The New Collected Short Stories (70 page)

‘Yes, of course, sir.’ Julian pulled open a drawer in his desk, removed a small green sticker and placed it on the little description card fixed to the wall. ‘And when might we
expect to see you again, sir?’

‘My partner flies in from the States on Friday, so possibly Friday afternoon. But as he suffers badly from jetlag it’s more likely to be Saturday afternoon. What time do you close on
Saturdays?’

‘Around five, sir,’ said Julian.

‘I’ll make sure we’re with you before then,’ said the American.

Julian opened the door to allow his customer to leave just as Miss Gaynor walked out of the jewellery shop. Once again she stopped to sign autographs for a little group that had gathered on the
pavement outside. The chauffeur ran to open the door of the limousine and she disappeared inside. As the car slipped out into the traffic, Julian found himself waving, which was silly because he
couldn’t see a thing through the smoked-glass windows.

Julian was about to return to his shop when he noticed that his next-door neighbour was also waving. ‘What was she like, Millie?’ he asked, trying not to sound too much like an
adoring fan.

‘Charming. And so natural,’ Millie replied, ‘considering all that she’s been through. A real star.’

‘Did you learn anything interesting?’ asked Julian.

‘She’s staying at the Park Lane Hotel, and she’s off to Paris on Sunday for the next leg of her tour.’

‘I already knew that,’ said Julian. ‘Read it in Londoner’s Diary last night. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘On the day of a concert she never leaves her room and won’t speak to anyone, even her manager. She likes to rest her voice before going on stage.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Julian. ‘Anything else?’

‘The air conditioning in her room has to be turned off, because she’s paranoid about catching a cold and not being able to perform. She once missed a concert in Dallas when she came
off the street at a hundred degrees straight into an air-conditioned room, and ended up coughing and sneezing for a week.’

‘Why’s she staying at the Park Lane,’ asked Julian, ‘and not Claridges or the Ritz where all the big stars stay?’

‘It’s only a five-minute drive from the Albert Hall and she has a dread of being held up in a traffic jam and being late for a concert.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like an old friend,’ said Julian.

‘Well, she was very chatty,’ said Millie.

‘But did she buy anything?’ asked Julian, ignoring a man carrying a large package who strolled past him and through the open door of his antique shop.

‘No, but she did put a deposit down on a pair of earrings and a watch. She said she’d be back tomorrow.’ Millie gave her next-door neighbour a warm smile. ‘And if you buy
me a coffee, I’ll tell her about your Fabergé egg.’

‘I think I may already have a buyer for that,’ said Julian. ‘But I’ll still get you a coffee, just as soon as I’ve got rid of Lenny.’ He smiled and stepped
back into his shop, not bothering to close the door.

‘I thought you might be interested in this, Mr Farnsdale,’ said a scruffily dressed man, handing him a heavy helmet. ‘It’s Civil War, circa 1645. I could let you have it
for a reasonable price.’

Julian studied the helmet for a few moments.

‘Circa 1645 be damned,’ he pronounced. ‘More like circa 1995. And if you picked it up in the Old Kent Road, I can even tell you who made it. I’ve been around far too long
to be taken in by something like that.’

Lenny left the shop, head bowed, still clutching the helmet. Julian closed the door behind him.

Julian was bargaining with a lady over a small ceramic figure of the Duke of Wellington in the shape of a boot (circa 1817). He wanted £350 for the piece but she was
refusing to pay more than £320, when the black stretch limousine drew up outside. Julian left his customer and hurried over to the window just in time to see Miss Gaynor step out on to the
pavement and walk into the jewellery shop without glancing in his direction. He sighed and turned to find that his customer had gone, and so had the Duke of Wellington.

Julian spent the next hour standing by the door so he wouldn’t miss his idol when she left the jewellery shop. He was well aware that he was breaking one of his golden rules: you should
never stand by the door. It frightens off the customers and, worse, it makes you look desperate. Julian was desperate.

Miss Gaynor finally strolled out of the jewellery shop clutching a small red bag which she handed to her chauffeur. She stopped to sign an autograph, then walked straight past the antique shop
and into Art Pimlico, on the other side of Julian’s shop. She was in there for such a long time that Julian began to wonder if he’d missed her. But she couldn’t have left the
gallery because the limousine was still parked on the double yellow lines, the chauffeur seated behind the wheel.

When Miss Gaynor finally emerged she was followed by the gallery owner, who was carrying a large Warhol silk-screen print of Chairman Mao. Lucky Susan, thought Julian, to have had a whole hour
with Gloria. The chauffeur leapt out, took the print from Susan and placed it in the boot of the limousine. Miss Gaynor paused to sign a few more autographs before taking the opportunity to escape.
Julian stared out of the window and didn’t move until she’d climbed into the back of the car and had been whisked away.

Once the car was out of sight, Julian joined Millie and Susan on the pavement. ‘I see you sold the great lady a Warhol,’ he said to Susan, trying not to sound envious.

‘No, she only took it on appro,’ said Susan. ‘She wants to live with it for a couple of days before she makes up her mind.’

‘Isn’t that a bit of a risk?’ asked Julian.

‘Hardly,’ said Susan. ‘I can just see the headline in the
Sun:
Gloria Gaynor steals Warhol from London gallery. I don’t think that’s the kind of publicity
she’ll be hoping for on the first leg of her European tour.’

‘Did you manage to sell her anything, Millie?’ asked Julian, trying to deflect the barb.

‘The earrings and the watch,’ said Millie, ‘but far more important, she gave me a couple of tickets for her concert on Saturday night.’

‘Me too,’ said Susan, waving her tickets in triumph.

‘I’ll give you two hundred pounds for them,’ said Julian.

‘Not a chance,’ said Millie. ‘Even if you offered double, I wouldn’t part with them.’

‘How about you, Susan?’ Julian asked desperately.

‘You must be joking.’

‘You may change your mind when she doesn’t return your Chairman Mao,’ said Julian, before flouncing back into his shop.

The following morning, Julian hovered by the door of his shop, but there was no sign of the stretch limousine. He didn’t join Millie and Susan in Starbucks for coffee at
eleven, claiming he had a lot of paperwork to do.

He didn’t have a single customer all day, just three browsers and a visit from the VAT inspector. When he locked up for the night, he had to admit to himself that it hadn’t been a
good week so far. But all that could change if the American returned on Saturday with his partner.

On Thursday morning the stretch limousine drove up and parked outside Susan’s gallery. The chauffeur stepped out, removed Chairman Mao from the boot and carried the Chinese leader inside.
A few minutes later he ran back on to the street, slammed the boot shut, jumped behind the steering wheel and drove off, but not before a parking ticket had been placed on his windscreen. Julian
laughed.

The next morning, while Julian was discussing the Adam fireplace with an old customer who was showing some interest in the piece, the doorbell rang and a woman entered the
shop.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said in a gravelly voice. ‘I just want to look around. I’m not in any hurry.’

‘Where did you say you found it, Julian?’

‘Buckley Manor in Hertfordshire, Sir Peter,’ said Julian without adding the usual details of its provenance.

‘And you’re asking eighty thousand?’

‘Yes,’ said Julian, not looking at him.

‘Well, I’ll think about it over the weekend,’ said the customer, ‘and let you know on Monday.’

‘Whatever suits you, Sir Peter,’ said Julian, and without another word he strode off towards the front of the shop, opened the door and remained standing by it until the customer had
stepped back out on to the pavement, a puzzled look on his face. If Sir Peter had looked round, he would have seen Julian close the door and switch the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

‘Stay cool, Julian, stay cool,’ he murmured to himself as he walked slowly towards the lady he’d been hoping to serve all week.

‘I was in the area a couple of days ago,’ she said, her voice husky and unmistakable.

I know you were, Gloria,
Julian wanted to say. ‘Indeed, madam,’ was all he managed.

‘Millie told me all about your wonderful shop, but I just didn’t have enough time.’

‘I understand, madam.’

‘Actually, I haven’t come across anything I really like this week. I was hoping I might be luckier today.’

‘Let’s hope so, madam.’

‘You see, I try to take home some little memento from every city I perform in. It always brings back so many happy memories.’

‘What a charming idea,’ said Julian, beginning to relax.

‘Of course, I could hardly fail to admire the Adam fireplace,’ she said, running a hand over the marble nymphs, ‘but I can’t see it fitting in to my New York
condo.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, madam,’ said Julian.

‘The Chippendale rocking chair is unquestionably a masterpiece, but sadly it would look somewhat out of place in a Beverly Hills mansion. And Delft isn’t to my taste.’ She
continued to look around the room, until her eyes came to rest on the egg. ‘But I do love your Fabergé egg.’ Julian smiled ingratiatingly. ‘What does the green dot
mean?’ she asked innocently.

‘That it’s reserved for another customer, madam; an American gentleman I’m expecting tomorrow.’

‘What a pity,’ she said, staring lovingly at the egg. ‘I’m working tomorrow, and flying to Paris the following day.’ She smiled sweetly at Julian and said,
‘It clearly wasn’t meant to be. Thank you.’ She began walking slowly towards the door.

Julian hurried after her. ‘It’s possible, of course, that the customer won’t come back. They often don’t, you know.’

She paused by the door. ‘And how much did he agree to pay for the egg?’ she asked.

‘Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,’ said Julian.

‘Pounds?’

‘Yes, madam.’

She walked back and took an even longer look at the egg. ‘Would six hundred and fifty thousand convince you that he won’t be returning?’ she asked, giving him that same sweet
smile.

Julian beamed as she sat down at his desk and took a chequebook out of her bag. ‘Whom shall I make it out to?’ she asked.

‘Julian Farnsdale Fine Arts Ltd,’ he said, placing one of his cards in front of her.

She wrote out the name and the amount slowly, and double-checked them before signing ‘Gloria Gaynor’ with a flourish. She handed the cheque to Julian who tried to stop his hand from
shaking.

‘If you’re not doing anything special tomorrow night,’ she said as she rose from her chair, ‘perhaps you’d like to come to my concert?’

‘How kind of you,’ said Julian.

She took two tickets out of her bag and passed them across to him. ‘And perhaps you’d care to join me backstage for a drink after the show?’

Julian was speechless.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave your name at the stage door. Please don’t tell Millie or Susan. There just isn’t enough room for everyone. I’m sure you
understand.’

‘Of course, Miss Gaynor. You can rely on me. I won’t say a word.’

‘And if I could ask you for one small favour?’ she said as she closed her bag.

‘Anything,’ said Julian. ‘Anything.’

‘I wonder if you’d be kind enough to deliver the egg to the Park Lane Hotel, and ask a porter to send it up to my room.’

‘You could take it with you now if you wish, Miss Gaynor.’

‘How kind of you,’ she said, ‘but I’m lunching with Mick . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I’d prefer if it could be delivered to the hotel.’

‘Of course,’ said Julian. He accompanied her out of the shop to the waiting car, where the chauffeur was holding open the back door.

‘How silly of me to forget,’ she said just before stepping into the car. She turned back to Julian and whispered into his ear, ‘For security reasons, my room is booked in the
name of Miss Hampton.’ She smiled flirtatiously. ‘Otherwise I’d never get a moment’s peace.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Julian. He couldn’t believe it when she bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thank you, Julian,’ she said. ‘I look forward to seeing you after the show,’ she added as she climbed into the back seat.

Julian stood there shaking as Millie and Susan joined him on the pavement.

‘Did she give you any tickets for her show?’ asked Millie as the car drove away.

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ said Julian, then walked back into his shop and closed the door.

The smartly dressed young man writing down some figures in a little black book reminded her of the rent collector from her youth. ‘How much did it cost us this
time?’ she asked quietly.

‘Five days at the Park Lane came to three thousand three hundred, including tips, the stretch limo was two hundred pounds an hour, sixteen hundred in all.’ His forefinger continued
down the handwritten inventory. ‘The two items you purchased from the jewellery shop came to fifteen hundred.’ She touched a pearl earring and smiled. ‘Meals along with other
expenses, including five extras from the casting agency, five autograph books and a parking fine, came to another nine hundred and twenty-two pounds. Six tickets for tonight’s concert
purchased from a tout, a further nine hundred pounds, making eight thousand, two hundred and twenty-two pounds in all, which, at today’s exchange rate, comes to about thirteen thousand three
hundred and sixty-nine dollars. Not a bad return,’ he concluded as he smiled across at her.

She glanced at her watch. ‘Dear sweet Julian should be arriving at the Albert Hall about now,’ she said. ‘Let’s at least hope he enjoys the show.’