Mrs Hammond came through again a moment or so later, after he had had time to think. He said:
‘We were cut off, Mrs Hammond. There is something the matter with the line. Sir Andrew Charles was twice cut off this morning, phoning from Nigeria. I do apologize.’
‘I was saying, Mr Jeffs, that I would like to have the name and address of the person who bought the table.’
‘I cannot divulge that, Mrs Hammond. I’m afraid divulgences of that nature are very much against the rules of the antique dealers’ association. I could be struck off for such a misdemeanour.’
‘Oh dear. Oh dear, Mr Jeffs. Then what am I to do? Whatever is the answer?’
‘Is this important? There are ways and means. I could, for instance, act as your agent. I could approach the owner of the table in that guise and attempt to do my best.’
‘Would you, Mr Jeffs? That is most kind.’
‘I would have to charge the customary agent’s fee. I am sorry about that, Mrs Hammond, but the association does not permit otherwise.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Shall I tell you about that fee, how it’s worked out and what it may amount to? It’s not much, a percentage.’
‘We can fix that up afterwards.’
‘Well, fine,’ said Mr Jeffs, who meant when he spoke of a percentage thirty-three and a third.
‘Please go up to twice the price you paid me. If it seems to be going higher I’d be grateful if you’d telephone for instructions.’
‘That’s the usual thing, Mrs Hammond.’
‘But do please try and keep the price down. Naturally.’
‘I’ll be in touch, Mrs Hammond.’
Walking about his house, shaking his body to keep his circulation in trim, Mr Jeffs wondered if tables nowadays had a part to play in lovers’ fantasies. It was in his interest to find out, he decided, since he could accumulate tables of the correct kind and advertise them astutely. He thought for a while longer and then entered his van. He drove it to Mrs Galbally’s attic room, taking a chance on finding her there.
‘Why, Mr Jeffs,’ said Mrs Galbally.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Jeffs.
She led him upstairs, trailing her curiosity behind her. She is thinking, he thought, that I have come to sell her another thing or two, but she does not care to order me out in case she is wrong, in case I have come to blackmail her.
‘Well, Mr Jeffs, what can I do for you?’
‘I have had a handsome offer for the Louis XVI table. Or a fairly handsome offer. Or an offer that might be turned into an exceedingly handsome offer. Do you take my meaning?’
‘But the table is mine. Are you telling me you wish to buy it back?’
‘I am saying something of the kind. I received hint of this offer and thought I should let you know at once. “I will act as Mrs Galbally’s agent,” I said to myself, “in case she is at all tempted to dispose of the article at one and a half times what she paid for it.’ ”
‘Oh, but no, Mr Jeffs.’
‘You are not interested?’
‘Not at all, I’m afraid.’
‘Suppose my client goes up to twice the price? How would you feel about that? Or how would Mr Hammond feel about that?’
‘Mr Hammond?’
‘Well, I am not quite certain who owns the article. That is why I mention the gentleman. Perhaps I should have contacted him. It was Mr Hammond who gave me the cheque.’
‘The table is mine. A gift. I would rather you didn’t contact Mr Hammond.’
‘Well, that is that, then. But since I have acted in your interest in this matter, Mrs Galbally, thinking that I should report the offer to you without delay and involving myself in travelling expenses etcetera, I’m afraid I shall have to charge you the usual agent’s fee. It is the ruling of the antique dealers’ association that a fee be charged on such occasions. I feel you understand?’
Mrs Galbally said she did understand. She gave him some money, and Mr Jeffs took his leave.
In his house Mr Jeffs considered for a further hour. Eventually he thought it wise to telephone Mrs Hammond and ascertain her husband’s office telephone number. He went out on to the street with a piece of paper in his hand which stated that he was deaf and dumb and wished urgently to have a telephone call made for him. He handed this to an elderly woman, pointing to a telephone booth.
‘May I know your husband’s office telephone number?’ said the woman to Mrs Hammond. ‘It’s a matter of urgency.’
‘But who are you?’
‘I am a Mrs Lacey, and I am phoning you on behalf of Sir Andrew Charles of Africa.’
‘I’ve heard that name before,’ said Mrs Hammond, and gave the telephone number of her husband’s office.
‘You say you have been to see Mrs Galbally,’ said Hammond. ‘And what did she say?’
‘I don’t believe she fully understood what was at stake. I don’t think she got the message.’
‘The table was a gift from me to Mrs Galbally. I can hardly ask for it back.’
‘This is an excellent offer, Mr Hammond.’
‘Oh, I don’t dispute that.’
‘I was wondering if you could use your influence with Mrs Galbally, that’s all. If you happen to be seeing her, that is.’
‘I’ll ring you back, Mr Jeffs.’
Mr Jeffs said thank you and then telephoned Mrs Hammond. ‘Negotiations are under way,’ he said.
But two days later negotiations broke down. Hammond telephoned Mr Jeffs to say that the table was to remain the property of Mrs Galbally. Mr Jeffs, sorrowfully, decided to drive round to tell Mrs Hammond, so that he could collect what little was owing him. He would tell her, he decided, and that would surely now be the end of the matter.
‘I’m afraid I have come up against a stone wall,’ he reported. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hammond, about that, and I would trouble you now only for what is owing.’
He mentioned the sum, but Mrs Hammond seemed not to hear clearly. Tears rolled down her cheeks and left marks on the powder on her face. She took no notice of Mr Jeffs. She sobbed and shook, and further tears dropped from her eyes.
In the end Mrs Hammond left the room. Mr Jeffs remained because he had, of course, to wait for the money owing to him. He sat there examining the furniture and thinking it odd of Mrs Hammond to have cried so passionately and for so long. The au pair girl came in with a tray of tea for him, blushing as she arranged it, remembering, he imagined, the orders she had given him as regards the windows. He poured himself some tea and ate two pieces of shortbread. It was very quiet in the room, as though a funeral had taken place.
‘Whoever are you?’ said a child, a small girl of five.
Mr Jeffs looked at her and endeavoured to smile, forcing his lips back from his teeth.
‘My name is Mr Jeffs. What is your name?’
‘My name is Emma Hammond. Why are you having tea in our house?’
‘Because it was kindly brought to me.’
‘What is the matter with your mouth?’
‘That is how my mouth is made. Are you a good little girl?’
‘But why are you waiting here?’
‘Because I have to collect something that your mother has arranged to give me. A little money.’
‘A little money? Are you poor?’
‘It is money owing to me.’
‘Run along, Emma,’ said Mrs Hammond from the door, and when the child had gone she said:
‘I apologize, Mr Jeffs.’
She wrote him a cheque. He watched her, thinking of Hammond and Mrs Galbally and the table, all together in the attic rooms at the top of the big block of flats. He wondered what was going to happen. He supposed Mrs Hammond would be left with the child. Perhaps Mrs Galbally would marry Hammond then; perhaps they would come to this house and bring the table back with them, since Mrs Galbally was so attached to it, and perhaps they would take on the same au pair girl, and perhaps Mrs Hammond and the child would go to live in the attic rooms. They were all of a kind, Mr Jeffs decided: even the child seemed tarred with her elders’ sophistication. But if sides were to be taken, he liked Mrs Hammond best. He had heard of women going berserk in such circumstances, taking their lives even. He hoped Mrs Hammond would not do that.