And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Six hundred and eighty thousand,” he said calmly.

“Pounds?” asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Julian without further comment.

“So, about a million dollars,” said the customer, confirming that he was American.

Julian didn’t reply. He was distracted by a screeching sound outside, as if a car was trying to avoid a collision. Both men glanced out of the window to see a black stretch limousine that had come to a halt on the double yellow line outside the shop. A woman dressed in a stylish red coat and wearing a diamond necklace, matching earrings, and dark glasses stepped out of the back of the car.

“Is that who I think it is?” asked Julian.

“Looks like it is,” said the customer, as the woman stopped to sign an autograph.

“Gloria Gaynor.” Julian sighed as she disappeared into the jewelry shop next door. “Lucky Millie,” he added without explanation.

“I think she’s doing a gig in town this week,” said the customer.

“She’s performing at the Albert Hall on Saturday,” said Julian. “I tried to get a ticket but it’s completely sold out.”

The customer was clearly more interested in the jewel-encrusted egg than the jewel-covered pop star so Julian snapped back into antique-dealer mode.

“What’s the lowest price you

’d consider?” asked the American.

“I suppose I could come down to six hundred and fifty thousand.”

“My bet is that you’d come down to five hundred thousand,” said the American.

“Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,” said Julian. “I couldn’t consider a penny less.”

The American nodded. “That’s a fair price. But my partner will need to see it before I can make a final decision.” Julian tried not to look disappointed. “Would it be possible to reserve the piece at six twenty-five?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” Julian pulled open a drawer in his desk, removed a small green sticker and placed it on the little description card fixed to the wall. “And when might we expect to see you again, sir?”

“My partner flies in from the States on Friday, so possibly Friday afternoon. But as he suffers badly from jetlag it’s more likely to be Saturday afternoon. What time do you close on Saturdays?”

“Around five, sir,” said Julian.

“I’ll make sure we’re with you before then,” said the American.

Julian opened the door to allow his customer to leave just as Miss Gaynor walked out of the jewelry shop. Once again she stopped to sign autographs for a little group that had gathered on the pavement outside. The chauffeur ran to open the door of the limousine and she disappeared inside. As the car slipped out into the traffic, Julian found himself waving, which was silly because he couldn’t see a thing through the smoked-glass windows.

Julian was about to return to his shop when he noticed that his next-door neighbor was also waving. “What was she like, Millie?” he asked, trying not to sound too much like an adoring fan.

“Charming. And so natural,” Millie replied, “considering all that she’s been through. A real star.”

“Did you learn anything interesting?” asked Julian.

“She’s staying at the Park Lane Hotel, and she’s off to Paris on Sunday for the next leg of her tour.”

“I already knew that,” said Julian. “Read it in Londoner’s Diary last night. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“On the day of a concert she never leaves her room and won’t speak to anyone, even her manager. She likes to rest her voice before going on stage.”

“Fascinating,” said Julian. “Anything else?”

“The air conditioning in her room has to be turned off, because she’s paranoid about catching a cold and not being able to perform. She once missed a concert in Dallas when she came off the street at a hundred degrees straight into an air-conditioned room, and ended up coughing and sneezing for a week.”