on their way down the street.
“Are you sure this is the right address?”
I was sure GG’s handwriting in the notebook read Regent Street.
The storefronts we stood against were constructed from a white-gray stone. The elaborate building entrances were intricately carved with cherubs and vines placed in repetitious symmetry on top of the arched windows. Up and down the cobbles, Union Jacks were strung like clothes on a line, connecting one side of shops to the other.
In front of number one hundred and twelve the overhead lights were off, but we could see a pile of papers, dust, and flattened cardboard boxes unevenly stacked in the center of the marble floor. A dustpan and broom lay nearby. The velvet-lined jewelry cases were bare. In the corner, a wispy-haired old geezer in a tweed vest and tartan bowtie sat slumped with his chin on his chest in an office chair.
Turning on his heel, Travis said. “Well, we tried. Let’s find a pub walking distance and sample all the ales.”
I reached for the door and Travis gripped my hand.
“Rachael, this place is empty.”
“Maybe they moved. The guy inside may know something.”
“These shopping bags are heavy. Let’s get back to the boat, unload, and regroup.”
“We’re here,” I said as I swung the door open.
The man in the chair tipped his head back and swigged from a bottle of amber scotch. Without acknowledging us, he broke into a low and somber tune. “Through the streets broad and narrow, crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive-O.”
It surprised me that the door of a vacant shop was unlocked. I had both feet inside when Travis warned, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
With a wave, I said, “Hello, Sir.”
The man in the tweed kept singing. The next verse came out louder and slurred. “Crying cockles and mussels and mussels and cockles and cockles alive-O.”
“Is everyone in this town a pearly king?” Travis asked.
When we were halfway across the room, Travis stopped to rest the shopping bags on top of an empty glass case.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Ah no. This is your show.”
I handed him my purchases and moved toward the karaoke king in the corner. He’d stopped singing words, and started to hum.
“Excuse me. So sorry to trouble you. We were looking for Garrard’s Jewelry store.”
“Gone. It’s all gone,” he stammered then took a heavy gulp from the bottle.
Travis motioned a come-hither wave in my direction. “Alrightie. Thanks very much. We’ll be going now.”
“What do you mean it’s all gone?”
“A lad,” he said emphasizing the ‘a’ into a long vowel. “An apprentice to my father at fifteen I was.” Raising a finger, he made sure we paid attention. “My old man worked on the crown jewels and the world’s finest collections under a fine sovereign, the ‘Uncle of Europe.’ Fifty three years of my life!”
Struggling to decipher his words, I snapped to attention when he spouted, “Go on, get out of here. Garrard’s is closed. As management liked to say, merged. They’ve shagged the competition. My position is eliminated. Sacked, goddamn it.”
My feet shuffled backward and locked. A tingle of excitement surged. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“They call me Sonny. It’s my disposition. Always cheery you know.” he said, attempting a smile that turned into a crooked leer.
Travis held the door open and bobbed his head in the direction of the street.
“Lad’s got a funny tick,” Sonny said. “Ought to get it seen to.”
Fishing inside my jacket pocket, I opened my palm, holding the amethyst-encrusted oyster.
My hand was steady, but the old man’s left eye began to twitch.
“Can you tell me anything about this?”
“Who are you?” he rasped.
“I’m Rachael O’Brien.”
“Another bloody American. She didn’t have children. Not with him. Are you some destitute descendant of that woman?”
I noticed the glint of a golden chain fastened to his buttonhole and the
“Are you sure this is the right address?”
I was sure GG’s handwriting in the notebook read Regent Street.
The storefronts we stood against were constructed from a white-gray stone. The elaborate building entrances were intricately carved with cherubs and vines placed in repetitious symmetry on top of the arched windows. Up and down the cobbles, Union Jacks were strung like clothes on a line, connecting one side of shops to the other.
In front of number one hundred and twelve the overhead lights were off, but we could see a pile of papers, dust, and flattened cardboard boxes unevenly stacked in the center of the marble floor. A dustpan and broom lay nearby. The velvet-lined jewelry cases were bare. In the corner, a wispy-haired old geezer in a tweed vest and tartan bowtie sat slumped with his chin on his chest in an office chair.
Turning on his heel, Travis said. “Well, we tried. Let’s find a pub walking distance and sample all the ales.”
I reached for the door and Travis gripped my hand.
“Rachael, this place is empty.”
“Maybe they moved. The guy inside may know something.”
“These shopping bags are heavy. Let’s get back to the boat, unload, and regroup.”
“We’re here,” I said as I swung the door open.
The man in the chair tipped his head back and swigged from a bottle of amber scotch. Without acknowledging us, he broke into a low and somber tune. “Through the streets broad and narrow, crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive-O.”
It surprised me that the door of a vacant shop was unlocked. I had both feet inside when Travis warned, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
With a wave, I said, “Hello, Sir.”
The man in the tweed kept singing. The next verse came out louder and slurred. “Crying cockles and mussels and mussels and cockles and cockles alive-O.”
“Is everyone in this town a pearly king?” Travis asked.
When we were halfway across the room, Travis stopped to rest the shopping bags on top of an empty glass case.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Ah no. This is your show.”
I handed him my purchases and moved toward the karaoke king in the corner. He’d stopped singing words, and started to hum.
“Excuse me. So sorry to trouble you. We were looking for Garrard’s Jewelry store.”
“Gone. It’s all gone,” he stammered then took a heavy gulp from the bottle.
Travis motioned a come-hither wave in my direction. “Alrightie. Thanks very much. We’ll be going now.”
“What do you mean it’s all gone?”
“A lad,” he said emphasizing the ‘a’ into a long vowel. “An apprentice to my father at fifteen I was.” Raising a finger, he made sure we paid attention. “My old man worked on the crown jewels and the world’s finest collections under a fine sovereign, the ‘Uncle of Europe.’ Fifty three years of my life!”
Struggling to decipher his words, I snapped to attention when he spouted, “Go on, get out of here. Garrard’s is closed. As management liked to say, merged. They’ve shagged the competition. My position is eliminated. Sacked, goddamn it.”
My feet shuffled backward and locked. A tingle of excitement surged. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“They call me Sonny. It’s my disposition. Always cheery you know.” he said, attempting a smile that turned into a crooked leer.
Travis held the door open and bobbed his head in the direction of the street.
“Lad’s got a funny tick,” Sonny said. “Ought to get it seen to.”
Fishing inside my jacket pocket, I opened my palm, holding the amethyst-encrusted oyster.
My hand was steady, but the old man’s left eye began to twitch.
“Can you tell me anything about this?”
“Who are you?” he rasped.
“I’m Rachael O’Brien.”
“Another bloody American. She didn’t have children. Not with him. Are you some destitute descendant of that woman?”
I noticed the glint of a golden chain fastened to his buttonhole and the
Similar Books
