The Fethering Mysteries 03; The Torso in the Town

its place and, though in another setting the goods might have looked like junk, everything in Yesteryear Antiques had been punctiliously restored and polished. The quality standards maintained by Terry Harper in his choice of stock were extremely high. So, Carole and Jude observed when they looked at the tags, were his prices.

At the back stood a tall dresser with many drawers and shelves, which must have been retained from the shop’s former life as the local grocer’s. Some of the tools, utensils and containers on sale probably replicated ones that had once been part of the shop’s equipment in those days. There was a kind of irony in that. Carole wondered whether Billie Franks got a sense of deja vu if she ever went into Yesteryear Antiques.

Brass rings clattered on a brass rail as a velvet curtain was swept aside, and Terry Harper appeared from the back of the shop. “Sorry, just on the phone. I…” Then he saw who his visitors were. “Well, good afternoon. How lovely to see the pair of you.”

“We were just passing,” said Jude. “Doing the Art Crawl and – ”

“Don’t talk to me about the Art Crawl!” On his own Terry Harper seemed more camp than he had at the Listers’ dinner party. The round tortoiseshell glasses looked impossibly affected. Maybe it was only by comparison with Andrew Wragg’s flamboyance that he’d seemed restrained; or maybe when his partner was present he deliberately cultivated the image of straight man in the double act.

“Honestly, it’s the artists who’re supposed to suffer from artistic temperament, not the people who’re just allowing their houses to be used. You wouldn’t believe the fuss I’ve had from the good burghers of Fedborough about security details and insurance. I tell you, this is the last time I work with amateurs! If I ever do anything else like this – which I must say, given my current aggravations, is extremely unlikely – then it’ll be with professional galleries. Members of the public are such a nightmare!”

“We’ve just made a start on the Crawl,” said Jude chattily. “Seen Debbie Carlton’s stuff – lovely. I bought one of hers.”

“Ooh, hooray, an actual purchaser! Someone who’s more interested in the art than in what books people have got on their shelves. You must go and see Andrew’s work – particularly if you’re quick on the draw with a chequebook.”

“I only buy stuff I really fall for.”

“Hm. Not sure whether the wunderkinds work is something one would actually fall for. But it is very good. Very challenging. He’s building up quite a reputation,” Terry concluded proudly.

Carole indicated her Art Crawl map. “Andrew was going to be our next port of call. The Smokehouse Studio.”

“He’s just down the alley behind here.”

“Why’s it called the Smokehouse Studio?” asked Jude.

“Because that’s what it used to be. Don’t know whether you know, but this used to be the Fedborough grocer’s…”

“Yes, we had heard.”

“And next door – the one that’s now an estate agent’s – used to be the town butcher – and behind that was the smokehouse they used for home-curing all their baconand stuff like that. It was on the market at the same time as this place. The people who bought the butcher’s didn’t want it, but I did.”

“That’s where Andrew works?”

“Right. When I thought about buying this place – ”

“When was that actually, Terry?”

“Three, three and a bit years ago.”

“Did you buy it directly from Stanley and Billie Franks?”

“Yes. They’d let it run down because they knew they were retiring soon, so I got it at quite a good price. Needed a hell of a lot doing, though. Everything was in a terrible mess, really filthy.”

“Were they giving up the business because Stanley was starting to get ill?”

“I’ve always assumed so. Certainly Billie was the one who did the negotiation of the sale. Mind you, Stanley must’ve been late sixties by then, so maybe that’s when they’d planned to retire, anyway.”

“Sorry, I interrupted you. You were talking about when you were thinking of buying this place…”

“Yes, well, I knew, if Andrew was going to come with me, I’d have to find him a studio space, and the smokehouse was ideal.” For a moment, Terry Harper betrayed deep insecurity, the fear that Andrew Wragg would walk out if his every whim was not catered for. “That’s really what sold the place to me.”

He moved quickly on, perhaps embarrassed about the lapse into self-revelation. “Anyway, the conversion job is just wonderful. You’ll see it in a minute. You cannot begin to imagine the state the smokehouse was in when I bought the place – much worse than in here. Hadn’t been used for a while – except as a kind of storeroom. Full of all kinds of junk, packing cases, rusty tools – a real glory-hole. But local architect – Alan Burnethorpe, don’t know if you’ve met him…”

Jude nodded. “He’s the one who’s got an office on a houseboat down at Fedborough Bridge?”

“That’s right. Done a lovely refurbishment on that. Alan’s very clever, and he’s known every building in this town all his life. Very sympathetic to their history. He did a wonderful job on the smokehouse too, kept a lot of the original features – the kiln, that kind of thing – and really created this magical space. Andrew’s very happy with his studio.” He spoke the last words with relief, again revealing an edge of paranoia.

“We look forward to seeing it,” said Carole formally. “Not to mention seeing Andrew’s challenging art,” said Jude.

Carole looked around Yesteryear Antiques. “You’ve done wonders with this place too.”

“Yes, well, I wanted to keep that old-fashioned-shop feel. Fits in with the kind of stock I carry.”

“You must be something of an expert in social history.”

“Just a bit.” He picked up the top copy from a pile of hardback books, and coyly straightened the tortoiseshell glasses on his nose. “This is one of mine.” The Edwardian Kitchen by Terence Harper. “I’m working on a new book, about Edwardian garden furniture. At least I am when I get any time…which in the last few months, with this endless Art Crawl palaver, hasn’t been very often.” He gestured round his Aladdin’s cave of domestic treasures. “Anything I can interest either of you in?”

Oh dear, thought Carole, how embarrassing. He thinks we’re here as customers.

As ever, Jude smoothly defused the situation. “Sorry, there’s too much to take in in one visit. I’d like to come back and have a really good riffle around. But this afternoon we’re concentrating on art, not antiques.”

“Right you are.” Terry Harper seemed unoffended. Jude had again found the right words. “Well, give my love to Andrew. Tell him I’m expecting him to join me for a G and T at six-thirty sharp.” Again he allowed them a glimpse of his possessive anxiety. “But it’s lovely to see you two. People like us must stick together in a place like Fedborough.”

“Like us?” said Carole. “What do you mean?”

“We sexual minorities.” He breathed the words and winked. “I’d have known, incidentally, even if Fiona hadn’t pointed it out. But, as I say, we must stick together. Not the most broad-minded place on earth, Fedborough.”

As they emerged from Yesteryear Antiques, Jude could no longer control her pent-up laughter. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she crowed. “Thanks to the wagging tongue of Fiona Lister, all of Fedborough thinks we’re a lesbian couple. Isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Carole’s frosty expression suggested she had heard funnier ones.

? The Torso in the Town ?

Twenty-Eight

The Smokehouse Studio lived up to Terry Harper’s glowing preview. Alan Burnethorpe’s conversion had been imaginative, but respected the existing features of the building. The original structure was little more than a large shed with a slate roof. The interior walls had been stripped back to their russet brickwork;