CHAPTER SIX — THE GALLERY OF PERFECT COPIES
Vale’s private preview occupied the converted assembly hall of a former furniture factory across town.
A carpeted entrance concealed the cracked concrete steps, and a row of rented spotlights illuminated a temporary sign reading THE EASTMERE RETURN.
Daniel entered wearing black trousers and the plain white shirt Nessa had found in a storage cupboard.
He carried a tray of water glasses through the hall while Julian presented his invitation to a receptionist.
Carol remained outside in Nessa’s van, studying the entrance with binoculars she had borrowed from a birdwatching friend.
Daniel spotted Vale immediately.
He was a silver-haired man with a beautifully cut jacket and a habit of leaning toward every guest as if sharing private wisdom.
He stood beside the central display,
where twelve limestone figures occupied polished platforms arranged in a flawless circle.
The pear seller stood fourth, just as she did in Bellweather’s old catalogue.
Daniel’s chest tightened when he saw her face.
She looked exactly like his damaged statue until he moved close enough to notice that the nose was a little sharper and the basket less uneven.
A glossy information card called the figure Autumn Vendor and attributed its expression to Ada’s melancholy vision of rural decline.
Daniel remembered Carol saying that Mabel Hart had spent half her life making people laugh.
He put the tray on a side table and examined the base.
The gallery staff had placed a mirror beneath each sculpture, allowing guests to admire the hidden number plate without kneeling.
The pear seller’s plate appeared to carry 04-17 and the tiny gate symbol.
The metal looked older than the stone around it.
Daniel sent Nessa a short message with the phrase she had suggested: THE BASKET IS TOO NEAT.
A woman in a green dress approached and asked whether he had any sparkling water.
He picked up the tray and almost collided with Kells, who was watching him from the edge of the room.
“Have we met?” Kells asked.
Daniel pretended to consider the question.
“You may have bought a picture frame from my sister’s shop,” he replied.
Kells did not smile.
“Which sister?”
Daniel realized his improvised story had been too specific.
“A sister of somebody I know,” he said, and continued walking before Kells could stop him.
At the far end of the hall, Julian was speaking with a collector who had flown in from Toronto.
The collector said Vale had privately promised that the collection had never left one secure location after its disappearance.
Julian asked how that could be reconciled with rumors of individual pieces appearing in gardens throughout the county.
The collector shrugged.
“Rumors are useful until the bill arrives.”
Daniel returned to the pear seller and noticed a thin film of wax trapped between the brass plate and its surrounding stone.
An authentic plate embedded decades earlier should have worn evenly against the limestone, but this one looked recently pressed into position.
He could not touch it without drawing attention, so he called Julian over with a fresh glass of water.
Julian glanced once at the underside and nodded.
Their silent exchange was interrupted by Vale, who approached with his arms open.
“Mr. Marr, I thought you had retired from troublesome questions.”
“I couldn’t miss the return of something I spent years searching for,” Julian replied.
Vale studied Daniel’s face.
“Who is your companion?”
“One of the people keeping the water glasses full,” Julian said.
Vale smiled thinly.
“We can provide him a real glass if he wants to celebrate.”
Then he took Julian aside and spoke too quietly for Daniel to hear.
Daniel moved toward the service corridor, where an open door revealed stacks of transport crates with numbered labels.
Most crates were empty, waiting for the auction pieces to be loaded the following night.
One smaller crate bore the same open-gate symbol as the brass plates, but the stencil beneath it read MASTER CASTING.
Daniel leaned closer and saw a stone hand protruding from packing foam.
Its fingers held a loaf with a deliberately rough crust.
Unlike the baker on the display platform, this one bore Ada’s unmistakable thumbprint.
A staff member closed the door before Daniel could inspect it further.
He returned to the hall with his heart beating quickly.
Vale had twelve immaculate statues on display, but at least one genuine figure was hidden in the shipping area.
He understood now that the auction might not be a simple sale of replicas.
It might be a sale designed to conceal what Vale was doing with the actual originals.
