A French Affair (11 page)

As she watched the woman pick over the bottles in a way that made Gina feel they were very inferior, she remembered how off-putting it was to be watched by a salesperson too eagerly. She kept herself busy with a duster she found tucked in a corner and wiped the front of someone else’s cabinet. She’d have to find out what other people did to avoid hanging over prospective customers with their tongue hanging out.

‘I’ll have them all,’ said the woman.

Gina felt herself go hot and then cold. She could have managed to sell one bottle – they were all priced up – but what on earth should she sell the whole lot for? She rearranged them on the table. ‘You’ll have to give me a moment to work out a price—’

‘I’ll give you a hundred pounds for the lot.’

The woman obviously had no qualms about making a cheeky offer. Gina laughed.

‘I’m sure you don’t expect me to take that offer
seriously!’ She was doing frantic sums in her head. Was this person offering half what she expected to end up paying? In which case, should she ask four hundred, so two hundred would meet in the middle? Two hundred wasn’t enough.

‘I think it’s a fair price.’ The woman was obviously a seasoned haggler. Her calm assumption that she was in the right made that clear.

Oddly, Gina drew confidence from her as if it were catching. ‘It’s really not. Just let me tot up the individual bottles and I’ll have a better idea.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly. You must give me a deal,’ said the woman quickly as if trying to avoid giving Gina time to work out what was reasonable.

‘Just to give me an idea,’ said Gina, knowing she mustn’t let herself be rushed into anything. It had just dawned on her that if she made a profit it would release the rest of their inheritance.

It seemed to take her far too long to add up the price tags but she found that if she sold the scent bottles separately, it would come to at least seven hundred pounds. She gave her customer a broad, confident smile. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting but my absolute best on that would be six hundred.’

The woman raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘Really? Well, I couldn’t possibly pay all that.’

Gina knew it was a buyer’s market but she was not going to lose out. She needed every penny and she would fight for it. ‘I’m sure I can do something on it but not too much. I’m not a charity, after all.’ Her smile came out again. This time it was just a tiny bit patronising. She hadn’t only borrowed confidence from this formidable woman.

‘I know that but I would be buying all the bottles. There should be a discount for quantity.’ The woman obviously wanted the bottles very much or she would have walked away.

‘Ten per cent is fairly usual.’ Remembering Tiggy, earlier, she added, ‘And taking all my stock isn’t necessarily good for me. I’d get far more from the bottles if I sold them separately.’

‘But how long would that take you? Cash in your hand is what you want if you’re in business.’

Had Gina really heard a tiny emphasis on the word ‘if’? Was the woman casting doubt on her business acumen? Something jogged Gina’s arm. She looked down to see Oscar’s head appear over the table, as if he were checking out the perfume bottles too.

‘I hope you’re not selling all those bottles too cheaply, Gina,’ said Matthew from behind her.

‘I said six hundred.’

She heard him sniff disdainfully. ‘Well, if you don’t mind giving the stuff away. Come on, Oscar.’

Gina was disappointed. She thought she’d come up with the right figure. Obviously she hadn’t. ‘Well, I obviously can’t improve on that. I’m afraid it’s a case of take it or leave it.’

‘I’d better take it then,’ said her buyer. ‘Can you wrap them for me?’

‘Of course. Why don’t you take a look round while I do it. I’ll find you when I’ve done them.’

A little while later, Gina went to find Matthew, her hand full of used notes, her heart full of a sense of failure. ‘So how much should I have got for those bottles?’ she demanded when Matthew looked up from his accounts.

‘Rainey would have been delighted if you got a couple of hundred.’

‘What? But you said—’

He was smiling. ‘I thought I ought to give you a helping hand.’

‘So six hundred is good?’

‘Bloody fantastic. You’re a natural at this. Congratulations! Ring Sally, tell her the good news.’

Gina sat down on a handy chair. ‘But adding them up separately, I’d have got more for them . . .’

‘You had to do a deal. She was keen and obviously had money. You got some of it from her. Rainey would have been so proud.’

The good news began to sink in. Her first deal and she’d made a profit! ‘Shall we go for a drink after we close up? I feel the need to celebrate.’

AFTER HE’D LOCKED
up, Matthew guided them through streets lined with ancient and historic buildings that mostly housed antiques shops, Oscar trotting obediently beside him. Gina had known that the town considered itself to be the antiques capital of the Cotswolds, but seeing just how many shops they passed on this short journey was a bit worrying. She made a note to suss out the competition soon. A quick glance told her that tidying up the frontage of the French House would be a good start.

Matthew seemed not to notice his competition as he led them to an old coaching inn. ‘They know us here and are happy to let Oscar take up the entire hearth rug. They say he adds character.’

Gina laughed. ‘Like animated horse brasses or a yard of ale?’

Matthew nodded. ‘A touch of the medieval never goes amiss. I quite often grab a bite here if I’m too lazy to cook.’

Gina regarded him. Nothing she’d seen about him up to now indicated anything but a hard worker. He seemed to lead quite a lonely life. He obviously wasn’t married, and there had been no hint in any of their conversations
that he had a partner. She knew he was an only child and with his parents both dead he didn’t seem to have any other existing family. She wasn’t aware of any friends either, but then he was a very private man – why would he tell her about his social life?

Matthew opened the door and Oscar trotted straight in. He took up his favourite place in front of the fire, even though it wasn’t lit, whilst Matthew found them a table and Gina went to the bar.

‘So, here’s to your first major sale and whacking great profit,’ Matthew said, raising his glass.

‘Thank you.’ Gina smiled, proud of herself. ‘And thank you for giving me that nudge at the right time, even if I did think you were telling me off.’

His gaze narrowed a fraction and he hesitated. ‘I promise you, Gina, that if ever I do tell you off, you’ll be in no doubt about it.’

There was something in his expression – a challenge? a warning? – that made Gina wonder what it would be like to be told off by Matthew. And this glimmer of something made Gina fleetingly see him as more than just an attractive but staid antiques dealer. She suppressed the feeling as soon as she realised she’d had it and sipped her drink.

‘Well, I hope you don’t ever feel the need to tell me off,’ she said. After a slight pause, she went on, ‘I spoke to all the dealers who were there today—’

‘There were only three.’

‘Four. One came in to deliver something. And the man who only sells antique desks and tables—?’

‘Alfred.’

‘Well, he was the only one who wasn’t keen on the
Christmas event idea. But he said he was perfectly willing to move all his stock out of the way. The others were enthusiastic.’ This was only a slight exaggeration. Tiggy had been enthusiastic but she suspected Tiggy would be enthusiastic about anything. ‘The young man with the Gilbert and Sullivan fixation was definitely keen.’

‘Andrew.’

‘That’s right. He said he and his wife Sophie would both be able to be there for the event.’

‘Right. And did you tell them about having to dress up?’ Matthew’s handling of his glass indicated his own scepticism.

Gina nodded. ‘I did and they’re fine with it. I expect you know they’re G and S fans and not only did they say they’d dress up, they’d even lend bits and pieces for the others.’

Matthew’s look made her feel she was a child putting on a little show for the grown-ups but she decided not to take offence. She was getting used to his disapproving looks. They didn’t always mean he was totally against an idea; it was his default mode, he just needed cajoling out of it. She pressed on. ‘I need to locate a costume-hire firm although some people may have stuff. We don’t want a corporate look, after all.’ She paused. ‘Do you think we should make sure everyone is dressed in the same period? Or is that all going a bit far?’

Matthew choked slightly before saying, ‘Going a bit far.’

Gina had no difficulty interpreting this; he was laughing. ‘I know you think I’m mad with my PR ideas, but it is something everyone has to think about. And I also think you should open on Sundays.’

Any amusement Matthew may have been feeling vanished. ‘My father never opened on Sundays. He said Sundays were for families.’

He was exasperating. Surely he could see from the other dealers in the town that it was a missed opportunity. ‘In the olden days, yes they were. But nowadays a family is just as likely to go shopping as sit round the table doing jigsaw puzzles. In fact a hell of a lot more likely.’

‘I don’t think our dealers would – or should even – give up their precious Sundays to sit in the centre waiting for someone to come in.’

Gina almost found herself asking Matthew what he did with his Sundays but managed to stop herself. She didn’t want to look as if she were prying and nor did she want to confess that Sundays were pretty flat for her sometimes.

They were momentarily distracted by a blast of air, laughter and stamping of cold feet. A large group of men and women of assorted ages entered, half of them peeling off to the bar, the rest clustering around a large table towards the rear of the pub. They were clutching bags with various logos, including one Gina recognised as coming from one of the antiques shops they’d passed on the way to the pub. Another thing the French House was lacking: instant publicity. She sighed. Hell would freeze over before she could persuade Matthew to go down that route! She would, however, press her point on Sunday trading, even if it took her all evening.

‘They won’t come in if it’s not open,’ she said.

‘I live in the centre and I have never been aware of anyone desperate to buy a sofa table on a Sunday,’ Matthew countered firmly.

‘No, but neither are you aware of the people who come up to the door, see the “Closed” sign and go away to a shop that
is
open. And what about all the tourists who come to Cranmore-on-the-Green for the weekend? They want to wander round the shops before they go back to London. Why not make it possible for them to wander into ours?’

‘You’re sounding personal about the centre now,’ said Matthew. ‘And today was only your first day.’

‘I can see the potential, that’s why. I’m not sure why that woman who bought my scent bottles was here but she didn’t look local. Her card didn’t say. I expect she was here for the weekend. When people are on holiday they’re in the mood to spend. They don’t have time to browse in their busy working lives. If they need a table they’ll just go to Ikea. But give them the opportunity, in their down time, to see how much more beautiful and stylish an antique table would be – they’ll take it.’

‘Forgive me, but you’re very, very new to the business. I don’t think you’re really in a position to make these sweeping statements.’

Had Matthew’s drink not been too far away for her to reach she might very easily have tipped it over his head. Instead she scowled at him. He might know 100 per cent more than she did about antiques but she knew about people and their spending habits.

‘I may be a complete novice regarding the antiques business but I know people. Selling is what I do, or rather encouraging others to sell. People like shopping on Sundays.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘You not thinking is what has put the centre on its
downward curve. And don’t tell me there isn’t one – it’s obvious.’

A few heads turned towards them. She realised she was talking rather loudly. Still, he just wasn’t making the most of the centre and as a PR it was her duty to make him see that. She was sure Aunt Rainey would have done the same if she were still alive.

Matthew seemed unaffected by her vehemence. ‘No one wants to work on Sunday. If you could guarantee there was going to be good business that would be different. But I think hardly anyone would come in.’

He sounded so dismissive, so unwilling even to give Sunday opening a try, she knew she had to take drastic action to get him to listen. She gripped his wrist and glared into his eyes. ‘I will undertake to do all the Sundays between now and the New Year just to show you I’m right!’

‘Really? You’re very persistent.’ He regarded her intently, making her feel like an antique that might well be a fake. She really hoped she wasn’t one. Then his expression softened and she felt as if she’d won a battle. ‘There won’t be anything in it for you. The centre won’t be able to credit you for your extra time, particularly when we haven’t had a meeting about it, which is how things are usually done.’

‘I don’t care, I’ll do it for nothing!’ Gina’s passion caused her to knock her glass with her hands and she only just caught it before it fell over. Chastened by this she took a breath. ‘But I may need someone with me,’ she added quietly. If she was right and Sunday was a good selling day she could get into a terrible muddle if she was there on her own. ‘And stop laughing at me.’

Matthew was the picture of surprise. ‘Did you hear me laugh?’

‘No, but I know you well enough by now to be able to tell when you’re cracking up inside. And I am right about this Sunday thing, you know.’ She gulped her drink, wishing it was alcohol. She needed some confidence, even artificially induced confidence. Would every idea to help the French House be such an uphill struggle? Now he was laughing at her and it made her feel patronised and ready to kill him. She took some deep breaths to help herself calm down.

Matthew finished his drink. ‘OK, we’ll give it a whirl until Christmas. Things slacken off a bit afterwards anyway. If it turns out to be a good idea’ – he obviously seriously doubted this – ‘we can drop it again in January.’