The afternoon sun was warm and bright: it was a nice day to be out and about. Credenza found herself with time on her hand (she was wearing a watch) and, her business in the small high street having been concluded, she decided to explore a little. Down a side street she did not remember entering before, she found an antique shop; La Belle Epoque. The window display was just dusty enough for a proper antique shop so she pushed open the door (and was pleased to find this activated a real bell on a spring)and went in. A stooped old man in a misshapen tweed jacket of uncountable years (and the man was ancient too) smiled at her, his teeth both glinting in the shafts of sunlight which eased in through the glass.
“Hello” said Credenza, smiling brightly. “Just having a little look around”
The man smile even more broadly and inclined his head. He was inclined to do that. She noticed he was holding a figurine in his hands, a large bronze coloured woman, wearing only a few filaments of gauze and carrying a basket of fruit. She was a very shapely lady, obviously hearking from the days when popular taste was for the curvier form – rather like Credenza herself in fact.
She smiled again at him and then turned away to examine a display of china.
Suddenly she heard another voice, deeper, edgier and very masculine. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” it said. Credenza was surprised to hear such power come from such a frail body.
Then she heard the reedy reply in the form of a chuckling “Aye, that she is!”
She turned to see a young man in jeans and a checked shirt standing at the back of the shop. His arms were folded, and as the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, she was able to tell in an instant that they were the arms of a man used to physical exertion. They were the arms of a man perfectly at home with a bit of heaving and grunting, a man who would think nothing of activities which would leave a lesser man gasping (and not in a good way)
Credenza could hear herself emit a sort of little purring sound. She allowed one elegant finger to draw slowly across the shining rim of a whatnot, before fixing her gaze on the young man’s face.
“Are you the manager?” she asked. He indicated that he was. “Are you looking for something special?” he asked.
What a question! Of course she was “Do you see anything you like?” he continued
There was a throaty guffaw from the elderly gentleman behind. The young man turned to him and said firmly “Are you REALLY interested in that piece Mr Hassock? It’s just that you come in every week and handle her. Are you going to make me an offer?”
Mr Hassock emitted a grumbling noise, and after tenderly running his hands over the bronze nude a few moments longer, gently replaced it and shuffled out of the shop.
The young man approached Credenza, rubbing his hands momentarily, before catching himself at it and stopping.
“I’m Girandole” he said, offering her his hand (to shake, not in marriage)
Before the look of surprise had finished registering on her face he continued “Ambitious parents” with a smile
The handshake continued just a little bit longer than was strictly necessary, and then Credenza said “well, show me what you’ve got” and he stepped back abruptly, covered in confusion from which he took a few seconds to recover.
Girandole proceeded to take her to the various corners of the shop, pointing out their best stock. “Look at this chair!How’s that for a cabriole leg?” he exclaimed, stroking the polished wood as he spoke. Credenza nodded. Then suddenly he grabbed the chair, and lifted it, flipping it upside down in a single, sweeping move (“So that’s how he gets those muscles!” Credenza thought)
“I like to see good legs, but you know you’ve got a real peach when you check out the bottom. See that?” he pointed to the flawless workmanship on the underside of the seat. “That’s how I know she’s a cracker. First check out the legs, then flip her over and have a good look at the bottom”
Credenza agreed
Nest he called her to admire an occasional table. he drew her attention to the fine marquetry-work on the top, and the pointed out the elaborate and unusual pedestal, which divided near the top.
“See that?” he said eagerly, his eyes meeting hers as they bent over to look. “This here” – his hand stroked up to the point where the pedestal split into two – “That’s a crotch veneer. Very rare!”
“I bet!” exclaimed Credenza, with a genuine, if breathy, surprise
She continued to examine it, whilst Girandole, standing up, admired Credenza’s Baroque curves, and the operation of her drop-front when she was bent over.
She stood up slowly, and allowed her gaze to run up his body, assessing everything from the quality of his baluster up to his pediment.
Their eyes engaged in a long moment of interactive psychology, and then she broke the gaze and looked across the shop. She noticed a big oil painting on the far wall, just above the china display she had been examining earlier. It was of an almost naked woman relaxing in what looked like a Turkish bath.
Girandole followed her gaze “Tiffany’s Crysanthemum” he explained. Credenza stared at him in astonishment. “Is that REALLY what it’s called?”
He assured her it was. She shook her head in amazement. “That’s a very….errr….LIBERAL title” . He looked momentarily confused, and then burst out laughing. “I thought you were looking at the chinaware! That design is called Tiffany’s Crysanthemum!”
Credenza blushed. She didn’t do anything by half measures, and she blushed over every exposed surface of skin. This was quite a big area, due to the fact that she was wearing a V-necked top out of which her bosomage was tumbling like a cornucopia of lusciousness.
“Is that a bit of Nanking?” she asked when she had calmed down. Now it was Girandole’s turn to blush: “No!” He insisted, “I was just fidgeting”
Credenza smiled up at him (he was quite a tallboy) and her eyelashes fluttered of their own volition, doing a little fan dance of their own divising.
“I meant that piece of Chinese porcelain…” she continued innocently, pointing across at it. “On that sideboard”
Girandole relaxed a little. But only a little, as moments afterward Credenza told him she wasn’t a great enthusiast for sideboards, and preferred a Chest-On-Chest. He couldn’t argue with that, as her chest was so utterly inviting: its patina was divine. Furthermore he longed to examine her underglaze.
Credenza distracted herself momentarily with a small framed black and white photograph. Girandole gently took it from her, saying “It’s a nice little photo, but needs completely reframing. Very poorly mounted.”
She could not but agree “That’s always such a let down, isn’t it?”
Finally he had to ask her: it was important. “Do you prefer a chaise longue or an Ottoman?” They had both at La Belle Epoque.
Credenza looked from one to the other. Girandole continued “Myself, I like a chaise longue…I like a strong back”
Credenza nodded. She could see the argument for that, though being laid flat, if well-upholstered, was also appealing. Girandole, his hand cupping her extremely sexy elbow, led her across the shop to the chaise longue. “Settle yourself on that and see what you think” he said, before taking a few steps to the front door and turning the sign round to “closed”. He left the steps there for good measure.
She looked comfortable on the chaise longue, but to advance his argument , Girandole drew her attention to the unusual bell turning.
Credenza agreed that it was very unusual, and that she was anxious to see it in action.
Sure enough, Girandole was able to demonstrate the benefits of snug dovetailing, getting in up to his escutcheon. As for Credenza, she realised that sometimes the old ways can be the best, and that all this had happened without ANYONE mentioning etchings…