A long, low-ceilinged, arched underground passageway stretched away from her, the walls on both sides lined with heavy steel vault doors. She set off along the corridor, noticing the regularly spaced cameras watching her from the ceiling, and looking left and right through the open doors at Aladdin’s Caves of dazzling, gleaming silver. The bright light in both passage and shops almost hurt her eyes, especially when reflected from thousands of brightly polished silver surfaces. Robin turned a corner and saw that the subterranean labyrinth extended far beyond the first corridor.
Bullen & Co lay in the second passage she entered. It was one of the larger shops, carpeted in bright blue, and a veritable sea of silver met her eyes: shelves of platters, trays, boxes, urns, jugs and shields and, on sturdy mahogany tables, gigantic pieces including candelabra, centrepieces covered in cherubs and a huge nef representing a galleon in full sail.
A woman Robin recognised instantly as Pamela Bullen-Driscoll, because of her boxy back view, was speaking rapidly into the phone on a desk.
‘Ay’ve already told you, Geoffrey. Ay’ve told you – Ay simply don’t
Pamela seemed to sense someone behind her, because she turned, said, ‘Ay’ve got to go!’ and slammed down the receiver.
Pamela had seen no need to change her style because fashions had moved on around her. From her stiffly lacquered hair to her large gold earrings and necklace, her double-breasted, shoulder-padded black blazer to her frosted pink lipstick, Pamela had never left the eighties, even though succeeding decades had deepened lines around her mouth and across her forehead. While not overweight, she was square and short-waisted. A pair of gold reading glasses hung on a crystal-studded chain around her neck.
‘Can Ay help you?’
‘I hope so,’ said Robin, drawing a business card out of her bag. ‘My name’s Robin Ellacott and I’m from the Strike and Ellacott Detective Agenc—’
‘Ay’ve got nothing to say!’ said Pamela loudly.
Recoiling, she bumped into a table laden with silver objects, and a fragile-looking horn cup in an elaborate silver casing fell to the ground. Pamela stood on it accidentally, and the horn shattered. She burst into tears.
Robin rushed to assist Pamela, who was groping for the pieces in a manner that suggested drunkenness, taking multiple attempts to place her hand on each piece.
‘Please leave!’ sobbed Pamela. ‘And close the door behaynd you! Ay have
Robin turned, walked back to the shop entrance and did indeed close the door, but remained inside the fantastical silver storehouse, returning to Pamela to help her pick up all the bits of horn in silence. The shop owner seemed too distressed to care that Robin hadn’t followed her orders. She stumbled to a small desk, grabbed a handful of tissues from a silver box, dropped into her chair and cried.
Robin laid the shards of horn on the desk, feeling guilty and trying to project sympathy. After almost a minute’s weeping, Pamela said,
‘It’s may eyes! Ay had that laser eye surgery… and Ay can’t
She didn’t finish the sentence, but continued to weep, the already dark grey tissues becoming darker with specks of mascara.
‘Could I – is there anywhere I could make you a tea, or a coffee?’ asked Robin.
Pamela didn’t answer, so Robin decided to explore for herself. There was a small kiosk-like structure in the corner of the shop that contained a coffee machine and mugs. Robin made two coffees, added a lot of sweetener to Pamela’s, then returned to the desk and sat down opposite her. Pamela sobbed for another minute until she came to a hiccoughing halt and reached for her mug. It took her two attempts to grasp the handle. She sipped the sweetened coffee, then whispered,
‘Thank you.’
‘Can’t they do anything, for your eyes?’ Robin asked, in genuine concern.
‘Ay’m traying to find someone… they said it would clear up and it hasn’t…’
‘When was the operation?’ asked Robin, surreptitiously turning her mobile to record, in her bag.
‘January… the
‘It’s an amazing shop,’ said Robin. ‘Bullen & Co’s a very old firm, isn’t it?’
‘F-four generations,’ hiccoughed Pamela. ‘May great-grandfather started it… but there are no Bullens left now. Ay couldn’t have children, and may – may nephew…’ She let out another sob. ‘Oh, we’ve all been through a dreadful tayme…’
Robin left a tactful pause before saying,
‘Mrs Bullen-Driscoll, we really do need an expert opinion. We know nothing about silver, you see.’
‘You want to t-talk about silver?’
‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It would help to understand why the Murdoch silver was so significant and why someone would go to such lengths to steal it. Mr Ramsay says—’