Sitting at their corner table the main topic of conversation turned, as it often did, to Peter Winston-Moore. They all agreed to having had the misfortune of knowing him for a number of years. They would bump into him at antiques fairs or on the odd occasion when he would visit their shops. He was not a popular figure.
They’d learned the hard way that if you shook hands with Peter you'd better check afterwards how many fingers you still had. He could teach Arthur Daley a thing or two.
However, in the last twelve months they had seen him go from being a third-rate wheeler-dealer to opening an expensive gallery in one of the best areas of east London and from driving a battered ten-year-old Volvo to cruising round in a brand new Bentley convertible.
Behind his back, they called him ‘Lord Snooty’.
“So Robin. Any ideas? How are we going to find out where Lord Snooty is getting his stock from?”
Robin gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. It just gets right up my frigging nose. A few years ago we were far more successful than that bloody tosser. It’s got to be dodgy. You know what he’s like.”
“Yeah, it’s getting so hard to find decent stuff and yet he seems to be getting more than his fair share. It’s all since he found that bloody Picasso. That was the start of it. It’s got to be the key to all this.”
“He told me he had discovered it in a junk shop in Trentbridge when he went to the Evesham Art and Antiques Fair. At first I believed him but I’m beginning to find that more and more unlikely and …. Francis Tack butted in. “Look. I happen to know he’s going to be at the next Evesham fair. He was boasting about it when he came into my shop the other week telling me he expects to find some new items there. Why don’t we follow him and try to find out what he’s up to?”
“Yeah, I’m up for that. I’m struggling to find new items. I could sell it if I could just find enough to re-stock the shop. I’m sick and tired of watching Lord Snooty driving around in that car like he owns the place. Next thing you know he’ll have a bloody chauffeur.”
Robin put his cup down with such force, his tea spilled onto the table. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I’d give my right arm to know where on earth he’s finding all that stuff. If I don’t figure out how he’s doing it soon I think I’ll go mad.”
“So it’s agreed. We follow him up to the Evesham Arts and Antiques Fair stick to him like glue and try not to let him out of our sight. Let’s hope we get a lucky break and find out how he’s doing it. Then we can all afford to drive a Bentley.”
Chapter Eleven
Two days after their chat at the auction house, Francis Tack sent his new assistant Trevor Dean to visit Peter’s art gallery in Shoreditch, with instructions to watch and listen for any information he could find.
Trevor pretended to be a potential customer and walked round the gallery when the phone on the counter rang and Norman answered it.
“Yes, that’s right; Peter will be in Trentbridge next week. And he would be only too happy to give you a free valuation. Let me just check his diary. Norman opened a big leather bound book, picked up an expensive looking pen and started to make notes. Yes, that is perfect. He will be staying at the Albion Hotel so will look forward to seeing you at four pm. on Wednesday the sixteenth.”
As Norman talked, Trevor could see him writing down what looked like an address but couldn’t be certain. He dare not get too close in case he was ‘discovered’.
With this newfound information, Trevor headed back across London to his boss’s shop in Notting Hill.
“Very well done, Trevor. You’ve done good!” Francis told him.
Francis picked up his mobile and phoned Victor Athos. “Victor, my lad Trevor has come up trumps. I sent him to visit Lord Snooty’s and he overheard Norman on the phone. Apparently Peter is planning to stay at a place called the Albion Hotel to be there on the sixteenth, which is a few days before the Evesham fair starts. Why don’t we book into the same hotel on that date and find out what he’s up to. If we give the old poof a few drinks he might open up, you know what he’s like. Once you get him started you can’t shut him up. He loves to boast. Worth a go, don’t you think?”
Victor chuckled. “Sounds like a good plan. Do you want to make the arrangements and I’ll settle up with you for my share?”
“Yes, no problem. I’ll call Robin and check he’s up for it as well.”
It would take them away from their businesses for a couple of extra days and add to their expenses but they agreed it would be worth it if they could discover the way in which Peter was sourcing all this new stock.
Notting Hill is a vibrant, trendy part of west London that following the success of the movie attracts tourists from around the world. Francis Tack’s Antique Emporium is located on the famous Portobello Road.
The attractive American tourist who had just left the antiques shop had thought nothing of spending £3,900 on the Afghan Kizilayak Village Rug dated circa 1900 that Francis had purchased at auction for £2,200. She had paid using her Platinum American Express card taken from the Hermes Red Crocodile handbag that probably cost far more than the rug.
She had left the shop with instructions a courier company would call to collect her purchase later in the week.
As they stood behind the glass top counter close to the front of the shop each sipping a cup of coffee,
