The Writers' Circle

Arthur Wells liked to call himself a mobile antique dealer but in reality he was little better than a thief. He specialised in conning gullible punters into parting with valuable items for a fraction of their true worth. The small pangs of guilt he occasionally felt were assuaged by the vast quantities of alcohol he habitually consumed and the thoughts of the profits he could make selling to the more legitimate traders down south. Few of these dealers acknowledged their connection with Wells. To them he was a necessary irritant who occasionally put decent stuff their way. Wells cared little for their patronising attitudes. They could shove their dinner parties and theatre trips where the sun didn't shine. One day he would find something to allow him to set up a store of his own.

But that time seemed a long way off as he surveyed the slim pickings of a miserable day. The few things he had managed to purchase would hardly pay his expenses, let alone show any decent profit. The one consolation for Wells was that he only had one more call to make then he could adjourn to the pub for a steak and a whisky or two. It was typical of the day that the small, terraced house he pulled up outside had a dilapidated look. Poverty hung over the property like a shroud, evidenced by the overgrown garden and fading paintwork. Shaking his head Wells got out of the car and opened the gate. The latch came away in his hand and he threw it into the long grass. walking up the path he knocked on the front door. It was opened by a small, elderly, white-haired woman wearing thick glasses.
"Mrs Halsall?" Wells enquired, putting on a false smile. "You called about some things you have for sale."
He handed her his card which she peered at myopically.
"Please come in." She said after a few moments, handing Wells back his card.
    He made his way past her into the tiny front room. It was just as he feared. It looked like the room had not been decorated since World War 2, the woodwork was heavily tobacco stained and the carpet was bare in patches.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mrs Halsall asked.
"Yes please" Wells replied. It would give him a chance to look round undisturbed.
As Mrs Halsall busied herself  in the kitchen he did a quick survey of the room. Nothing caught his eye and he was just about to make a quick exit when he noticed a small painting hung on the wall above the door he had just entered. At first he could not believe his eyes. By the sound of the rattling of crockery Mrs Halsall would be a few minutes so he reached up and examined the painting closely. There could be no doubt it was a Giles Merryweather, one of the leading 19th century romantic artists. It was unsigned but Merryweather very often left artwork unsigned so that was not to its detriment. Wells' hands were trembling as he silently returned the painting to its place on the wall. He estimated it would be worth a minimum of £50,000 down south. he moved away from the door and stationed himself by the mantlepiece as Mrs Halsall re-entered the room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. He pretended to be examining a worthless 1950's copy of a French clock.
"I like this" He said.
Next he picked up a cheap transfer-printed vase that stood next to the clock.
"I could make you an offer on this as well" He continued.
Looking around the room as though for the first time his eyes alighted on the painting. He moved a step toward it.
"That is rather nice. It is not top-class but it is pleasant enough." Wells said.
"I like it too" said Mrs Halsall "Though I do not suppose it is worth very much."
Wells made a show of picking up the clock and vase in turn and then scratching his chin.
"Would you be interested in doing a deal for the clock, vase and painting?" He asked
" Yes." Mrs Halsall answered.
Wells could hardly contain his excitement as he made his offer.
"Would £100 interest you?" He ventured.
Mrs Halsall looked disappointed
"I was hoping for more than that." She said.
Wells moved toward the painting again.
" I would like to buy this for myself. It would look nice in my study. Would you take £200 for all the items?"
Mrs Halsall shook her head
" I want to visit my sister in Bournemouth for the winter so I need enough for a holiday."
Wells took the painting off the wall and admired it. 
"It is nice but I am mainly interested in the clock. How much were you thinking of for the lot?"
Mrs Halsall considered.
"I need £500 for the hotel in Bournemouth."
Wells thought for a long time.
"Ok." He said at last. "I am being a fool to myself but you seem like a nice lady. Send me a postcard from Bournemouth."
He took a large wad of cash from his pocket and counted out the notes.Handing them over he carefully took down the painting and picked up the clock and vase. He left so quickly he did not bother to drink his tea. Once at the car he checked Mrs Halsall was not observing and threw the clock and vase contemptuously in the boot. The painting he tenderly placed on the front passenger seat and wrapped the seat belt round it. Tomorrow he would take it down the motorway and offload it in London for enough money to set up his own shop. Unless Mrs Halsall frequented the art galleries of Chelsea she would be unaware of the fortune that had slipped through her fingers. Still she now had enough for a good holiday so Wells felt no remorse. Whistling a happy tune he drove off.
As soon as she had closed the door on him Mrs Halsall took off her glasses, revealing eyes of a startlingly clear blue. She made her way through the house and out of the back door. At the bottom of the garden there was a shed. She entered the shed, which had been equipped as an artists studio. On an easel was another "Giles Merryweather". She checked the paint was dry then picked up a canister that lay on a bench. She coated the surface of the painting with a fine mist which aged it considerably. She picked up the artwork and made her way back into the house. As she hung it over the mantlepiece there was the sound of steps coming down the stairs. A large, young man entered the room.
"Did he buy it, Nan?" He asked
"Yes. Got £500 for it." She answered.
"How many more are you going to sell before we move on? He said.
"You always were an impatient boy, David" She smiled at him. "The rent on this pigsty is due next week so I will get rid of two more then we can head for Torquay."
"Good." David said. "That dealer who came back last night needed some persuading that we don't give refunds."
" I make no claims about the paintings. They only see what their greed tells them to." Mrs Halsall said. "My art teacher always said I would not make an honest living from painting. How right he was!"
Laughing to herself she went to a cupboard and removed a clock and vase almost identical to the ones she had just sold. Laughing to herself she placed them on the mantlepiece then picked up the telephone directory and looked under the heading of "Antique Dealers".


                                                                                                                                                   The End