The Unlikely Life of Maisie Meadows. Jenni Keer
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doing is probably far more important and urgent than my silly prattling, but I wondered if you’d got a minute?’ Which invariably meant fifteen, bless him.
She’d actually spent the last hour teaching Johnny how to use his smartphone and done barely any productive work all morning – whilst important to Johnny, it hadn’t diminished her ever-increasing workload. He insisted that if Theo consistently refused to grasp the internet nettle, he would be the one to rise to the challenge. Like a kitten in a wool shop, he was positively bouncing about in his chair when he realised the tiny rectangle of glass and metal did so much more than make phone calls. Between them they’d installed a selection of apps – news, weather, banking – he’d even insisted she set him up on Facebook. Johnny was delighted, although his sausage-sized fingers struggled with the minuscule keyboard.
‘Of course, Arthur. I’ve fried Johnny’s brain sufficiently for today. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s more a case of what I can do for you. At least, I hope I’m doing you a service. I spotted some cups and saucers that looked rather like that curious teapot you bought the other week. I know how delighted you were with the purchase and wondered if you’d seen them. It’s amongst the lots from a house clearance Johnny did a couple of weeks ago – some old dear that’s gone into a care home. And I thought perhaps you’d be interested?’
‘Really?’ There was a slight quickening of her heart and a flutter in her throat. ‘I’d love to take a look. Thanks, Arthur.’ Maisie handed Johnny his phone and slid her chair out from his desk. The biggest grin spread across Arthur’s face.
‘You want to look now?’
‘If it’s convenient?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m not busy but I rather thought you would be. I know you important office staff always have deadlines and targets and spreadsheets to, erm … spread out. I didn’t intend to take you from your work.’
As they walked through the front office, Maisie tried to make eye contact with Ella again but she turned her head and started scribbling away in a notebook. She didn’t take it personally. Ella didn’t talk to anyone unless she had to – and instead glided around the office like a silent, pale and beautiful ghost.
As Maisie stepped outside the reception, Arthur pointed out a tiny patch of snowdrops under the gnarly sweet chestnut that stood at the edge of the car park.
‘I’m always cheered when the first blooms of the year appear,’ he said.
Although pretty in their way, they were too delicate and colourless for Maisie. ‘It’s the vibrant purple crocuses, the bright orange centres of the daffodils and smudges of yellow primroses I adore most,’ she said. ‘Brightening up those gloomy areas and damp, dark spaces winter has overpowered.’
Colour was everything, even though she’d bitten back this passion when executing her home décor. One simply did not paint rainbows of colour across the walls of a room – far too uncontrolled. Although her landlord was generally delighted with her requests to redecorate, a full-height mural of random shapes, paint dribbles and brilliant colours might be pushing it.
‘Yes.’ Arthur paused, seemingly and unusually lost for words. ‘I’m partial to primroses too.’
They walked into Saleroom One and came across Theo hanging pictures from the long steel pole running along the back wall. Last week it had been put to good use displaying a small selection of Turkish rugs. He put down the framed print he was holding.
‘I’m not stealing it. Don’t hit me. Or pelt me with sexually deviant gnomes.’ He put up his arms and cowered as if Maisie was about to attack him. She put her hands on her hips, tipped her head to one side and out-stared him.
‘Very funny, I’m sure, but I genuinely thought you were stealing from the cabinet the other day.’
‘Chill, I’m teasing. I’m not used to women throwing themselves at me. It was fun.’ Hmm, was that an invitation? She was tempted. And then maybe afterwards she could offer to run the iron over his clothes and sew up the rip on the cuff of his shirt. ‘Although, as well as assaulting staff members, I see you’ve been playing dolls’ houses with my salerooms,’ he said, over his shoulder.
‘What?’ She was confused.
‘Getting out the dinner services and laying the table? Filling up bookshelves with rows of books? Shall we make the beds up and tuck a teddy in between the covers?’
‘Sorry. I thought …’
‘Don’t look so worried.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m teasing. Again. Let’s see if it makes a difference.’ He sloped off to a table of household electricals on the other side of the barn, exaggerating the limp and throwing a pained look back to gauge her reaction, but the joke was no longer funny.
‘It was here somewhere.’ Arthur was tugging out boxes and scratching his thinning hair. ‘Aha! Thought I was going senile there for a moment. I saw the cup nestling on the top of the box and thought to myself young Maisie fell in love with a similar teapot. I might be wrong, I usually am, but I thought it was worth mentioning.’
‘Thank you, Arthur. It’s clever of you to remember.’
She walked over to the box at his feet, and there, in amongst some heavy Denby plates and a couple of cut glass vases, was a teacup that perfectly matched the black and white almost-jigsaw scribbles of her teapot. She’d felt tingly following him up the aisle but assumed it was the anticipation of a potential match giving her goose bumps. Now she wasn’t so sure. She bent down and lifted out the cup, which she was surprised to find was painted black inside.
‘There’s more in there. I’m sure of it. I didn’t like to poke about too much because I’d probably break something. I’m such a clumsy old bugger. But I definitely spied a saucer or two.’
Three cups, two with black interiors and one with white, and three matching saucers were located. Excited by the find, Maisie tried to hide her disappointment it was an odd number of cups, the others doubtless broken over time. Odd numbers sat uneasily with her and her need for order.
‘Well done, Arthur. A perfect match. Fancy you remembering.’ She smiled up at him as she slid the box and its contents back under the trestle table. Arthur puffed out his chest and grinned. ‘I’ll place another written bid and, if I get them, how about you come over one Saturday afternoon and road test them with me?’ A written bid was a safer bet than attending the auction again. Not only was she rushed off her feet with the website now but she didn’t want to end up accidentally bidding for a lifetime’s collection of plastic dinosaurs, a trailer-load of poultry incubators or more stupid X-rated gnomes.
As she made the offer, Theo looked up from a battered leather suitcase of old photographs he was cataloguing. He studied her face intently for a moment or two and she caught his eye, before his gaze returned to the task in hand. How could a look from her out-of-reach boss so casually flip the trip switch to her dormant erogenous zones?
‘You mean come around for a cup of tea?’ Arthur asked, his inflection indicating his disbelief.
‘Sorry, perhaps that was a bit presumptuous of me.’ She tore her eyes from Theo and returned her attention to the conversation.
‘No, no, I’d love to. Pam’s always saying I need to get out more to make up for the fact she can’t. I’m generally busy pottering about, fixing stuff at the weekends and getting a bit of shopping in, but I could pop by on my way into town.’
They agreed a day and Maisie turned back to the box containing the teacups, trying to ignore the weird sensation dancing up her arms.
They’re coming back to me, she thought. Meredith said this would happen.
Maisie’s mother had been to see a solicitor. It was