‘I will.’ Sara waved and blew kisses back. ‘Enjoy your dinner and thanks for the news.’
‘My pleasure! Cheers.’ Liz ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief, before making a dash for the door to claim her much-needed meal.
Although Sara had taken the news rather well, Liz still felt like a complete heel for letting her down on her big day — especially since her parents would not be present. But in all honesty she was glad not to have to stand by and watch her dearest friend marry a guy so ill-suited for her. Liz couldn’t understand the attraction, but then she was not the one marrying the guy. She decided she was going to have to find Sara an extra special wedding gift, she’d go hunting first thing in the morning.
* * *
When Liz considered shopping for something unique in London, the place to begin was Portobello Road Market. Sara was not a Bond Street kind of girl. Her taste ran more towards shabby-chic — she adored antiques and recycled furniture. Sara longed to live in some long-forgotten romantic era that never really existed, and her design style, from her clothes to her home, was the perfect reflection of this. For Liz, this made Sara’s choice of husband even more perplexing as Robert’s taste ran to the slick, sparse, modern side of things. This fact gave Liz all the more impetus to buy Sara a grand period piece — the more antique the better.
Even though Liz was up and out early, the famed market was crowded. After two hours of walking about in heels — Liz didn’t own a pair of flat-soled shoes and had no desire to — she failed to find anything that truly excited her. At this point, she felt the need to escape the throng of bargain hunters for a while and wandered off down a little laneway.
Maybe I should try Grey’s Antique Market. She pulled her cigarette case and lighter from her bag, but just as she was about to light up, she spotted a store of interest and refrained.
Across the road stood a large terrace and on the stair railing leading down to the basement level, there was a tiny sign that read Antiques, with an arrow pointing down the stairs.
Worth a look, she decided, placing her smoking paraphernalia back in her bag as she headed across the street and down the stairs.
The basement store was dimly lit. Beyond the door, a few more stone stairs led into the store proper, where the counter was located. The shop was filled to capacity with strange and obscure artefacts, there was a light smoky haze that smelled of pipe tobacco — even as a smoker Liz found the aroma pungent — but there didn’t appear to be anyone about. There were so many items crammed in the little store that the selection was overwhelming, and Liz considered you could get lost in there for days. She inched towards the counter, careful to keep her lovely suit from brushing against any of the dusty items for sale. Nothing appeared to have been cleaned in years, but that didn’t deter Liz; this store was exactly what she’d been seeking. Amid the treasures on the counter was a hand-carved wooden wand with a large terminated quartz crystal protruding from the top, which Liz lifted up to examine.
Sara’s kind of place. She grinned, excited, but deciding the piece was too small to really annoy Robert, she placed it back on the counter and rang the service bell.
Beside her was a tainted suit of armour that felt as though it was leering at her. ‘How are you?’ She flipped open the face mask to view the void within. ‘Completely transparent . . . like a few other men I know.’ She flipped the face cover down and looked back to ring the bell again, startled to find an old woman smiling at her as she puffed away on a pipe.
‘Can I help you?’ the proprietor asked. She appeared as aged as the items in her store; her attire and her hairstyle were rather old-fashioned.
Liz held her chest briefly to recover from the shock, but smiled meekly to cover how spooked she was by the woman’s sudden appearance. ‘I’m looking for a gift, a wedding gift as a matter of fact. I wanted something unusual, unique, you know?’
The old woman raised her brows, and puffed away, the smoke billowing out into the still air of the room. ‘Why don’t you take a look around . . .’ She motioned towards the main body of the store with her pipe. ‘See if anything jumps out and grabs you.’ The woman chuckled in response to her own invitation, which Liz actually found a little creepy.
‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ Liz moved off to explore — clearly the old woman wasn’t of a mind to play salesperson.
As she moved further into the store, Liz scrutinised different trinkets, removing dust, and in some cases cobwebs, before putting the pieces back in the display. One piece, an old pistol, Liz liked very much. If it doesn’t work out, she could shoot him, Liz amused herself, but she set aside the pistol as she caught sight of something interesting, right at the back of the store. Hold everything!
The item that caught her eye was a large, throne-like chair. It was dark wood, carved with an intricate motif of Eastern design, maybe Indian or Turkish. The chair itself was huge, high-backed and upholstered in the finest deep burgundy velvet that appeared brand new. There was a very large lilac jewel set into the centre of the headrest that looked like a magnificent diamond — although common sense told Liz that it was a glass replica, as who in their right mind would waste such a jewel on a piece of furniture? Oddly, unlike everything else in the store, the item was perfectly clean — no doubt it was a new acquisition.
After caressing the soft velvet seat, naturally she had to try it out. It was comfortable, but rather too large just to sit upright in. With its lush padded armrests and wide seat, Liz kicked off her heels and tucked both legs up beside her quite comfortably. She rested her folded arms down on the armrest and lay her head down, finding the experience blissfully comfortable.
‘Perfect.’ She sat up and replaced her shoes, then headed back down the main aisle towards the counter in search of the proprietor. ‘Hello?’ she called, once she’d reached the counter and the old woman was nowhere to be seen.
‘You have made your selection?’
Liz was surprised to note that the old woman was behind her, in the direction she’d just come from.
‘It’s lovely, don’t you think?’ The old woman turned her back on Liz and moved towards the chair in question.
‘Yes.’ Liz trailed her, looking about for where the old woman might have come from. She could see no clear point of entry, other than the front door or the door to the rear of the counter, both of which were behind her — a fact that was a little disconcerting. Was the old lady aware that her creepy modus operandi was probably the reason her store was devoid of patronage?
‘They have a certain aura, these chairs, that makes you feel rather honoured just to be in their presence, don’t you find?’ She turned to face Liz.
‘These chairs, you say?’ Liz reached the back of the store, most interested to know. ‘Is there more than one of these?’
A rather odd smile crossed the old woman’s lips. ‘Not at present.’ ‘Oh well.’ Liz shrugged. ‘Good excuse not to buy the groom anything. Does it have a history?’
‘In a store like this, everything has a history.’ The old woman smiled.
This was the part where Liz expected to get some extravagant story about famous people who had owned the chair and a tragic tale of how it had come to be homeless in this place. But the piece really looked too pristine to be truly antique. Maybe that was why the old woman was not forthcoming with its history. Be that as it may, that would make bargaining for a price a lot easier.
‘So, how much do you want for it?’
‘You were meant to have this chair, so for you a good price,’ she assured with a smile. ‘A very good price indeed.’
That was a good thing, as the piece was going to cost a fortune to transport home. Still, Liz considered it worth the expense just to see the look of delight on Sara’s face, and the look of horror on Robert’s.
* * *
Simon had walked down this laneway many times before, but he’d never noticed the little basement antique shop before. Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead shopping in a marketplace, even
one as famous as Portobello Road, but today he was not shopping for himself. He was in search of something truly amazing to gift Jon for his birthday, and his friend’s tastes were distinctly different to his own. Jon’s works of art may have been contemporary, but as far as decor went, he liked things that were weathered and worn — ‘old stuff’. When Simon thought ‘old stuff’ he thought of this part of London, and the store he was descending the stairs to appeared ideal.
Upon opening the door, he was delighted to be greeted by a stylish and very attractive redhead, who gasped when the door suddenly swung open before her. Upon sighting him, however, she breathed easy once more.
‘Good morning,’ he said, rather surprised to find such classy clientele emerging from the ramshackle store.
‘Isn’t it just.’ She served him an amiable smile as she moved past him.
Simon couldn’t resist watching her scale the stairs, which she did masterfully in high heels, and he couldn’t help but admire her expensive suit, of pale lemonade pink, that fitted her lovely figure like a glove. He was very tempted to abandon his quest and go see if he could interest her in a lunch date; still, this morning was really the only time he had free before the event to find a gift. As she left his line of sight, he stopped procrastinating and entered the store.
There didn’t seem to be anyone in attendance, but Simon found the suit of armour standing by the service counter rather curious. He’d never realised how many straps and belts were needed to secure such a get-up. ‘Sex must be hell.’ The mental image of attempting to remove the hefty suit in a heated hurry amused him; the notion of negotiating around all the metal plating to perform the act was downright scary.
‘Hello?’ He wandered further into the store; perhaps the proprietor was at the rear.
This place would be a treasure trove in Jon’s eyes and Simon decided he must drag his friend down here at some point; it had been ages since they’d gone anywhere together that wasn’t work-related.
A sheathed sword caught his interest, sitting point-down in a large pot. Upon partially pulling the weapon from its sheath, he caught sight of something even more interesting reflected in the steel, and he replaced the weapon to move towards the back of the store and take a closer look.
As he observed the huge throne-like chair, Simon had the oddest feeling he’d seen it before, yet he could not for the life of him remember where he might recognise it from.
‘Can I help you?’
Simon swung about to find that an old woman had crept up behind him. He was amazed, as she was puffing away on a pipe and the smoke stank to high heaven.
‘Ah yes.’ Simon maintained a cheery demeanour. ‘I’m looking for a gift, something rather like this.’ He motioned to the intriguing piece. ‘How much do you want for it?’
‘You have a good eye for quality.’ She continued to puff away madly.
Simon waved his hand about in the hope of escaping the reek of smoke. ‘How much?’ He had neither the time nor the patience to haggle.
‘For you.’ The shopkeeper served him an odd grin. ‘A very good price.’
* * *
The gallery space was ultra-modern, with high white walls and oddly angled skylights in the geometrically irregular bespoke ceiling that cast shafts of light down into the showroom area and across the pristine dark timber floors and stairs. The venue was very elegant and perfectly suited for the calibre of clientele they were hoping to attract to the exhibition; still, Jon would have taken Simon’s word for it. He was so pleased to be out of that meeting as it had dragged on for hours! As an artist, all he could think about was how much work he could have got done during that time. He was also inwardly annoyed that they had hired a photographer to take some promotional photos of him. Jon had never been particularly comfortable in front of a camera and was out the front door as soon as the opportunity to leave arose. Simon was still drivelling on with the gallery manager, so Jon leaned against his agent’s new prestige car, arms folded, hoping that he might hurry things along.
Finally, Simon exited the gallery — alone, thank goodness — as Jon was all out of small talk for today. When he noted his client looking impatient, Simon pressed the key on his central locking system to unlock the car.
‘What part of “I need to work,” do you not understand?’ Jon appealed, as Simon rounded the car to the driver’s side. ‘That was a complete waste of time. And tell me why I need promotional shots? They’re selling my paintings, not me.’
‘They’re spending a lot of money promoting this exhibition,’ Simon justified, sweeping back the long strands of hair that had escaped his slick ’do. ‘And I needed you to see the space for yourself. You’re the artist, naturally people are going to want to consult with you. And as for the photos, well . . . as much as you try to hide it, tall, dark and mysterious is considered eye candy, which does not harm our cause any.’
‘Eye candy?’ Jon felt humiliated by the term.
‘Hey, I am too.’ Simon shrugged. ‘And I use it to our advantage. Any advantage we have, I will exploit, if it gets people through those doors, buying your work.’
But Jon still had a bad taste in his mouth, he needed Simon to understand. ‘You know I hate this whole art social scene, I’d rather stay apart from it. You’re my agent, tell them I’m a recluse, or something; let them thrive on the intrigue.’
Simon raised both brows, leaning over the car to break the news. ‘Jon, you are a recluse.’
‘And I like it that way! I want my work recognised, not me.’
Simon winced, perhaps disinclined to accept Jon’s wishes, or perhaps he was conceding defeat.
Jon wanted to be clear. ‘Just tell me it won’t happen again.’
Simon took a moment before confirming. ‘After today that’s probably for the best.’ He forced a smile and nodded in agreement with himself.
‘Thank you.’ Jon opened the door. ‘I can’t wait to get home to the peace and quiet.’
Simon had a pained look on his face.
‘Is it really so difficult to leave me in peace?’
‘What? No.’
‘Then what’s that odd look about?’
‘What odd look?’
‘Actually’ — Jon frowned as he thought about it — ‘you’ve been acting strange all day.’
‘You’re the strange one, friend,’ Simon insisted, climbing in the car.
Jon smiled — he actually took a lot of pride in being different, and antisocial — anything that helped maintain his solitary existence was all good by him.
* * *
When they reached Jon’s terrace, he was disturbed to note Simon getting out of the car with a bottle of bubbly in his hand.
‘Are you planning on hanging around then?’ Jon needed some alone time and hoped his agent would take the hint.
‘For a drink,’ he said. ‘It is your birthday, after all.’
‘Is it?’ Jon hadn’t given it a second thought, and he really had no desire to.
Simon laughed at this. ‘You’re really not in touch with reality at all, are you? Unbelievable.’ He slapped a hand down on Jon’s shoulder and shook his head. ‘It really won’t kill you to have one night off.’
‘Fair enough,’ Jon relented. A quiet drink with a friend wasn’t entirely unappealing. He unlocked the door and entered the darkened entrance hall of his terrace.
‘Surprise!’
The cheer nearly startled the life out of Jon, who looked to the lounge room to find it packed with people,
‘Happy birthday, my friend.’ Simon moved in to shake Jon’s hand as the others began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’.
Jon forced a smile and pulled Simon close to give him a chummy hug and have a quiet word in his ear. ‘I’m going to kill you.’
‘Fair enough.’ His agent obviously thought he was joking, as his grin only broadened at the threat. ‘But let’s have a drink first, ay?’ Simon popped the cork on the bottle in his hand, to begin the celebration.
* * *
/> A few hours and many drinks later, Jon was in a far more sociable mood. He didn’t know half the people here, but they were all very amenable and chatty. The catering had been great, and there was a voluptuous woman, all dressed in red, hanging off his arm.
‘All the artwork in the house is yours?’ she queried, admiring the huge feature work in his lounge, and he nodded.
The piece in question was abstract daytime cityscape, front-lit with several track lights.
‘Do you like it?’ He asked.
‘I’m not a huge fan of abstract,’ she was sorry to say. ‘I find it rather disconcerting and cold.’
Jon shrugged. ‘That’s me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not the case.’ She served him an amorous smile.
‘But wait.’ Jon moved to the wall and dimmed the track lights, and as the light turned from white to black the painting transformed from a daytime cityscape, to a nightscape and the city lit up!
‘Wow!’ His admirer was impressed and leaned in close to whisper, ‘Is the artwork upstairs just as amazing?’
She was attractive, he supposed, but he didn’t know her and considering how clingy and overbearing she was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He couldn’t even remember her name, which he felt sure she’d told him, but he didn’t want to seem rude by asking again.
‘Excuse me, sorry,’ Simon intervened. ‘I just have to steal the birthday boy away for a moment.’
Jon was very grateful to be pried away from the woman. He followed Simon’s lead to the study on the far side of the entrance foyer. Entering the empty, quiet room was a relief.
‘Now it’s my turn.’ Simon closed the door and motioned to an enormous present, wrapped in paper with a big bow at the front.
‘Simon!’ Jon was overwhelmed by the size of the gift — he stumbled, and realising the booze had gone to his head, he placed his drink aside on a table. ‘What on earth have you found?’
Simon raised his eyebrows a few times, appearing most pleased with himself. ‘Well, go on then, open it.’