quick, embarrassed smile, then turned to head back down the corridor. She had no business walking into any of these places.
“Oh, come on!” came the man’s voice, exasperated and British. “Don’t go!”
Sophie turned back; the man was hurrying toward her. “You don’t have to buy anything. But dear God, you’re the first friendly face I’ve seen in a week. Come on, then.”
Sophie stepped into the shop, holding her laptop bag close against her hip so as not to bang any of the spindly tables.
“D’you like silver?” the man asked. “Need a wedding gift? I’ve got all kinds of stuff. If I don’t have it, I can get it.” He had a quick, worried smile, and his pale cheeks were spattered with freckles.
“Just window-shopping today,” said Sophie.
“You know, in France they call it ‘window licking,’” he said. “Normally things sound better in French, but not really in that case, eh?” He cracked his knuckles: first the left hand, then the right.
Sophie smiled, allowing herself to be entertained. She’d met plenty of these dealers, whenever Brian dragged her to the Antiques Show at the Armory, or to museum parties. They were usually stiff, defensive, humorless; worn down by years of catering to wealthy clients who treated them like shopkeepers. She liked this one, though.
“What d’you think of this?” he asked, holding up a large drinking horn whose tip was capped with a long, curling tail of silver, and whose midsection was held aloft by a pair of silver chicken feet. Sophie laughed.
“That’s…wacky.”
“Vikings. Everyone thinks they had no sense of humor.” He set it down. “So what brings you here?” He gestured toward the laptop bag. “Sneak out of the office, did you?”
“I came up from Philadelphia for a meeting.”
His eyebrows popped upward. “I’ve got a few clients in Philadelphia. Great town. Good museum. Reeeeally good. Not a bad restaurant scene either, eh? Buddakan, Le Bec-Fin. What d’you do there?”
“I’m a web developer.”
“Computer stuff? Don’t know much about that, myself. You like it?”
“Mmm.” Sophie pointed to a two-handled tray that was rimmed with an elaborate border of grapevines, leaves, insects, and snails. “So how much is something like this?”
“You like that?”
“It’s incredible,” she said truthfully.
“You’ve got expensive taste. This here is an exceptional English Sterling silver tray with a cast border, and here—” He picked it up and showed her a tiny mark on the back. “You’ve got the maker’s mark, that’s Vander.” He set it down. “Nineteen grand.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, but look.” He crossed the store to another table, where he picked up a round, footed tray. “This one’s nice; you’ve got some beautiful vines, trees, also English, also marked. Nine hundred.” He held it out to her. “Have a look.”
Sophie held the tray, feeling its cool heft, turning it over to see the mark.
“We’re running a special for web developers from Philly. Fifteen percent off.”
“What makes this one so much cheaper than the other one?” she asked, running her finger over the border.
“Well, to put it bluntly, that other one’s a masterpiece. Really unusual to see all those little figures, so finely detailed and naturalistic, with piercework, chasing…and of course, it’s a big name. This one’s a bit thick, really; everything’s very heavy, rounded, stylized.” He turned the tray over and pointed to one of the feet. “You’ve got a repair here; it’s been welded back on. And the whole thing’s been polished half to death.” He leaned in and spoke from one side of his mouth. “I don’t really like this one, to be honest. You could do better.”
Sophie laughed, and handed it back. “Not much of a salesman, are you?”
He sighed and pressed his index finger into his palm. “Terrible.”
“Well, I can’t afford anything in here anyway,” she said, taking one of his cards from a
“Oh, come on!” came the man’s voice, exasperated and British. “Don’t go!”
Sophie turned back; the man was hurrying toward her. “You don’t have to buy anything. But dear God, you’re the first friendly face I’ve seen in a week. Come on, then.”
Sophie stepped into the shop, holding her laptop bag close against her hip so as not to bang any of the spindly tables.
“D’you like silver?” the man asked. “Need a wedding gift? I’ve got all kinds of stuff. If I don’t have it, I can get it.” He had a quick, worried smile, and his pale cheeks were spattered with freckles.
“Just window-shopping today,” said Sophie.
“You know, in France they call it ‘window licking,’” he said. “Normally things sound better in French, but not really in that case, eh?” He cracked his knuckles: first the left hand, then the right.
Sophie smiled, allowing herself to be entertained. She’d met plenty of these dealers, whenever Brian dragged her to the Antiques Show at the Armory, or to museum parties. They were usually stiff, defensive, humorless; worn down by years of catering to wealthy clients who treated them like shopkeepers. She liked this one, though.
“What d’you think of this?” he asked, holding up a large drinking horn whose tip was capped with a long, curling tail of silver, and whose midsection was held aloft by a pair of silver chicken feet. Sophie laughed.
“That’s…wacky.”
“Vikings. Everyone thinks they had no sense of humor.” He set it down. “So what brings you here?” He gestured toward the laptop bag. “Sneak out of the office, did you?”
“I came up from Philadelphia for a meeting.”
His eyebrows popped upward. “I’ve got a few clients in Philadelphia. Great town. Good museum. Reeeeally good. Not a bad restaurant scene either, eh? Buddakan, Le Bec-Fin. What d’you do there?”
“I’m a web developer.”
“Computer stuff? Don’t know much about that, myself. You like it?”
“Mmm.” Sophie pointed to a two-handled tray that was rimmed with an elaborate border of grapevines, leaves, insects, and snails. “So how much is something like this?”
“You like that?”
“It’s incredible,” she said truthfully.
“You’ve got expensive taste. This here is an exceptional English Sterling silver tray with a cast border, and here—” He picked it up and showed her a tiny mark on the back. “You’ve got the maker’s mark, that’s Vander.” He set it down. “Nineteen grand.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, but look.” He crossed the store to another table, where he picked up a round, footed tray. “This one’s nice; you’ve got some beautiful vines, trees, also English, also marked. Nine hundred.” He held it out to her. “Have a look.”
Sophie held the tray, feeling its cool heft, turning it over to see the mark.
“We’re running a special for web developers from Philly. Fifteen percent off.”
“What makes this one so much cheaper than the other one?” she asked, running her finger over the border.
“Well, to put it bluntly, that other one’s a masterpiece. Really unusual to see all those little figures, so finely detailed and naturalistic, with piercework, chasing…and of course, it’s a big name. This one’s a bit thick, really; everything’s very heavy, rounded, stylized.” He turned the tray over and pointed to one of the feet. “You’ve got a repair here; it’s been welded back on. And the whole thing’s been polished half to death.” He leaned in and spoke from one side of his mouth. “I don’t really like this one, to be honest. You could do better.”
Sophie laughed, and handed it back. “Not much of a salesman, are you?”
He sighed and pressed his index finger into his palm. “Terrible.”
“Well, I can’t afford anything in here anyway,” she said, taking one of his cards from a
Similar Books
