Vittorio was a tiny, monkey-like little man, sinuous and very thin. When the introduction was made, it seemed, surprisingly, that Conradda’s name meant nothing at all to the olive-skinned, shifty-eyed Italian: if he was the expert he seemed to be – there was no doubt, from the conversation over cocktails and again at the table, that he certainly knew a great deal about antiques of all kinds – it was odd, to say the least, that he had not heard of Conradda, who was a well-known figure at all the important auctions, besides being a collector in her own right. There was no obvious reason for him to dissemble. Although Conradda could drive a hard bargain, she was known to be scrupulously fair in her trade dealings, even refusing to take advantage of the ignorant beyond what she called ‘my pickings, because I have had to pay for my knowledge on my way up, so only right I should expect just a small profit, don’t you think?’
Dame Beatrice, who could always keep several streams of thought, unconnected with one another, in her mind at one and the same time, covertly studied Vittorio while conversing amiably with her host on the subject of his business. Honfleur was in charge of the main booking office of a motor-coach company which ran extended tours, as they were called in the official brochure, to the various scenic or historic parts of England, Wales, Scotland and Eire, and also to France, Germany, Austria and northern Italy. Part of his job (and the pleasantest part, he explained to Dame Beatrice), was to leave his office on occasion in order to follow up the various tours and report upon the hotels which the coaches used for overnight stops en route.
He was a short, powerfully-built man of about fifty-five and gave the impression of being vigorous and capable. Dame Beatrice, however, having once had him as a patient, knew a good deal about him. He always sent her a Christmas card, but beyond that their acquaintanceship had not made any progress until she had received the unexpected invitation to dinner. This, however, explained itself because it was clear, she thought, that it was her delftware and not her company which was important to him.
While she was listening to his description of a trip he had made that summer to two Continental hotels on which his firm desired a confidential report since there had been adverse criticism of them from some of the passengers, she heard the tiny, olive-skinned Vittorio say to Conradda Mendel,
‘You have a personal interest in ceramics?’
‘Oh, I run a general little junk-shop,’ she replied. ‘All is grist to my mill, not only ceramics.’
‘You work in London?’
‘I also have a place in Oxford, but the students, they have no money for nice pictures and china nowadays. I think I shall sell up and perhaps go to Bath.’
‘I wonder whether there is much money in Bath, either? There might be some nice things to pick up there, though, which you could sell in London. Do you have good connections?’
‘I welcome any customers who come in, that is all.’
‘I suppose one has to do that if one keeps a shop. I myself am a free-lance, following my nose and picking up here a little something, there a little something else. I have clients, people who tell me what they want and who trust my judgement. You are not interested particularly in ceramics, you say?’
‘That takes specialised knowledge.’
Dame Beatrice could have explained that a knowledge of ceramics was Conradda’s particular line of country. However, she did not avail herself of the opportunity, but left such a confession to Conradda herself, if she chose to make it, which apparently she did not. Dame Beatrice concluded that such a claim in Conradda’s opinion, since there might be a chance of selling the delftware dishes to Honfleur, might be bad for business. She was secretly amused by this thought and looked forward to being an observer of the various ploys which would be involved when Greek met Greek, or, in this case, when clever Jewess skirmished with wily Italian.
‘I rather wish you were more interested in pottery, because, as a matter of fact,’ said Honfleur, who had finished his description of a new coach he had just put on the road, ‘I wouldn’t be averse to parting with one or two of my own pieces, if you would care to look them over, Miss Mendel.’
‘Oh, but, now, now!’ cried Vittorio. ‘After I go to all that trouble to collect them for you? You break my heart when you say you are willing to part with them.’
‘Well, it’s that Welsh dresser I bought,’ explained his client. ‘It will only hold just so much, if the dishes are to be displayed to advantage. We have some duplicates…’
‘No, never! I do not buy duplicates for you. Those which are something alike are of different years. Look at the marks on the back! You speak of your Bristol delft, no doubt, but consider and do not be so hasty to part with your treasures.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Honfleur pacifically, ‘after dinner we’ll take the pieces down and have a look at the date-marks. I had no idea you’d be so upset at the thought of selling. I might even give one or two of the dishes to you for your own collection. How about that?’
‘Very kind. We shall see when the time comes.’ Vittorio did not sound at all enthusiastic, Dame Beatrice thought. She changed the subject to that of the ex-Emperor Charles V and his Swiss palace full of clocks and this topic lasted the company for the rest of the meal.
After coffee had been served amid conversation which did not include the subject of ceramics, an adjournment was made to the kitchen. Honfleur’s was not a large house, but all the rooms were spacious, the kitchen not less so than the rest.
‘I call it the kitchen, but, of course, no cooking is done in it,’ said the host. ‘Most of my food comes in ready cooked from outside, except for my breakfast. I go to the Regal for that, and quite often, if I’m not entertaining at home, I go there for dinner too. Well, what do you think of the set-up?’
‘Remarkable,’ said Dame Beatrice, gazing around at the furnishings. ‘Most interesting.’
There were two immediately impressive objects in the room. One was a tremendous kitchen table, but even more noticeable, because of its loaded shelves, was the magnificent Welsh dresser. On its three shelves, the lowest of which was formed of a dozen very small drawers, each with its rounded wooden knob, were arranged Honfleur’s collection of plates and dishes.
‘The dresser is large, but not large enough. That’s my trouble. There isn’t room enough on the dresser itself to display the whole collection,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you show the best pieces in your dining-room?’ asked Dame Beatrice. ‘Surely that would be a suitable setting?’
‘Oh, no, not in my view. If I had gone in for figures and vases and that sort of thing, I would have had them displayed elsewhere, but plates and dishes belong in the kitchen and nowhere else.’
‘You could spread the extra pieces out on this table, couldn’t you?’ asked Conradda. ‘It would take a dozen large plates or dishes at least.’
‘People might handle them. I wouldn’t want that. They are hardly likely to reach up and take a dish off the dresser shelves, but it’s asking too much of human nature not to pick up a plate which is lying out on a table and take a look at it. You simply cannot keep people’s fingers off things if it’s possible to handle them.’
‘So you will not take your dishes down for us?’
‘Oh, I had intended to do that. Vittorio, the step-ladder.’
He mounted it when it was brought in from the adjoining scullery and took down in turn three dishes from the top shelf.
‘Leeds creamware, about…’ he turned the first one over.
‘1780,’ said Vittorio. ‘The strange bird in black overglaze is quite typical of the period. A good piece, not especially notable. Now this I like better, perhaps because it is of earlier date.’ He handed the second dish to Dame Beatrice.