Chapter Two

      ‘Excuse me, Miss, Miss?’

      Cass glanced up from her book and looked at the man framed in the shop doorway.

      ‘I was wondering if you could help me? Is that record player in the window Chippendale?’

      The guy was six two, maybe six three, tanned, with great teeth and an Armani jacket worn dressed down over good jeans and a black tee shirt. He had just the hint of a transatlantic twang somewhere in his voice. He had shoulders broad enough to make a grown woman weep and the biggest brownest eyes. If he were a spaniel, women would arm-wrestle each other to take him home.

      Cass closed her book and nodded, ‘Uh-huh, it most certainly is, and you see that cocktail cabinet in the back there? The cream one with the stainless-steel knobs?’ She pointed off into the shadows, between a bentwood hat stand and the little painted pine chiffonier that she’d sold earlier in the day.

      The man looked around. ‘Which? Oh right—oh yes, that’s very nice.’

      ‘Hepplewhite. Genuine George III,’ she said.

      ‘No?’ said the man, extending the oooo sound to express his incredulity. ‘My god, really? I’d imagine they are just so hard to find.’

      ‘In that kind of condition,’ Cass said, ‘rare as hen’s teeth.’

      ‘Oh my god this is just too wonderful. Do you take credit cards? Do you think we can maybe do a deal on the two pieces?’

      ‘There’s been a lot of interest in them.’

      ‘I’d imagine there has been. What’s your best price?’

      Cass considered for a few moments. ‘Give me your best shot…’

      ‘You’re a hard woman, Cass.’

      Cass broke into a broad grin. ‘So Rocco, how’s life treating you?’

      He didn’t answer, instead making a lunge for the biscuit tin, which initially Cass mistook for an attempt at hugging.

      ‘Are those Fox’s Cream Crunch?’ he asked.

      Cass whisked the tin away an instant before he could grab it. ‘Still not quite fast enough, eh? Never mind, maybe another time. What are you doing out here in the boondocks anyway?’

      ‘Come on, you’re a legend. Cass’s place—great gear, reasonable prices, you’ve always got such lovely things.’ He paused. ‘Actually I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents for your mother.’ He started patting himself down. ‘You want me to tell you how many shopping days we got left? The PalmPilot your mum bought me last year has got this feature—’

      Cass shook her head. ‘No, it would so only depress me,’ she said. ‘I’m never organised.’

      ‘Maybe I could get your mum to buy you one—’ Rocco began.

      ‘No,’ snapped Cass more forcefully as Rocco continued, ‘I adore those repro radios and turntables you’ve got in the window. Nice chaise by the way,’ he tipped a nod towards the dark green brocade number she had recently finished re-upholstering, which was also currently sitting in the shop’s bay window. ‘That won’t be there very long.’

      Cass smiled. ‘I’ve already had a couple of decent offers.’

      Rocco grinned mischievously. ‘Really? And you’re still here selling tut—I’d have been long gone by now, if I were you.’

      ‘What and leave all this behind?’ she said, heavy on irony. ‘Besides one man’s old tut is another man’s design classic. Talking of which, how is my mother?’

      He grinned. ‘Gorgeous as ever. Did you get the postcard from Madeira?’

      Cass nodded. ‘Uh-huh, and Rome—and where else was it you went?’

      ‘I could email you the full itinerary if you like.’

      Cass laughed, ‘What, when I’ve already had the postcards. Anyway, what is it you’re looking for?’

      ‘Peace on earth and goodwill to all men?’ Rocco suggested, as he thumbed through the pile of antique greetings cards she had arranged in a basket on the desk.

      ‘And besides that?’

      ‘I’m on the hunt for a couple of bedside cabinets, art deco, 1930s. Walnut veneer would be good. Your mother is such a slave driver…’

      Not rising to the bait, Cass said, ‘I might be able to help.’

      ‘You’ve got bedside cabinets?’

      ‘Might have.’

      Rocco’s eyes lit up.

      Cass grinned. ‘You’d never make a poker player.’

      ‘What are they like?’

      ‘Nice actually, cylindrical, still got both shelves. You mind the shop, I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

      ‘Jacko not in today?’

      ‘No,’ said Cass. ‘He hates the cold. He keeps telling me he’s not getting any younger. He’s hanging on till I find someone else, but he can only do the odd hour here and there…. So if you know anyone wants a part-time job…’

      Rocco held up his hands in surrender.

      Cass laughed. ‘Not you—that wasn’t an offer.’

      ‘Thank god. Working for your mother is hard enough. Have you got the cabinets here?’

      ‘No, but there are some pictures on the computer. Take a look. They should be in the file marked “stock, warehouse”. Under bedside cabinets?’

      ‘Bit obvious—I think I’d rather look in the one marked this year’s diary,’ Rocco called after her as Cass made her way into the back of the shop.

      Cass laughed. ‘Knock yourself out, Rocco. My social highlights at the moment are dental appointments, haircuts and choir stuff.’

      ‘I was hoping there’d be a few stars in the margin. How are the boys?’

      ‘Last time I heard from them they were fine. Joe was hungover and Daniel was in debt, but that’s university for you.’

      ‘So okay then? Will they be home for Christmas?’

      Cass laughed. ‘It’s obvious you’ve never had kids Rocco. I’m their mother, I’ll be the last one to find out.’

      Cass went back to making the tea, wondering how it was that