by Jenni Keer
He shrugged. ‘Hey, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be on Twitface. I’m saying let’s be careful what we are putting out there.’
He was teasing her with his deliberate misnaming of the social media platform, she knew. She held the camera up to take a photograph of the item he’d just valued.
‘You’re just grumpy because you don’t understand it,’ she said. ‘You like old things and are stuck in a time warp. Johnny told me you were a closet Eighties fan and that you embrace the decade in all areas of your life. Do you even own a computer? And if so, is it a Commodore 64?’
‘I don’t know how you think I got my degree without one. But you’re quite correct – I listen to vinyl, watch Betamax tapes – far superior in quality to VHS – and don’t have a smartphone. When I go out to a restaurant, I enjoy the ambience, the food and the company, without feeling the need to photograph my plate ninety times whilst my food gets cold, and slap it all over Instagraph. If I attend a concert, I watch the band with my eyes, not through a tiny screen. And I certainly don’t spend every spare second updating Facepage.’
They would have to agree to disagree, she thought, as a mutton-chop-whiskered gentleman approached the table with an old Olympus 35mm camera. Theo appraised it and then placed it on the tablecloth for Maisie to photograph.
Despite the odd snowflake nonchalantly fluttering to the ground, the heaters – combined with a sea of bodies and the sun making a bold appearance – meant the barn was now quite toasty. Lifting her fleecy jumper over her head she removed it. Her new thermal top was doing its job and she felt warm.
A dark-haired young woman placed a small piece of studio pottery on the table and Theo gave it a cursory glance, his eyes pulled back to Maisie’s chest, as she neatly folded the jumper and smoothed her static-infused hair.
‘The bowl,’ she reprimanded, indicating to the table in front of him.
‘Erm, yeah, nice example but nothing unusual. Twenty to thirty.’
‘Oh. Okay,’ the lady said, as Maisie logged the details and moved it to the table to photograph.
‘You’re brave,’ she said to Maisie. ‘Advertising them like that.’ She nodded to Maisie’s chest.
And there, lodged between her breasts, was a dark circular retailer’s sticker, announcing what lay beneath was Soft to Touch.
Chapter 15
One of the porters was off sick so Maisie was asked to be the show-er for the following Friday’s auction. It was easy enough in principle: listen to the lot number, locate the item by its numbered sticker, and either hold it carefully aloft, or point to it in a magician’s assistant, look-at-this way – but without the sequinned outfit or jaunty feather sticking out the top of her head.
The other porter was dashing about, running between the reception and the saleroom with completed auctioneer’s sheets to be inputted into the system and helping buyers who had paid for their lots to retrieve them discreetly while the auction continued. Arthur, however, was just standing around chatting to people. He seemed particularly engaged with one young couple and Maisie could hear snippets of their photography-based conversation, as Arthur thoughtfully highlighted the Olympus to the young man.
It was the first time Maisie had heard Theo conduct an auction and his style was considerably different to Johnny’s. He was less insulting, for a start, and quietly spoken, which had the effect of lowering the general volume of chatter in the room. Johnny’s banter relied on saying exactly what he thought about everything, whereas Theo was flattering about the items – even those Maisie knew he didn’t like. And despite looking like a financially challenged student in his baggy loose-knit jumper and a black beanie hat, he had the respect and attention of everyone in the barn.
‘Ladies, gentlemen and gender-fluid members of the room …’ only Theo, with his easy-going, no-edge style could get away with that comment ‘… up next we have a quaint studio pottery bowl with a delightful blue glaze. Not for any old snacks but for your dry-roasted, lightly toasted, sprinkled with salt from the bottom of the clearest crystal blue oceans and harvested by flaxen-haired mermaids M&S snacks.’ His audience were rapt – even those who had no interest in studio pottery were now craning their necks to see lot 303. ‘Do I have twenty to start?’
Starting in increments of ten, Theo was soon jumping up in fifties. There was a buzz about this item and not simply because of the eloquence of the silver-tongued auctioneer.
‘Three hundred and fifty with you, sir.’ He nodded to someone standing at the front, but Maisie couldn’t pick the person out. They must be communicating telepathically again. Chattering bystanders stopped their idle conversations as the bidding went up and up.
And up.
‘Eight hundred. Do I hear nine?’
In fact, Theo got nearly double that with the unassuming bowl going for a spectacular one and a half thousand pounds. His usually cool and relaxed demeanour changed subtly as the bidding reached its heady climax, despite the ripple of gasps that filtered through the barn as the lot was finally sold, and he brought the gavel down with a fierce wallop. Her heart gradually slowed to a more sedate pace. Wow – he had a point, she thought begrudgingly, you wouldn’t get that atmosphere and tension online.
After the auction, Maisie was at her desk when Theo sloped through the office door. The baggy jumper from earlier had been abandoned revealing a crumpled denim shirt that had been buttoned up incorrectly – one button out all the way up.
‘What are you like?’ She laughed. ‘Come here.’
She stood in front of him and began to undo the shirt as the temperature in the room jumped a couple of degrees. Good job he wasn’t a hot-blooded heterosexual male or he’d be paranoid she was making a move on him – especially as she’d had her hands all over his tassels only a couple of hours earlier.
‘What are you doing, woman?’ he huffed. He placed his hands overs hers for a moment, the warmth of it seeping into her fingers and up her arms. ‘I know I’m irresistible but this is the second time you’ve manhandled my wardrobe today.’ Their eyes met and then he removed his hand, as if to give her permission to continue.
Her eyes dropped to the task in hand and she gave a tiny cough.
‘I’m sorting you out. Honestly, Theo, four-year-olds misbutton their shirts. Grown men have no excuse.’
His top lip curled lazily as she yanked down the left-hand side of his shirt and started again from the bottom. It was difficult not to get side-tracked by his honey-coloured skin and the handful of straggly chest hairs poking out the gap in the denim.
‘So, is it the hair that’s the problem?’ she asked, glancing up at the beanie as she popped another button through. Her own blonde curls kept falling forward and getting tangled between her fingers and the buttonholes.
He threw her a confused look.
‘The reason you wear the hats? I noticed you have thick hair, which must be difficult to manage.’
‘If I felt hair management was a massive priority in my life, then I’d be totally shafted. I can no more manage my hair than a mother can manage a hyperactive child who’s binged on Haribo and is experiencing a massive sugar rush. I told you before, I wear a hat because my head is cold. I like my hair as it is.’
‘So do I.’ Maisie looked at his distinctive mane. ‘It’s really …’
‘Flocculent?’ he volunteered, then taking in her expression, he clarified. ‘One of Johnny’s poncy words. I love that man so much; his flowery vocabulary being part of his appeal.’ He looked at her face. ‘Don’t worry, I had to look it up too. It means wool-like.’ He took the hat off and rubbed his hand backwards and forwards through the springy mound of fuzz on his head. For a second, she wanted to reach up and do the same. The sandy brown afro-hair sprung back to its default position, the follicle version of memory foam. ‘There’s some Nigerian in the bloodline somewhere – a few generations ago. The only genetic remnants being what I like to call my FUN hair, and my enormous—’
‘Yes, thank you. I’ve got the pictu
re.’ And then she shuddered and flushed slightly. ‘Not a mental picture, obviously. Oh, you know what I mean.’
Theo’s lopsided grin came out to play. ‘I was going to say stamina. I used to run cross-country for the country when I was a teenager.’ He looked straight at her and Maisie felt her breath catch in her throat for the briefest of moments. Where were these mutinous thoughts coming from? Or was it precisely because she knew he was unavailable that her libido was playing up? She focused intently on his odd socks (today’s delight: a stripy orange cartoon sock with huge boggly eyes and a thick ribbed black walking sock) and the moment passed.
‘So – a real treasure earlier. Who’d have known?’ She was desperate to change the subject.
‘I should have,’ he sighed. ‘It doesn’t affect the seller – she’s delighted – but it affects my professional integrity.’
‘Oh, turn that frown upside down,’ she said. ‘You can’t know everything. And we get a massive commission. The seller is happy, the buyer is happy and we’ve made good money. I don’t understand your grumpy mood.’
‘I should have investigated the pottery mark more thoroughly. My mind was elsewhere.’ She blushed at the memory of the stray sticker. ‘Unusual not to have some commission interest, which might have made me pop back and reassess my initial estimate.’
‘When the online catalogue launches, people worldwide will be able to view the auction. Any sneaky little treasures that slip past you will soon get picked up by an eagle-eyed collector, and this won’t happen again.’
One point to me, she thought, as she skipped back to her desk.
The following week, as they added numbered stickers to the lots in the salerooms, Theo asked if Maisie would mind fetching Johnny over to reassess a necklace. As she neared the door to the back office, she realised Johnny was on the phone. Not wanting to interrupt him, she stopped just outside.
‘Indeed, it’s a relationship I fear has run its course but how does one break that sort of unpalatable news? Especially when there remains a great fondness – how could there not be after so many years together? Having separate houses has helped. There won’t be so much to sort when our ways finally part.’
Maisie’s eyes widened. Was Johnny about to finish with Theo? Was that why his face had been longer than Naomi Campbell’s legs all day? Now that she thought about it, he’d been distracted recently – forgetting things and short of patience. This was exactly why workplace relationships were a bad idea. If he was about to dump Theo, how would that affect their ability to run Gildersleeve’s together?
‘I wholeheartedly agree.’ Johnny responded to a comment from the person on the other end of the phone. ‘It is unfortunately a universal truth that one person in the relationship is always a little more in love than the other. I was, I fear, more worshipped than I worshipped in my turn …’
Not able to justify eavesdropping further, Maisie entered the room and then went through the pretence of not realising he was on a call and withdrawing.
‘Enter, dah-ling, enter,’ Johnny said, standing in the corner with a mobile near his ear and beckoning her in. ‘My colleague has returned to the office so I shall make an emphatic pretence of working, even though my heart is heavy and my mind is in turmoil. I promise to get over soon and value that bronze. Stay as seraphic as you’ve always been. Kisses, dah-ling.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Maisie said, as Johnny sighed and slumped into his chair, not having the energy to scoot it anywhere. ‘Theo wanted you in Saleroom Two.’
‘Apologies. I fear I have allowed domestic issues to invade the workspace,’ he said, heaving himself immediately out of the chair again and shaking his head. ‘There are, I suspect, difficult times ahead.’
Yes, for all of us at Gildersleeve’s, she mused, following him out the door, especially as she shared an office with them both.
‘Why the glum face, mate?’ Theo asked Johnny, as the pair returned to the saleroom.
‘You don’t need to be burdened with my vexations, dear fellow. Now is not the time to confront matters of the heart.’
No, it damn well isn’t, thought Maisie. She didn’t want to be party to their break-up.
‘Come on, mate. You know you can tell me anything.’ Theo scratched at his stubble and adjusted his Where’s Wally bobble hat.
‘Very well – if you force my hand. Although I suspect what I have to say won’t come as a complete thunderbolt from the heavens.’
‘Erm, perhaps I’ll finish these photos another time,’ Maisie squeaked, keen to make her escape.
‘Nonsense, dah-ling. You may as well be privy to the reason for my tiresome mood.’ Johnny did that thing of his where he inhaled deeply and placed a hand on his chest – all very dramatic and very Johnny. ‘I have been a tormented soul of late, but the time has finally come to sever myself from the cloying suffocation of my romantic entanglement.’
‘Bummer,’ said Theo. ‘Sorry you don’t feel it’s working out but I understand your decision entirely.’
Maisie stopped her fumbling and looked up at Theo. There was laid-back and there was horizontal. How could he stand there so calmly and accept the situation? Especially as ‘cloying suffocation’ was not the kindest way to dump someone. But Johnny had a tendency to inadvertently trample on people’s feelings with his blunt manner.
Theo slid open the door to the glass-fronted cabinet. ‘I think this Nineteen-Fifties necklace may be worth more than we initially thought …’
Maisie looked across at Theo with shocked eyes, and Johnny looked slightly crestfallen.
‘I had thought to elicit more sympathy from you, young Theodore. After all, you have been aware of my predicament for some time.’
‘Yeah, and I told you a couple of years ago she wasn’t the right one for you. It’s taken you an awfully long time to come around to my way of thinking.’
Chapter 16
‘You’ve got a girlfriend?’ Maisie couldn’t hide her shock, any more than she could conceal the upholstered chaise longue before her in a handbag.
‘Lady friend, technically, but it is a situation I am in the process of remedying. Not that the lady concerned is playing ball. She’s so terribly awkward and diva-ish.’ Johnny’s eyes fluttered up to the ceiling in staggered steps like a flitting butterfly, before he noticed Maisie’s open mouth. ‘But why, pray, should my relationship status surprise you? Do you not think me handsome enough to attract a lady?’ he teased, pushing out his chest and preening his tight salt and pepper curls.
‘No, I thought you were … I thought …’ She was on wobbly ground. Was Johnny with some woman as a cover for a lifestyle he feared would be judged? Or had she got everything embarrassingly and horrifyingly wrong?
‘Oh! You thought Johnny was gay?’ Theo said, as the penny thudded to the ground between them, leaving a small crater. Yup – she’d got everything embarrassingly and horrifyingly wrong.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Theodore. Just because a fellow knows how to wear a cravat, carries himself like a gentleman, and articulates properly, doesn’t mean everyone assumes he’s gay.’ Johnny stated this so resolutely, it was only as he looked between the two faces in the room, he too walked over wobbly ground. ‘Oh.’ Johnny’s tufty eyebrows rose. ‘That was your assumption. How intriguing.’
With cheeks flaming hotter than the fires in the belly of Hades, Maisie hung her head.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure what made me think that.’
‘I don’t know, mate,’ said Theo. ‘I don’t think her conclusion was that wide of the mark. You do rather conform to a stereotype – however wrong and ridiculously outdated that stereotype might be. I just can’t believe she’s worked here for all these weeks and not twigged.’
‘One doesn’t tend to bandy one’s domestic situation about. Besides, the first flush of love passed many a waxing moon ago. There was a time we could not keep our amatory hands off each other—’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ muttered Theo.
‘
How many times must I apologise? We wrongly believed everyone had gone for the day and she’d always had this fantasy about a four-poster. I was tempted to bid on it but the ceilings at home are simply not high enough.’
‘You frolicked on a customer’s bed?’ Maisie was incredulous. ‘In the saleroom?’
‘Maisie – really? I was not quite so inappropriate. We were merely trying it for size but judge not. One day you too may get swept away with your own libidinous inclinations.’
It was at that point her libidinous inclinations embarked on a frenetic gymnastic routine as Theo rubbed a thoughtful hand across his chin and a slow, lopsided smile meandered across his face.
‘I reckon Maisie is the sort of girl who would schedule any spontaneous frolicking three weeks in advance and iron all the bedding beforehand.’
She was about to jump to her own defence until she wondered whether that had been part of the problem with Gareth – her lack of spontaneity. She would never have been amorous in the archives. Too risky. What if her blouse got crumpled? Instead, she smiled, narrowed her eyes and looked at Theo.
‘This is the line, mister,’ and she drew an imaginary straight line in the space between them. ‘And you have just stepped over it.’
‘I stand corrected. I’m sure you’d only need twenty-four hours to be spontaneous.’ He placed the tray of jewellery on top of the cabinet for Johnny to examine, while Maisie wrestled with another not entirely unpleasant thought.
If Johnny wasn’t gay, did that mean Theo wasn’t either?
‘He told me you were his partner,’ Maisie whined, as she helped Theo cordon off an area of the car park for the impending building work. He’d taken several opportunities to tease her about her misconception, astounded she’d been in the dark for so long. ‘And you said how much you loved him when we were doing the valuations …’