Rebecca Raisin - The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower

The young man, Andre, nodded solemnly and stared out the bay window. I was just out of Paris in the town of Rocquencourt, on the family’s lush sprawling estate. Not far from here was the Palace of Versailles, and while Andre’s estate was on a much smaller scale, from what I had seen so far it was equally as opulent as the former royal château.

Andre had the serenity of an expansive garden with a small lake but was close enough to Paris, giving him the best of both worlds. There were stables on the property, and some dog kennels. Thick hedges and fat-trunked trees, standing close together like a row of gruff watchman protecting the property, surrounded the garden.

“Merci,” he said eventually. His thin, drawn face appeared much older than Dion had thought him to be. “Were you close?” I wanted to kick myself for my nosiness, but something about him suggested he was angry, rather than grieving. It was just a feeling, the fleeting look of mutiny on his face when I mentioned his grandfather.

He let out a bitter laugh. “No we weren’t close. Unless you were a wad of rolled-up Euros, he didn’t have the time of day for you.”

“Oh,” I said lamely, unsure of what to say to such a thing.

“My grandfather was a cold man. Driven by money, and money only. Hence I have no desire to continue with his legacy of collecting things, which will never be appreciated. You’ve heard about the arcane scroll, I take it?”

I clasped my hands, feeling a wave of empathy for Andre. “I did.” It struck me he’d invited me into his house without clarifying my reason for visiting, as if he knew I was coming. Dion, again, helping grease the wheel. “I was hoping to secure the late Monsieur Mollier’s cello for you, in return for the scroll if that’s something you’d consider.”

“Mollier’s music was the soundtrack to my youth, a way to block out the real world.”

His cheeks pinked as if he’d said too much, so I hurried to reassure him. “Music has the ability to be a friend, an escape hatch when we most need one.”

“Oui,” he said, smiling.

“May I see the scroll?” I spoke quickly, not wanting to scare him off by getting too personal; instead I tried to be businesslike and brisk.

He surveyed me for the longest time. I felt he was weighing up whether he could trust me. I only hoped I could afford any counter offer he made, like the cello for the scroll, and extra funds on top, if the scroll was in good shape. Because of Joshua’s theft, my business was still teetering, so I didn’t have the high reserve of funds I used to for deals like this.

Red-haired Andre took a key from his pocket, unlocking a drawer. From the vague scent wafting out I knew it was a humidity-controlled space. I was relieved that the scroll had been well cared for in its time here.

“Anouk, please come closer, but don’t touch it. It’s whisper thin, and will have to be handled correctly by experts if it’s moved from here.” While he wasn’t keen on keeping his grandfather’s collections at least he respected the antiques, which made me soften toward him even more.

I made my way over, a hand on my throat as my pulse beat a fast rhythm. It never waned, that first flush of excitement seeing something that was hundreds of years old. It was preserved as well as it could be for its age, though damaged in places, as if it had been set alight, and someone had snuffed the flame out in time to save the body of it. It resembled a fairy-tale treasure map, with its rough black edges. But instead of sketches of geography it contained text.

“It’s a poem,” he said, smiling. Andre’s posture relaxed, and when grinning, he looked infinitely younger. What hate he must’ve held in his heart to transform his entire being when he recalled his grandfather, and how quickly it disappeared once he was distracted.

I leaned close and tried to read the tiny words, written in fancy flowery cursive that was difficult to translate. Goose bumps prickled my skin and I knew I couldn’t simply swap the cello for the scroll. The scroll was worth far too much money, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I wasn’t honest with Andre. But would I have enough funds to make the deal?

“It’s breathtaking,” I said pulling my gaze away and meeting Andre’s, whose expression was haunted once more. “A treasure.”

“I’d like to take you up on your offer,” he said abruptly. “The cello of Monsieur Mollier’s in exchange for the scroll. But only if experts transport the scroll, and you vouch for its safety in transit and with its new owner. As much as I hate what it represents, it still has historical significance, and I’d hate to see it ruined by inappropriate handling.”

“Oui, of course, I can have all of that arranged. But there is a problem,” I said, fluttering my hands. “This scroll is worth more than I thought. While it has been slightly burnt at the edges, the writing is still well preserved. I’d have to get a specialist to investigate its origins and likely author, but I know from experience and by sight it’s worth a lot of money. Much more than the cello.”

Andre moved to the plush lounges and sat, motioning for me to do the same. “I have papers from numerous scholars who’ve studied the period. You can have those too. And I’m well aware of its value, Mademoiselle LaRue, but you see, this holds only bad memories for me. My grandfather manipulated the former owner, bullied him into selling it really, for far less than it was worth. He then had the gall to brag about it. Greed is a terrible thing; it can turn men into monsters.” With a sad shrug he gazed out of the window into the distance. His grandfather sounded far too similar to Joshua for my liking. He continued, his voice soft: “This is a way to atone for what he did.”

I could understand his motivations, and thought that Andre was the kind of man the world needed more of. Someone not driven purely by money, or greed.

Quietly, he said, “I made some enquiries about who I should sell it to, and your name kept popping up. I know you’ll find the right home for it. And then it will be a chapter closed for me, and I would very much like that.”

I didn’t know what to say in the face of such generosity. “Merci, Andre, that’s very kind of you, and you have my word I’ll find it the perfect home. So, I’ll secure the Mollier, and call you once it’s done?” I was rendered silent once more by the fact people had spoken so highly of me, and that Andre was so pure of heart to make up for his grandfather’s shady deals.

“Oui.” His features softened. “Mollier was an inspiration to me. To own something as extraordinary as his very own concert cello would be an honor.”

Outside an old fluffy dog gave a halfhearted bark before settling onto one of the benches under a row of acacia trees. I turned back to Andre. “Wait until you hold it. It hasn’t lost its luster after all this time. There’s magic inside, I’m sure.”

Andre gave me a wide smile. “Let’s hope it stays there when I play, and doesn’t run away screaming.” He made a self-deprecating face. Enquiries I made about Andre suggested his talent was astonishing, but I could tell he was the humble type.

The mood had lightened and I hoped Andre would have some closure in his life, and be able to move forward. “I’m sure you’ll add another layer of magic too.”

We made the deal on a handshake and said our goodbyes. Andre walked me out into the fading light of the spring day to my waiting car. Dion was playing chauffeur today, and sat reading a newspaper, squinting against the gentle sun that shone through the windscreen.

I smiled, and gave Andre the customary French goodbye peck on both cheeks. “I’ll be in touch. Au revoir.”