Rebecca Raisin - The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower

The antique trade was still a bit of a men’s club despite halfhearted protests that it wasn’t. But it suited me just fine to be one of the token women. My presence was largely ignored. They didn’t see me as a threat, and I could go by unnoticed and savor the lots alone.

Today, while they clinked glasses, and told tall tales about their latest conquests in the world of antiques, I casually flounced out of view and into the auction room, ready to take my seat at the front.

I spotted Gustave, the security guard.

“Bonjour,” I said, holding my handbag to the side while we air kissed each cheek.

“Bonjour, Anouk,” Gustave replied, his brown face crinkling into a smile. He was a robust man, about late fifties, with a big heart. He’d been working here as long as I could remember, and often saved me a seat if I was running late.

Laughter rang out from the bar area. “They’re in fine form today,” Gustave said, raising an eyebrow.

“Half sozzled already?”

“Oui.” Gustave tutted. “Monsieur left the front door unlocked last week! Can you imagine? Had the gall to blame me.”

I inhaled sharply. “He left it unlocked?” Anyone could have walked in and scurried away with something valuable. Monsieur Cloutier in his old age was getting business mixed with pleasure, a mistake I vowed not to replicate. Hence the rule: no champagne when working. I had to keep a clear head and focus.

Life was all about appreciating the steamy pah of escaped air as you broke into a twice-cooked soufflé deflating its cheesy goodness, and pairing it with a wine and languishing over lunch with friends. But not during work time.

“Not fair on you, Gustave. Let’s hope he doesn’t make that mistake again.”

Gustave rocked on his heels, and smiled. “He won’t. I’m barreling him out when my shift finishes each day, and locking it myself, but I’m not here all the time. There’s a lull between security staff; the place is empty for an hour, so I’ve asked him to rectify that. Just in case.”

“You heard about the robberies, then?”

His eyes clouded. Gustave loved the auction house like it was his own, so he followed industry news. Monsieur Cloutier was lucky to have such a loyal employee, especially as age crept up on him, and made him forgetful. Age or champagne, that is.

“Terrible.” He nodded. “And we don’t need to make it any easier by being lax with security.”

“Oui.” I felt a shiver, as if I was being watched. I turned, surprised to see the American standing behind me. He’d been out the front of my shop, at Andre’s estate, and now here. I didn’t like it – it meant he was on my trail and that usually implied he was after my contacts. I hadn’t heard him approach on the noisy wooden floors. Had he eavesdropped on our conversation? I’d hate for anyone to know about the door being accidentally left unlocked, especially a stranger. He must’ve had ties with someone to be here, though, and that meant trouble.

“It’s you,” he said, appraising me coolly.

“Excusez-moi?” I said in faux surprise as if I didn’t recognize him. His azure blue eyes twinkled, and he thrust his hands in his pockets and took a step closer. In response, I folded my arms and stuck out my chin. Who did he think he was?

“It’s you. The girl who everyone talks about. You’re famous, you know.”

“Me?” I stumbled slightly on my heels, put on the spot by such a thing. I wondered if the ‘everyone’ he was referring to were talking about the Joshua disaster. It’d taken months for the speculation to die down, but it cropped up now and again. I remained poised, adopting a haughty expression as if his presence bored me. “I hardly think so.”

He grinned, Cheshire cat like. “Humble, too, I see.”

“Is that all, Monsieur…?”

“Black.”

His smile slid into a smirk, showing his even, white teeth. He had a strong jawline, and was classically handsome in that all-star American way. He ran a hand through the neat blond of his hair.

“Well if that’s all, Monsieur Black, I’ll be taking my seat…” I said over my shoulder, as I walked across the shiny wooden floor to the front row seat I favored. It gave me the perfect view of the antiques on offer, as well as good visibility to the auctioneer. The American followed me and stood just in front of the stage.

I surveyed him as I sat. His clothes fit like they were tailor-made, his shoes shone like they’d never been worn before – even his nails were manicured. Rich playboy with too much time on his hands. A rich American playboy at that, which meant goodbye antiques. He’d probably ship them to somewhere where there was too much humidity for their moderate French wood, letting them buckle and bow, and another masterpiece would be scarred for its lifetime.

“Mind if I join you?” he said, indicating the empty chair beside me.

I clenched my jaw. “It’s a free country.” I didn’t like anyone to see how I bid, or what I was interested in. It was better to remain incognito if possible, but sitting right next to me he’d be able to ascertain what I wanted.

“Great.” He let my jibe sail past, as if he hadn’t heard, and sat. There was something about him I didn’t trust. He’d obviously been following my tracks too closely for comfort. And I didn’t buy the innocent act: oh it’s you. Please.

“I’ve got my heart set on something magnificent,” he said. I gathered the swell of my skirt, and tucked it, facing away from him.

“Wonderful,” I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm. Better he know I was disinterested by his presence.

“The cello,” he said. “Have you seen it? It’s magnificent.” I turned back to him, my heart sinking. He gave me such a penetrating stare it took all my might not to react. Surely Andre wouldn’t have asked him to secure it for the scroll too? Instinctively I knew this stranger was trying to unsettle me. I toyed with telling him to back off, but maybe playing it down would be better with a man like him. They thrived on competition, and it would only encourage him if I acted irritated. He didn’t say the Mollier cello though. I quickly scanned the lots in front, recognizing a German cello… Fingers crossed he meant that one.

I changed tack. “This is an exclusive auction house, Monsieur Black. Were you invited here?” I gave him a chilly stare, but he didn’t cower. His smile widened, flashing those too-white teeth of his.

“Of course I was invited.” He winked. I stifled a groan. They were all the same these young, handsome Americans. They thought a wink here, a slow saucy smile there would be enough to weave their way into a woman’s embrace… Well this belle fille wouldn’t be so silly ever again.

“I see what you’re doing, you know,” I said. “And it’s not working.” His attempt to ruffle me was transparent. But my main concern was the cello. I’d promised Andre I’d secure it, and now this imposter was in my way. “This is a very select circle, so watch your step. It wouldn’t take much to have you…barred.”

His lips twitched but he was saved from answering as the crowd wandered in, their chatter accompanying heavy footsteps. I hadn’t seen Monsieur Black on the circuit before. And he was American so there was less chance he was related to someone here, maybe my bluff would make him think twice.

I made a show of saying, “Bonjour, it’s a lovely day for an auction.” A collector I knew took a seat beside me. Raphe shot me a puzzled look, knowing I kept silent when an auction was about to begin and usually ignored everyone so I could watch them behind my sunglasses, Audrey Hepburn style.

“Everything OK, Anouk?” Raphe frowned, perplexed over my effusive greeting. I hadn’t uttered a single word to him before, usually nodding a greeting, or giving a small wave. My striking up a conversation in an auction room had him surveying me as if I’d partaken of too many glasses of champagne.