A French Affair (15 page)

‘Matthew wasn’t at all keen on the treasure-hunt thing.’ Gina put her elbows on the table. ‘I can’t decide if I should push it, or leave it.’

‘I don’t think you told me about a treasure hunt. I think you’ve been making all sorts of plans without me.’

‘I probably have. The trouble is it’s my job to make businesses more profitable. It’s only natural that I should want to improve the one I’m involved with. If only Matthew wasn’t so stubborn! He nearly bit my head off when I said the website was a bit dated. He did agree to let me ask Serena to look at it. She’s my web-designer friend.’

‘Have we a date for the event? I think early in the month is best, while people are still in the mood for Christmas and haven’t done all their shopping.’

Gina got out her diary. ‘What about Saturday the first of December?’

Sally made a face. ‘That’s in a fortnight. Would you be able to set it up in time?’

Gina sighed. ‘I think so. I need to get going on it immediately. But I know Matthew would want me to run it past all the dealers. I mean, they seem keen in principle, or at least most of them do, but I haven’t managed to
speak to them all and I didn’t discuss timings or anything with them.’

‘Maybe we should have a little do and lay it all out for them then? People are much more likely to be enthusiastic if they’ve had a glass of wine and a vol-au-vent. We could do it at the centre and I can provide nibbles as long as they’re simple.’

‘Matthew might come up with the wine. It’s not for all that many people, after all.’

‘Sor’ed!’ said Sally. ‘You’re the best PR ever.’

Gina laughed. ‘I guess! But you know what? It’s the antiques I’m really into now.’

Sally was amazed. ‘Really? I mean I know you like a challenge but surely it’s not what you want to be doing forever?’

Gina shrugged. She rather thought it might be. It hadn’t been a sudden realisation; it had crept up on her. She knew she was good at PR, it’s what she’d been doing for years, but it no longer thrilled her. She didn’t yearn to find out more about it. But with antiques and the French House, she just wanted to learn more and more. However, for some reason she didn’t want to admit that to Sally – she’d assume it was all because of Matthew, and it really wasn’t. Her feelings for him – whatever they were – were quite separate. ‘I’d better run all this past Matthew.’

‘Right. Now, shall we go? We could have a bite of lunch while we’re in town . . .’

That evening when Gina rang Matthew, to her surprise he agreed to providing the wine without a fuss. ‘We always used to have a get-together for the dealers around this time of year. It would be nice to revive the tradition. And
if Sally doesn’t want to do the canapés herself we can buy them from the supermarket.’

‘Oh! Well, that was a lot easier than I expected.’

‘I don’t always say no to any suggestion, you know.’

Gina decided not to argue the point.

‘You can’t beat a sausage roll,’ said Harold, the brass dealer, taking two. ‘And these don’t look as if they came out of a shop.’

‘My sister Sally made them,’ said Gina proudly. It was six thirty in the evening a few days later. Matthew had duly invited all the dealers, and Jenny, for drinks in his flat.

‘They are really good,’ said Jenny as Gina topped up her glass with the hot apple juice and ginger that was the non-alcoholic alternative to wine. ‘I’m so glad we managed to serve the eats hot. They’re so much more appetising. I’m glad you’re doing this. Matthew’s father did it every year but Matthew hasn’t for the past couple of years and it’s a shame. It does us good to all be here together. It never happens in the normal course of events.’ She took another sausage roll. ‘It’s unlike him to want to do anything social.’

Gina glanced across at Matthew, who was perched on an oak coffer nursing a glass of wine. He was paying courteous attention to one of the older female dealers, Margaret. She had known Matthew’s father and specialised in clocks and silverware and was one of the remaining people Gina hadn’t yet met. ‘I was quite surprised too. But pleased, obviously.’

When she gauged everyone was suitably softened up by alcohol and hot snacks she tapped her glass with a
fork and found a place to stand where she could see almost everyone.

‘People!’ She waited until most of the conversation ceased. Only Margaret, who was bending Matthew’s ear, was still murmuring. Matthew kept nodding as if he was engrossed, giving Gina rueful glances.

‘On behalf of Matthew, I’d like to thank you all for coming to this little gathering. I think you all know by now that my sister and I have taken over Rainey’s spot. As we know less than nothing about antiques—’

‘You’re learning,’ said someone. Gina recognised Tiggy’s warm, smoky voice.

‘—We wanted to bring something to the centre that we do know about. As most of you will also know, I’m a PR person in my real life and I felt – we felt – that there were some things we could do to help the centre do a bit better.’ She sipped from her glass of fizzy water. ‘It does involve change and we all hate that.’ This was a slightly sweeping assumption but she made it anyway. ‘But if you can put up with these ignorant new girls, with their pushy ways, we will be very grateful and also fairly certain that business will improve.

‘I have spoken to some of you about this – my apologies to those of you who haven’t yet met me and my sister, let alone heard about our plans . . .’

She went on to explain her ideas for the Christmas event, throwing it all in, including the treasure hunt, and then stood back, hoping they wouldn’t fling the remaining canapés at her. Those she had spoken to before about the event might have changed their minds now they knew exactly what was involved.

Someone at the back started clapping, and soon everyone
was. ‘Well done,’ said Harold. ‘Rainey would have been proud of you. She was always shaking us up in her way and I know she’d like to think of you carrying on shaking. I’m happy to be an expert, and to organise the treasure hunt, if you’d like me to.’

Everyone joined in, offering to help in one way or another. Gina found herself deeply moved and spotted Sally wiping her eyes over in the corner by Jenny.

‘Thank you so much, everyone. And thank you, Matthew, for letting us in,’ she said, her throat a little constricted. ‘We were rather forced on him but he accepted us for Aunt Rainey’s sake. We’re going to make sure neither he, nor any of you, has cause to regret it.’

The applause, while not thunderous, was fervent and sincerely meant.

‘You know,’ Gina overheard Jenny saying to Matthew in the little kitchen a little later, ‘I think we’ll find those girls are a real asset. They’ll bring a bit of youth and beauty which will do everyone – us and the business – the world of good.’

Gina, who’d been bringing in a tray full of dirty glasses, stayed out of sight until a suitable time had passed. Deep down she’d been waiting for Matthew to say, ‘You’re absolutely right, Jenny,’ but he didn’t. He muttered something she couldn’t hear.

TYPICALLY, JUST WHEN
she needed to focus on the Christmas event, Gina’s one client decided he wanted her to arrange a cocktail party at short notice. While this wasn’t really her job, she didn’t like to refuse and it didn’t take her long but it did mean she had to work hard, knocking out a press release at midnight one night. But Sally had designed some lovely posters and her leaflet, which included her own line drawings, was a masterpiece. It was being printed and Gina had arranged for the local paper to put one in every copy, along with a picture of the French House and possibly its owner (if Gina could persuade Matthew to pose in front of it). She and Sally then went round the local shops asking them to put up posters.

They were just wondering if it was lunchtime when they turned the corner into the main square. ‘Hey, will you look at that. Carmella’s shop. It’s open.’

‘It looks amazing,’ said Sally after a stunned few seconds. ‘Come on.’

Sally dragged Gina across the road. Reluctant, Egan’s face filling her mind, Gina dragged her feet slightly, but
Sally’s jaw was hanging slightly open and her eyes were glazed. It was a clear case of retail-lust.

‘We have to go in,’ announced Sally, taking a step towards the door.

‘No! I mean – yes. But can you check that Egan’s not in there? If he is, you can have a look round on your own.’

‘Gina, you told me you were OK about him months ago. Before you even moved down here. Why are you bothered?’

‘I’m not sure really – I just feel weird.’

Sally marched into the shop and marched out again quite quickly. ‘It’s OK, there’s no sign of either of them.’

It was a temple to the house beautiful. From its Farrow-and-Ball-painted exterior to it lush interior, it exuded style and splendour. Such a contrast to the French House, Gina thought ruefully. Carmella, with her floor-length, species-endangering coat, had immaculate taste, Gina had to concede. As Matthew had predicted, there were rugs that looked like zebra skin, but there were others like pale grass sprinkled with wild flowers that would make one’s sitting-room floor look like a meadow. There was furniture made of mirrors and lamps of every kind. Clocks, objets d’art, cushions, scented candles (costing a fortune, Gina noted), the despised throws, pouffes – in fact anything the most indulged heart could desire. Gina fell in love with a pink velvet chaise longue, grateful it would never fit into her rented cottage, even if she had been willing to take out the mortgage necessary to pay for it.

‘Oh God, this is so perfect for my crystal lamps!’ said Sally, almost orgasmic with pleasure. ‘This shop could have been created to sell them. I’ve died and gone to heaven!’

Gina nodded. Her sister was right, her lamps would look right at home here. ‘Have you got a business card?’

Some of the gleam went from Sally’s eye. ‘Of course I haven’t got a business card. But I have got some fantastic lamps that would look great here.’

‘OK, Sal, calm down. I completely agree with you but I think it would be better if you made an appointment to tell Carmella about them and didn’t just bounce in.’

Sally took this as a knock-back. ‘And I need a card to do that?’

‘Not strictly speaking but I just think . . . well . . .’ Gina glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. Apart from an immaculate young woman – Carmella’s clone and able assistant for sure – who was wrapping up a cream cashmere throw for an immaculate young man, the shop was a haven of tranquillity. Unlike at the French House, this didn’t necessarily equate to the business being on the slide. Gina went on, ‘Carmella is a bit formal. She’ll be more likely to take your lamps if she thinks you’re a proper business who’s been making them for ages and they’re not just something you knocked up in your spare room because you had a few chunks of chandelier that needed a home.’ She took hold of her sister’s arm. ‘I know it wasn’t like that. And those lamps are fabulous. But you want them and you to look really professional. Get some cards done – you can do it off the internet – and make an appointment. And then think what you’ll do if she wants twenty of them, or re-orders.’

‘God I hate it when you’re right.’

Gina smiled in sympathy. ‘I know.’

They were just about to leave when a little glass cabinet
caught Gina’s eye. It had jewellery in it and some things she recognised: Rainey’s scent bottles.

‘I’ve just got to check something,’ she said to Sally. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

She was only half a tick. ‘I do not believe it!’ she said as she dragged Sally from the shop. ‘She’s selling the scent bottles for nearly half as much per bottle as she paid me for the whole lot! What a mark-up! If people only had a look on eBay and saw what you can get old scent bottles for—’

‘But people don’t want to do that. They don’t think, “I want an old scent bottle”, they want to buy a piece of that style. I’m sorry to say this but I’m far more enthusiastic about this shop than I am about the centre.’

Once at home again Gina’s shock had subsided enough for her to acknowledge there was nothing intrinsically wrong with putting a huge mark-up on something. She’d made a very good profit on the bottles herself and she shouldn’t grudge Carmella doing the same as she sold them on. But Sally’s enthusiasm for the new and stylish over antiques was a bit unsettling.

Before the drinks party Gina had realised that learning about antiques gave her a buzz; now she had to admit that she’d fallen in love with the business: the quirky people, the beautiful objects, the thrill of the chase that seemed to accompany almost every transaction, whether buying or selling. She had really hoped Sally would join her in this. But it wasn’t as if Sally spent much time at the centre anyway and the less she was there the more she wouldn’t be able to try and get Gina off with Matthew. Although Sally had tried not to question Gina too much
about Matthew, Gina had sensed her ready to pounce. Not that there was anything for her to pounce on: Gina certainly hadn’t had time to any more suppers
à deux
.

Before Gina knew it, it was 1 December: the day of the Christmas event. She was in that just-before-it-starts, slightly apprehensive mood.

‘It doesn’t matter how well you prepare things, make lists, be organised, ask people, tell people, you can never be absolutely confident that the planning will all work until the day,’ said Anthea, the surprisingly glamorous auctioneer, who had come to the event a bit early, a sympathetic smile on her face. She patted Gina’s arm. ‘But it always does.’

Gina, who had liked Anthea on sight, nodded. ‘I know that from every do I’ve ever arranged, yet I’m always really nervous just before.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ said Anthea. ‘If you ever got complacent, you wouldn’t be so good at your job.’

Gina grinned ruefully. ‘You don’t know if I’m good at my job.’

Anthea smiled reassuringly. ‘I have faith.’

Anthea was about Matthew’s age and Gina had initially wondered if they’d ever had a thing – they obviously got on well, Gina saw that the moment Anthea arrived – but Anthea had put paid to that thought by saying, as they’d been chatting earlier over a cup of coffee, that she’d always liked Matthew and respected him hugely but she’d never fancied him. It was a shame really, she’d said, as he was a really nice chap under his grumpy exterior and attractive if you liked the dishevelled look. He’d got rather more grumpy and certainly more dishevelled since he’d got divorced.