she calls it. She's been collecting for years.
Mr. Garrigue and I have been in communication and he informed me that he would
be offering some pieces in a remarkable shade of cobalt blue. I would be
prepared to offer a small bonus for your indulgence."
Sarah ran her finger over the heavyweight
rectangle with its embossed lettering. Harcourt Permberton. A meaningless
address with one of those quaint house names instead of a street somewhere in
England. The Laurels, Ludlam, Shropshire. She gave him her most
sympathetic smile.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Pemberton. Mr.
Garrigue's shipment was delayed due to a personal emergency and I don't have
his pottery yet." She gave a confident smile, making a mental note to call
and get the UPS tracking number. "His associate assures me it's on its
way."
Mr. Pemberton's face fell. "Oh,
dear, that is too bad. I'm passing through this part of the country and
I had my heart set on filling out my wife's collection." He lowered his
head and peered up at her and paused, as if it embarrassed him to continue. "It's
our anniversary, you see. Forty-five years come September."
Sarah's heart tugged. This was certainly
a day for anniversary gifts. "Congratulations. Let me see what I can do.
Is there a local address? If you'll describe the pieces you're looking for, I
would be happy to ship them as soon as they arrive."
"Now that does sound like a
wonderful idea. I happen to have a sketch of the piece, one provided by Mr.
Garrigue." He reached into his inner coat pocket and drew out a folded
piece of paper. He carried it to the glass counter and smoothed it out. "I'm
looking for a set of pedestal-based coffee mugs. There's a distinctive pattern
on them." He tapped the sheet. "A swirl with four stars."
"May I keep this?" Sarah asked.
"I promise as soon as the pieces come in, I'll inventory them and set
these aside."
"Delightful. Mrs. Pemberton will be
pleased. I'll be in Seattle in three days' time, on business. You can send them
to me in care of the Bellevue Hilton." He patted his pocket. "Oh,
dear me. I don't have the address. I take a cab from the airport, you know, and
never pay attention to the details."
"I
can look it up," Sarah said. "Don't worry about a thing."
He peeled a number of bills from a thick
stack held in a gold money clip, including more than enough to cover shipping.
All he needed was a silver-handled walking stick, Sarah thought, as he spun
around and left the shop.
When the door closed behind him, Jennifer
giggled. She snatched the man's card from the counter where Sarah had laid it. "Wow.
Right out of the movies, don't you think? I can see him in some stately manor,
sipping tea while servants wheel in a cart full of pastries."
"He's not our typical tourist, I'll
give you that," Sarah agreed. "But I think he's kind of cute. Calls
his wife Mrs. Pemberton." She could hear Randy referring to her as Mrs.
Detweiler.
God, where had that thought come from?
She shoved it away. Running her boutique
was much less stressful than dealing with a relationship she didn't understand.
"All right, Jen. Let's get started."
They worked side by side, arranging and
rearranging. Finally, Sarah stood, hands on hips and surveyed the effect. "Perfect,"
she proclaimed. "Can I treat you to dinner at Sadie's?"
Jennifer glanced at her wrist. "Wow.
Eight-thirty? I had no idea it was so late." She shook her head. "I'd
better get home and feed the cats. And Eddie might call. I wish I was working
tomorrow. I'd love to see the customers' reactions. I'll bet sales are through
the roof."
Eight months ago, Sarah would have been
happy with sales, period. "I'll bet they are. Thanks. See you Saturday."
The door chimes jingled behind Jennifer's
departure. Sarah weighed her options. Dinner alone at home, or dinner alone but
with people around at Sadie's Café? No cooking, no dishes. But at home, she
could get out of her work clothes and into her comfy sweats. Eat with her feet
on the coffee table and watch
Mr. Garrigue and I have been in communication and he informed me that he would
be offering some pieces in a remarkable shade of cobalt blue. I would be
prepared to offer a small bonus for your indulgence."
Sarah ran her finger over the heavyweight
rectangle with its embossed lettering. Harcourt Permberton. A meaningless
address with one of those quaint house names instead of a street somewhere in
England. The Laurels, Ludlam, Shropshire. She gave him her most
sympathetic smile.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Pemberton. Mr.
Garrigue's shipment was delayed due to a personal emergency and I don't have
his pottery yet." She gave a confident smile, making a mental note to call
and get the UPS tracking number. "His associate assures me it's on its
way."
Mr. Pemberton's face fell. "Oh,
dear, that is too bad. I'm passing through this part of the country and
I had my heart set on filling out my wife's collection." He lowered his
head and peered up at her and paused, as if it embarrassed him to continue. "It's
our anniversary, you see. Forty-five years come September."
Sarah's heart tugged. This was certainly
a day for anniversary gifts. "Congratulations. Let me see what I can do.
Is there a local address? If you'll describe the pieces you're looking for, I
would be happy to ship them as soon as they arrive."
"Now that does sound like a
wonderful idea. I happen to have a sketch of the piece, one provided by Mr.
Garrigue." He reached into his inner coat pocket and drew out a folded
piece of paper. He carried it to the glass counter and smoothed it out. "I'm
looking for a set of pedestal-based coffee mugs. There's a distinctive pattern
on them." He tapped the sheet. "A swirl with four stars."
"May I keep this?" Sarah asked.
"I promise as soon as the pieces come in, I'll inventory them and set
these aside."
"Delightful. Mrs. Pemberton will be
pleased. I'll be in Seattle in three days' time, on business. You can send them
to me in care of the Bellevue Hilton." He patted his pocket. "Oh,
dear me. I don't have the address. I take a cab from the airport, you know, and
never pay attention to the details."
"I
can look it up," Sarah said. "Don't worry about a thing."
He peeled a number of bills from a thick
stack held in a gold money clip, including more than enough to cover shipping.
All he needed was a silver-handled walking stick, Sarah thought, as he spun
around and left the shop.
When the door closed behind him, Jennifer
giggled. She snatched the man's card from the counter where Sarah had laid it. "Wow.
Right out of the movies, don't you think? I can see him in some stately manor,
sipping tea while servants wheel in a cart full of pastries."
"He's not our typical tourist, I'll
give you that," Sarah agreed. "But I think he's kind of cute. Calls
his wife Mrs. Pemberton." She could hear Randy referring to her as Mrs.
Detweiler.
God, where had that thought come from?
She shoved it away. Running her boutique
was much less stressful than dealing with a relationship she didn't understand.
"All right, Jen. Let's get started."
They worked side by side, arranging and
rearranging. Finally, Sarah stood, hands on hips and surveyed the effect. "Perfect,"
she proclaimed. "Can I treat you to dinner at Sadie's?"
Jennifer glanced at her wrist. "Wow.
Eight-thirty? I had no idea it was so late." She shook her head. "I'd
better get home and feed the cats. And Eddie might call. I wish I was working
tomorrow. I'd love to see the customers' reactions. I'll bet sales are through
the roof."
Eight months ago, Sarah would have been
happy with sales, period. "I'll bet they are. Thanks. See you Saturday."
The door chimes jingled behind Jennifer's
departure. Sarah weighed her options. Dinner alone at home, or dinner alone but
with people around at Sadie's Café? No cooking, no dishes. But at home, she
could get out of her work clothes and into her comfy sweats. Eat with her feet
on the coffee table and watch
Similar Books
