Geoffrey Cutler

The entrance to the furniture restorer's workshop was up a steel fire escape, pinned to the wall by rusting bolts. It wobbled as Moira ascended, and she didn't like the creaking sound.This place had been recommended to her, but the yard, to the rear of a flour mill, was full of broken machinery with grass growing between the uneven cobbles, and she was not filled with confidence. At the top of the staircase, she tapped on the frosted window and pushed open the door.
"Hello?" The floor was covered in wood shavings, stools and chairs hung from the walls on long metal spikes, some wide backed chairs suspended from the rafters on ropes. Tables of differing woods, were balanced one on top of another in size order, with piles of rough sawn planks supporting the corners where legs were absent. To the rear, beneath a window in the roof, was a huge work bench with a variety of lathes and clamps attatched to it.
From inside his office, tucked away in the corner, Geoffrey Cutler heard the 'hello' and took his feet off the stool, put down his pipe and laid aside the newspaper. He checked the mirror balanced against a rusting tin of 3/4 inch wood pins. It was angled to catch the reflection in another mirror inside the workshop, leaning on one of the chairs on the wall, so he could see who was coming in. A young brunette, in a floral frock, carrying a long wooden box.
"Yes." Moira surprised by his sudden appearance, and, being more used to a friendly, 'can I help you Madam', was unnerved.
"I've been given this, well inherited it. I wondered how much it was worth, if I should get it repaired or not?" She tentatively proffered the box. Geoffrey Cutler took it over to the workbench, and held it in the light."It's had a hard life I'm afraid." Moira added, as he turned on a lamp suspended above the bench. 
"Mahogany. A good wood." He made to turn the key.
"It's stuck." Moira said quickly, afraid he might break it. "It was like that when I got it." He undid the belt, the box was empty, Moira had left Pops' belongings at home
"It's old, very old." Geoffrey fingered the broken side. "This wouldn't be a problem, How was the mechanism broken?" 
"I don't know. My Dad's never heard it play either."
He took a small file from a huge toolbox under the bench. Gently working it into the dove tailed edge, he losened the wood around where the music box was housed. A panel fell into his hand. Inside he saw the steel barrell covered with tiny pins, which, when rotating would strike a  row of narrow bars, each individually pitched, to make the music. Geoffrey noticed a wrap of paper sat on the resonators which was stopping the barrel form turning.
Something hidden, something secret. Without a word, he carefully reinserted the panel.
"That's bust alright, the whole thing's not worth much. A few dollars, It would cost more than it's worth to repair it, and the music wont ever play." Moira grimaced though it was what she'd been expecting. Geoffrey casually commented. "But it has age, I collect old things, well as you can see." He waved his hand around the workshop. "Does it have any provenance?"
"Provenance?"
"Any papers, that say where it's from, who owns it?"
"Oh no, nothing like that, My Grandfather brought it over from Ireland."
"So it means a lot to you?" Moira looked at the old broken box and its fraying belt.
"No not really, I guess I hoped it was worth something." Geoffrey seized his chance.
"I tell you what, this isn't worth anything to you, but I like this kinda thing. I've a really pretty Japanese jewelry box, hang on." He went to the office and emptied out all the receipts he'd been collecting, from a black lacquered box, with golden pagodas and herons painted on the sides. He rubbed his dirty fingerprints off, and blew on the red silk interior to remove the traces of sawdust.
"Here you go. What do you think?" He knew she'd like it, "Swap?" Moria could see it on her dressing table with all her favourite trinkets inside.
"Sure, why not."   
   
 (For Part One see 'Madigan')
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