by Anna Cheska
Suzi winced. The man was a hunter. The image flicked into her mind – Josh Willis, not in a three-tone crumpled linen suit, but in a loin-cloth, Tarzan-style. He was leaning forwards, dead focused, spear in hand, going for the kill … And he was a man to go all out for what he wanted – whatever he might be wearing at the time. She waved her napkin in front of her face, trying to ward off the inevitable blush. Wondering what would happen to anyone who stood in his way.
‘At a low, knock-down price, of course.’
The words ‘Bargain Basement’ came to mind. Suzi narrowed her eyes and tried to decide whether or not this man reminded her of Stan or Terry. The flecks of gold and grey in the red beard offered no clues, and the warmth in his eyes didn’t mean a thing. Of course, everyone was out for what they could get – this was a cut-throat business. But was he a crook? She found herself hoping not.
‘How low?’ she asked, sensing it would pay to be direct.
He considered. ‘I’d have to check it out, but probably half your marked prices.’
‘Hah!’ He didn’t react, so Suzi said it again. ‘Hah! You are joking?’
‘I don’t joke about business.’ He eyed her gravely. ‘I could take a fair bit of your stock,’ he said. ‘If you need the money, it would release some of the capital you’ve got tied up in things you might never sell.’
About to snap that he had no reason to think that she needed the money, nor to suggest that her stock wouldn’t sell, Suzi stopped as she remembered the mistakes they’d made in the first few months. Mistakes like the walnut writing bureau and mahogany bookcase that still sat, silently accusing, in Secrets In The Attic. ‘How much profit d’you reckon on making?’ she asked. ‘What’s the margin?’
He grinned the cat’s grin. ‘D’you expect me to tell you that?’
Suzi nodded. ‘Why not?’ If he was being straight with her …
‘OK.’ He put down his knife and fork. ‘I’m looking to sell it on for the kind of asking price you have in mind right now.’
Big margin then, Suzi thought. Big profit for the hunter.
‘Not as big as you think,’ he said, as if she’d spoken out loud. ‘I have to pay my expenses for going over there. I get stuck with things too. I’m not a rich guy. I make a decent living but not a great one.’
‘Why do it then?’ she asked, hoping to lure him into a few confidences. And what was wrong with trying to find out some personal details? There was such a thing as being too focused on business.
He met her gaze and didn’t look away. ‘I like the life.’
She waited for him to elaborate, but clearly that was as far as he was prepared to go. Personal information? Negative commitment. ‘Fair enough,’ she said, though it wasn’t.
But despite this mixture of directness and evasion, there was something about Josh Willis that Suzi trusted. An honest vibe was coming through, and Suzi was big on vibes. Though come to think of it … she took a bite of the delicious olive ciabatta … her judgement could well be flawed by the large glass of white wine he’d bought her earlier. A cunning trick, and one she should have been ready for. A true business woman would have stuck to pineapple juice at this stage of the proceedings.
‘What d’you reckon then?’ He held out his large square hand. ‘Do we have a deal?’
She took it, because it seemed churlish not to. The hair on the back of his hand was fine and, like his eyebrows, the colour of light sand. ‘Come back to the shop after lunch and make me an offer or two,’ she suggested, feeling quite proud of the way her business acumen was functioning under the circumstances. She’d made a few mistakes, but could hardly be called a pushover.
What she should do at this point, of course, was tell Estelle. Suzi considered this. For about a millisecond. She wouldn’t have hesitated – had it not been for the niggle of resentment that remained. Had Estelle considered telling Suzi of her urge to paint the shop sunflower-yellow? She didn’t think so. So why should she do the same? It might be petty of her – OK, so it was petty, definitely petty – but for now, at least, she wanted to keep the offers of this particular hunter to herself. She wasn’t however, sufficiently into self-analysis to ask herself why.
‘Then,’ she said, feeling the warmth of his hand, knowing she’d held it for a few seconds too long, conscious suddenly of her vulnerability, ‘we’ll discuss whether or not we have a deal.’
* * *
The light was filtering through the pale leaves of the beech trees, gradually drying the earth into a mud-caked surface that was easy, Estelle found, to walk on. And once, it had been equally easy to lie on, she recalled, thinking of Liam as she kept thinking of him – young, vibrant and exciting. With an intensity in his green eyes that could relate to anything he cared passionately for – a poem, a child, justice, recognition; but most often Estelle herself. She could picture that burning in his eyes, even now, all these years later. That was the hardest thing.
She walked on, steps slowing now. Pictured his sinewy arms as he pulled her towards him. Estelle, my love, Estelle. She could taste his lips, the fresh, black Italian coffee he’d been drinking, touch the soft hair that curled over the collar of his shirt, smell the apple soap he’d washed with that morning, and the indefinable Liam-scent that clung to his dark chest hair, that she wanted to breathe in until she drowned in it.
Estelle let out a deep sigh, allowed her hand to trail across the bark of one of the beech trees that might, just might, have been the one they first made love under. Ah, that spring afternoon when Liam had said, ‘are you sure it’s OK?’ and she had gently pressed the frown from his brow with her fingertip, until his wide mouth curved into its smile and yet his eyes still burned. Burned for her.
Almost of their own volition, her fingertips found a knot in the wood and caressed what might, to some, seem a small imperfection. That afternoon, they had undressed each other and made love naked, under the beech tree, with the sun warming her back, her knees digging into the mud-caked earth, the grass staining her bare shins, her hands around his lean waist, her face burying into his shoulder; soft skin, hard bone, the swell of muscle, breathing in the Liam-scent.
Estelle clung closer to the beech tree, resting her face against the coolness of its bark. What had happened to the lovers who had been one another’s world? Those lovers that she had hoped could never be broken apart, simply because their fit was such a perfect one?
They had made love, staring into one another’s eyes, touching one another’s faces, linked with one another’s fingers. And afterwards, Estelle recalled sadly, he had held her as if he would never let her go …
* * *
‘So how’s business?’ Josh Willis asked Suzi as they walked back towards Secrets In The Attic. ‘Quiet?’
Suzi found herself tempted to tell him about their financial problems, forgot for a moment herself and Estelle’s vow of female independence, found herself thinking that a man like this might have some answers. But perhaps all that was due to the wine too, she told herself. ‘Everything’s quiet in Pridehaven,’ she murmured, proud of her own discretion. She too could be a closed book, she decided.
And Pridehaven was quiet – it was one of the reasons she loved the place. Quiet, except of course for the gulls that flapped and shrieked at dawn, dusk and several of the hours in between. But never boring – it had a hardness to it, a slightly seedy, slightly Bohemian seaside edge. There was nothing smug or pretentious about Pridehaven. It could be basic and in the winter it could be bleak. But it remained beautiful and it had always brought Suzi a sense of peace.
‘Bloody hellfire!’ shrieked a female voice as Josh and Suzi drew near to The Bargain Basement. ‘You wanna get your dates sorted, you do. And your head while you’re at it!’
‘Very quiet,’ agreed Josh. ‘A positive haven of tranquillity.’
The door to The Bargain Basement had sprung open to reveal two women sparring up to one another. Stan’s wife, Lorraine, was wearing fake leather trousers and matching coat over a rev
ealing white lycra top, her dyed blonde hair piled high on her head, her body language saying, ‘drop dead, bitch’. Her companion, Terry’s wife, Rita, was dark, almost Mediterranean in appearance. She wore red lipstick, lots of big costume jewellery and a yellow mini-dress with crimson poppies on it, teamed with a silver Puffa gilet and black, strappy sandals.
‘The villa’s booked,’ said Rita. ‘You can’t un-book a villa.’
‘And I can’t switch flights,’ snarled Lorraine.
‘Fine, darlin’.’ Rita flashed a smile at Suzi and Josh as they drew level. ‘Then we’ll close the place up for two weeks.’
Suzi and Josh exchanged a glance. It was almost, Suzi thought, as if this red-headed giant of a man knew exactly what problems she and Estelle were experiencing.
‘Hi, Suzi, hi, Josh,’ said Rita before spinning back to face Lorraine. ‘Yeah, let’s close the place up.’ She waved silver-varnished fingernails in the other woman’s face. ‘We’ll see what the boys make of that.’
‘The boys won’t like it one bit,’ said Josh, as Suzi let them into the shop.
‘Too right.’ Though Suzi couldn’t help thinking that for herself and Estelle, even two weeks without The Bargain Basement would be pure bliss.
* * *
While Suzi made coffee, Josh got to work with a notepad and pen. Turning everything they had, Suzi thought sadly, into a few squiggles on a piece of paper.
‘We weren’t doing too badly before they arrived next door,’ Suzi said doubtfully.
He glanced across at her over the writing desk.
‘At least not as badly as we are now,’ she amended, the expression in the grey-green eyes forcing her into honesty. ‘People used to drop by for valuations, we got the odd house clearance.’ As she spoke, she tidied the desk in front of her, caught sight of the landlord’s latest letter and shoved it behind the till.
‘And how bad is it now?’ He hardly paused, merely whipping out a tape measure from the depths of one of the crumpled linen pockets and making more notes.
Why bother to pretend? She couldn’t be a closed book even if she Sellotaped together all of her pages. ‘We’ll be finished if we can’t turn things around,’ she admitted. She flicked disconsolately at the dream-catcher hanging just above her. And what would she do then? She couldn’t face returning to the library – that’s if they’d have her. She’d moved on.
But it seemed hopeless. True, the changes they’d made to the shop had helped draw people in. It was bright and it was welcoming. But those people were also, unfortunately, being drawn into the shop next door, only to be seduced by all their basement bargains – poor quality goods but at more affordable prices.
Josh Willis stopped writing. ‘Then it sounds as if there’s only one way to go,’ he said. ‘Now … these are the prices I’d be willing to pay.’ He handed over the notepad.
Suzi frowned as she deciphered his writing. They were lower than she’d been expecting. She wasn’t even sure they’d make a profit on some of it. And which way was he talking about, that was the only way to go? Shut up shop? Go bust? She didn’t like to ask.
But it was only after she’d given a tentative agreement to his offers and arranged to call him the following day to confirm, only after he’d left her alone once more in the shop, that Suzi realised. Hi Josh? So how did Josh Willis, Pridehaven’s answer to Little John, know Terry’s wife Rita? And now that he was aware of exactly what she had in stock, how much she was asking for it, and how desperate they really were, what was he planning to do with that information?
Suzi groaned. She was a pushover after all. And Josh Willis was a hunter. She’d like to take that spear of his and stick it where it would really hurt, damn him.
Chapter 10
Liam couldn’t help observing that the balcony scene was lacking in the one element normally associated with it. Romance. This could be due to the fact that Juliet (Jade Johnson) was chewing gum and showing by the distaste in her clear blue eyes that she did not and never would fancy her Romeo (Bradley Jacobs).
‘Show some emotion, Jade,’ Liam encouraged. ‘Remember you’re young and you’re in love.’
There were the inevitable titters.
‘And take out the gum, while you’re at it.’
With a disdainful lift of the eyebrows, Jade did so, lodging it on to the back of the chair in front of her, currently masquerading as the railings of a famous balcony. She stuck out one hip at a raunchy un-Juliet-like angle. ‘Romeo, Romeo,’ she intoned, in a bored voice. ‘Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’
Crystal Woods sniffed disparagingly.
Had the casting been a mistake, Liam wondered. Jade Johnson was a natural extrovert, and although three years younger than the original Juliet, certainly had the physical features of a girl of fourteen. She was up front in more ways than one, as Liam couldn’t help noticing the first time he saw her out of school uniform in rehearsal, wearing tight jeans and a low-necked close-fitting T-shirt. But would she be prepared to swallow her principles and act?
‘When do they get to snog?’ enquired Marcus Weatherby, who had auditioned for the part of Romeo, but who, being six inches shorter than Jade, had produced a differential that could, Liam predicted, create problems of credibility.
‘No thanks to snogging with that creep,’ said Jade, flicking back her dyed blonde hair.
‘Your loss, babe.’ Bradley smiled his wicked un-Romeo-like smile and pushed back the greasy dark brown hair that continually flopped into his eyes.
Liam raised his hand. ‘They’re not going to snog,’ he said. ‘They’re going to dance.’
‘I only do Le Roc,’ said Jade.
‘You’ll do what I –’
‘I can do high kicks,’ contributed Crystal Woods, Jade’s main competitor for the part of Juliet. She might be able to do high kicks, Liam reflected, and her platinum blonde hair was probably natural, but Crystal’s pale, insipid face, flat chest and skinny legs had not said Juliet Capulet to Liam. They had said undernourished eleven-year-old plagued with a permanent cold.
‘And tap,’ said Crystal. ‘I got a certificate for tap at the festival. Third class.’
‘Le Roc will do just fine,’ said Liam, wondering what the hell it was. ‘Perhaps you could help me choreograph, Jade? I was thinking of “Let’s face the music and dance”.’
* * *
The phone rang, but Suzi was reluctant to pick up. On the other side of the shop Estelle glanced across at her enquiringly.
With a sigh, Suzi reached for the receiver. ‘Secrets In The Attic?’
‘Suzi?’
‘Yes.’ She recognised his voice at once – deep and slightly growly.
‘Are we still on for a deal? Only I’ll be off in a couple of days’ time and I’ve still got some space in the van.’
Oh yeah? Suzi stood up straighter. The hand holding the telephone receiver to her ear was stiff with dutch courage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had second thoughts.’
There was a pause. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he suspect that she was on to him, that she’d realised he was chummy with Stan or Terry or both, that she was feeling a complete and utter idiot for opening up and telling him what a financial mess they’d got into at Secrets In The Attic? He was a competitor, for heaven’s sake. And in cahoots with their other competition. He was a low-down rat. He was worse.
‘Prices too low, were they?’ he asked at last. ‘I couldn’t go much higher.’
‘It’s not that,’ Suzi said quickly. She didn’t want to enter into negotiations with him. Next thing, he’d be standing here on the threshold again and she didn’t want that, didn’t want to see him. She felt too much of a fool. The trouble was, that somehow the man had got to her.
‘What then?’
‘Well…’ What was the matter with him? Couldn’t he take no for an answer? Why didn’t he give up now that he’d been sussed? She glanced across at Estelle and shuffled some papers from one side of the desk to the other. ‘I’ve discu
ssed this with my business partner,’ she said.
Estelle looked up. ‘Discussed what?’
‘And?’ asked Josh.
‘And she doesn’t want to sell the stuff,’ Suzi said helplessly.
Josh Willis laughed, a big growl-laugh that rumbled along the telephone line and made Suzi feel more of a fool than ever. ‘You’re telling me it’s got nothing to do with the prices I offered? But that your partner doesn’t want to sell the stock you’ve got in the shop?’ he said.
‘Er, well, yes.’ Suzi tried to sound forthright instead of mad.
‘If that’s the way you do business, it’s no wonder you’ve got problems,’ he said.
So typical of his gender, Suzi thought. Ready to criticise at the slightest opportunity. ‘Any temporary problems we may be experiencing have nothing to do with you,’ she snapped. Only, why was he making her talk to him like this? Why wouldn’t he just go away and leave her to feel guilty alone?
Another pause. ‘So I take it you’d rather I didn’t visit you again?’
Suzi felt completely put on the spot. Of course she’d rather he didn’t visit her again. How could she face him? She thought of the red beard, the bulky body, the grey-green eyes and cat’s grin. She didn’t want to be confronted by him. And yet … And yet …
‘I really can’t see the point,’ she said.
‘In that case,’ he growled, with no hint of humour in his voice, ‘neither can I.’
* * *
‘Hold her,’ Liam ordered Bradley. ‘Hold her as if she’s flesh and blood, not Dresden china.’
‘You said, no snogging,’ protested Jade as Bradley moved in.
‘I’m not talking snogging, I’m talking close contact.’ In despair, Liam pushed Bradley out of the way and took Jade into his arms. As he did so, he was aware of a creak indicative of the hall’s swing door being pushed open. He relinquished Juliet and her cheap perfume.
‘You are Romeo and Juliet,’ he told them both. ‘You’re madly in love. Head over heels, truly, deeply, more in love than any other couple have ever been in the history of the world. Got it? You die for the love of one another. You’re a frigging role model for the love stuff. If you can’t pretend, we’ll have to forget the whole thing.’ His voice rang out and echoed round the school hall.