The man hesitated, grunted and then grudgingly stepped aside. As she moved the object out of the shade of the van doors, the hilt of the dagger caught a shaft of sunlight. To Clare’s amazement she could see the decoration wasn’t, as she’d first thought, on sheet copper but on gold. My God, if this stuff came from Bailsgrove it was a huge discovery. Clare could feel her heart drumming away in her chest fit to burst. But Margaret’s face betrayed no hint of excitement. After turning the dagger over in her hand several times she placed it gently back in the van, this time selecting the small figure to bring into the light. From what Clare could make out it was more roughly wrought than the dagger. But even from this distance she could clearly see that the smith who’d created it had still managed to imbue the face with a lively expression. Not only his hands but his eyes were turned heavenwards, and he had tiny individually crafted ears and a perfectly formed nose. But his feet appeared to still have parts of something else attached to them. It looked very much as if he had once formed part of a larger object.

Margaret placed the figure carefully back in the van and put her sunglasses back on before turning to face the man.

He asked, ‘Satisfied?’

Margaret said, ‘There is no doubting the antiquity of these pieces.’

He sniffed. ‘Or their quality.’

Margaret inclined her head towards him in recognition of the truth of his statement. ‘Or their quality.’

The man bent as if to start rewrapping the objects, but Margaret placed a hand on his arm. ‘There’s one more thing I need to be sure of.’

As he straightened up Clare could see he looked distinctly unimpressed. ‘And what would that be?’

‘What sort of provenance do these have?’

‘Provenance? Like I said on the website, they come from Bailsgrove.’

Margaret said, ‘Yes, yes, I know that’s what it says on the website, but what proof do you have of where they come from?’

The man’s face flushed bright red from top to bottom. ‘Now, look here, if you’re trying to say you don’t think this lot are kosher, you can sling your hook.’

He turned, flung the travel rug over the top of the objects and slammed the doors of the van. Margaret wasn’t having any of it. As he started to move round to the driver’s side door she blocked his way. Clare followed, but stood by helplessly, feeling totally unequipped to deal with the situation that was developing in front of her.

He stood nose to nose with Margaret and yelled, ‘Get out of my way!’

But Margaret, seemingly completely unperturbed, stood her ground. And in a quiet but implacable tone said, ‘I think you’ve mistaken my meaning.’

He leant back, arms crossed. ‘I’m all ears.’