As it turned out, the piece of silver was a small, late eighteenth-century tray, of the sort upon which the well-to-do left their cards when they went calling and found the master or mistress of the house not at home. This, too, belonged to his mother. He couldn’t begin to guess what it was worth.
He said to Stuart, “This is the lot, then?”
Stuart nodded.
“Pete brought it to the shop?”
Stuart swallowed, the sound so loud that a frog could have been croaking on the floor nearby. That was acknowledgement enough.
“You didn’t ask her . . . ? You didn’t wonder . . . ? Jesus, Stuart. What’s wrong with you? Put the lot of it back in the safe—including the pendant in the window—and don’t sell any of it. I don’t care if the bloody Prince of Wales walks in and wants to strike a deal. Understand me?” And when Stuart nodded, “And don’t tell Paulie I was here.”
Stuart nodded again, and Mark left the shop. He walked the length of The Narrow Way to St. Augustine Tower. There he turned into the route that led across the gardens within St. John at Hackney Churchyard. It was blazing hot, so there was little movement within the garden and the only sound was the voices of children at play—heroically, considering the temperature—beyond the wall that sheltered the church. He went past the café, where the air was redolent of frying meat, and from there into Sutton Place.
His mother answered his knock at the door. She smiled, saying, “Boyko! I thought I heard something. I’d just come inside for fizzy water or I would have missed you altogether.” She inclined her head towards the back of the house, saying, “We’re just in the back garden, Esme and I. She’ll be that happy to see you.”
“No Dad?” he asked.
“Our Eileen’s taken him to be fitted for hearing aids, thank the Lord. If I had to spend another week shouting at the man just to be heard I might have murdered him. Go on out to say hello to Esme. I’ll fetch you a fizzy water as well.”
“That can wait,” he said. “It’s you I’ve come to see.”
“Me?” Clearly, she read something in his expression because she said, “It’s not Lilybet, is it?”
“It’s Pete,” he said.
Her hand went to her throat. He wondered if all women did that when preparing for what they expected to be bad news, as a way of warding off a coming blow. “She’s not . . . ? What’s happened?”
“She’s taken some of your jewellery: five of the Art Deco pieces. I mean to get them back for you. Considering what she probably got for them, it’ll take some time but—”
“You’re not thinking Pete has stolen from me.”
“She’s taken the jewellery and that silver calling card tray to Paulie’s upper shop in The Narrow Way. I’ve just been. I’d found a pawn ticket in her bag, see. I wanted to know . . . I had some ideas . . . It doesn’t matter. Stuart showed me.”
“He shouldn’t have done. That’s very naughty of him.”
“I didn’t give him much choice, Mum.”
“Still, he shouldn’t have told you or showed you. It’s a private matter.”
“What’s that meant to mean?”
“Obviously, I knew she’d taken the pieces to the shop.”
“You knew?” He frowned. “Are you in trouble, Mum?”
“What sort of trouble would I be in?”
“Money trouble, you and Dad.”
Her gaze shifted from him to the window. Through its panes he could see Esme spooning compost into a pile of potting soil that stood on the outdoor table. She used a trowel to mix it well, and then began loading a clay pot with the enriched soil.
Mark said, “Look. If there’s money trouble, Mum, I can help out. We’ve not got a pile of ready cash, but there’s no need to pawn your jewellery. Besides, Dad gave it you. It’s got sentimental value as well. And you meant it all to go to Esme eventually, didn’t you?”
She said, “It was just time. Everything has its season, Boyko.”
“So it is money trouble.”
Floss licked her lips and turned her gaze back to him. She said, “There’s no money trouble. And there are pieces left for Esme. You’re to have no fears on either score.”
“Then why did Pete . . .”
He watched as misshapen red blotches began to appear on his mother’s throat and on her chest where her flowery summer blouse was open at the collar to form a V. He said, “Pete needed the money, not you.”