The Seven Stars by Anthea Fraser Page B

topic of conversation and where Baker’s confrontation with the Chief Constable’s wife had been recounted with more glee than accuracy, growing in unlikeliness with each repetition.
    ‘ She’s a battle-axe all right, Lady Soames,’ Webb acknowledged with a grin. ‘Poor John — I shouldn’t have liked to be on the receiving end.’
    ‘ His only consolation was that she kept calling him “young man”!’ Crombie said. ‘Naturally the press are having a ball. With all those big names, who can blame them? Jack says they’re even asking if there could be a connection with the country house break-ins.’ Jack Williams was the press liaison officer.
    ‘ For Pete’s sake!’ Webb exclaimed. ‘At this rate, they’ll be looking for connections every time a kid nicks a Mars Bar! It’s obvious this was an opportunist crime and the villain a woman. What possible link could there be?’
    ‘ But all those nobs, Dave! It makes you think, doesn’t it?’
    ‘ I’m glad it’s not our pigeon, I can tell you that,’ Webb commented and returned to his work.
    *
    Helen’s chance came at lunch-time, when she spied Sir Clifford ahead of her in the lobby, for once unaccompanied. She quickened her step and touched his arm.
    ‘ Sir Clifford, could you spare me a moment?’
    He smiled down at her. ‘Of course, my dear. Let me buy you a drink. We lecturers have the use of a private bar — it will be easier to talk there.’
    He led her into a small room off the hall , with large windows looking over the gardens at the side of the house. There were comfortable chairs and a glass and chrome bar in one corner. Two or three ladies were already seated at a table; in addition to their own group, a one-day seminar on lace-making was being held that day.
    ‘ What can I get you?’ Sir Clifford asked, seeing her to a chair and propping his silver-topped cane against the wall.
    ‘ Dry sherry, please.’
    As he went to the bar , Helen rapidly reviewed the points she wanted to raise, but first he’d a few questions for her.
    ‘ Forgive me if I don’t remember your name,’ he said, placing two glasses on the table and sitting down opposite her. ‘Put it down to advancing decrepitude.’
    ‘ Not at all — how could you remember, when you give so many lectures? I’m Helen Campbell.’
    ‘ Delighted to meet you.’ He shook her hand across the table with old-world courtesy. ‘And are you enjoying the course?’
    ‘ Enormously. In fact, that’s why I wanted your advice.’ She quickly sketched in her background in the antique business and her hopes for resuming work.
    ‘ Well, my dear, it depends how much time you want to devote to it. You could take a year’s course at the Courtauld Institute, but possibly in the first instance your best step might be to find employment at a local auction house, if there’s one near you. Where do you live?’
    ‘ In Hampshire — not far from Winchester.’
    ‘ That shouldn’t be a problem, then. Basically, what you need to do is study catalogues, walk round the sales and see how they’re laid out, check on prices and get used to handling objects. Then, if you want to go further and qualify as a valuer and auctioneer, you could take the courses set by the Association of Fine Art, Valuers and Auctioneers.’
    ‘ Thank you — that’s a great help.’
    He reached in the breast pocket of his waistcoat and extracted a small gold-edged card. ‘And if I can be of assistance at any time, do please telephone.’
    She thanked him again. He nodded and took another sip of his sherry. ‘You’ve come from quite a distance; how did you hear of this course?’
    ‘ My daughter’s at university in Steeple Bayliss. I saw it advertised when I brought her back at the beginning of term.’
    ‘ A pity it’s not residential this year, but I gather they’re doing great things upstairs — putting in more bathrooms and generally modernising the place. Did you manage to find somewhere reasonable to