‘Sally? Is that you?’
‘Who else would it be?’ I called back, laughing.
‘Come and see what Jeremy’s done!’
It was too late now to retreat. I struggled down the last few stairs and went into the kitchen, where Jeremy was bending over a laptop, open on the table. With a padded gilet over his Aran sweater, he looked more like a big bear than ever.
‘He’s an absolute marvel!’ Mum said wonderingly.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’ Jeremy looked up and smiled at me. ‘Morning, Sally.’
‘Morning.’ I felt a bit self-conscious, still in my dressing gown and with the towel wound into a turban over my wet hair. ‘What have you done, then, to earn such high praise?’
‘Saved our bacon, that’s what!’ Mum enthused. ‘He’s been through all Dad’s paperwork and put in on here – he’s going to lend us this laptop until Dad gets a new computer. I don’t understand it, of course, but you will. Show her, Jeremy.’
‘Well, basically, I’ve just set up a couple of simple spreadsheets for the accounts, and a directory of customers and suppliers,’ Jeremy said, flicking the cursor over the screen. ‘I don’t suppose it’s complete by any means but it’s the best I could do from Jack’s paperwork. It’s a good thing he kept hard copies, otherwise it would all have been lost for good.’
‘And to think I used to tell him he ought to be worrying about saving the rain forests when I heard his printer going,’ Mum said, shaking her head. ‘He always said he liked to be able to look at things in black and white, though.’
‘Well, there you are anyway.’ Jeremy straightened, switched off the laptop and closed it. ‘The best I can do. Jack will be able to fill in the blanks, I expect, when he’s home again.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Mum said fervently. ‘Are you going to stop for a cup of coffee, Jeremy?’
He glanced at his watch.
‘I shouldn’t . . . but seeing as you’re offering . . .’
His eyes, with the hint of a smile, turned to me, and suddenly I was horribly conscious of my state of undress.
‘I really must dry my hair and get some clothes on,’ I said, and for the first time Mum seemed to notice and share my embarrassment.
‘She’s not normally in her dressing gown at this time of day . . .’
‘And why shouldn’t she be?’ Jeremy said easily, but I made my escape anyway.
By the time I came back down, hair dried, and fully dressed, Jeremy had gone.
‘He had to meet a client,’ Mum explained. ‘But what a good friend! Fancy doing all that work for your dad, and all out of the goodness of his heart! Oh – and he’s offered to take you to the auction tonight, too. I told him you were going and he was worried about you driving Dad’s car in the dark.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ I was a little annoyed at my ability being questioned. ‘I’ve done it before.’
‘I did tell him that,’ Mum said defensively, ‘but he said he’d be quite interested to see what went on, and how much our bits and pieces fetched and, to be honest,’ she added, ‘I’d feel happier for you to have someone with you. I expect they get all sorts at a do like that.’
‘Oh Mum, it’ll just be the dealers and a few curious locals,’ I scoffed.
But actually, though I didn’t much care for being treated like a helpless little woman, a part of me was quite glad that I wouldn’t be alone. Too many bad things had happened lately, and I was feeling a little vulnerable. If I was with Jeremy I wouldn’t have to worry about strange cars following me in the dark lanes, and if Lewis Crighton had become aware that I was rather too interested in him, there would be no opportunity for him to see that I ended up like Dawn, tonight at least!
Whereas yesterday morning the parking area outside the Compton Properties warehouse had been deserted but for that one blue car, tonight it was already half full. Jeremy found a space between a couple of transit vans – obviously the dealers were here in force – and we crossed to the main door of the warehouse, which was standing ajar.
The first thing that struck me as we went in – apart from the smell of mustiness and portable gas fires – was the clutter. I’d never been to an auction before, and somehow the only image in my mind was the likes of Christie’s or Sotheby’s, seen on TV when some piece had gone for an amazing price – all rows of plush chairs and the auctioneer behind a lectern on a platform, and well-suited men gabbling into their mobile phones as they placed bids for absent buyers.