Page 16 of Pervade London
“I’m not surprised, considering it sold for a couple of million.”
“Pounds?”
“No, breadsticks.” He looked over my shoulder. “Are you with the other gentleman who visited after my client left?”
“Who was your client?”
He smiled. “Bravo.”
I smirked at my cheekiness. “Who was the man who came after?”
“Didn’t leave a name.”
I turned and peered out the window with a sigh.
“It was a private sale,” he said. “Details sealed.”
“Was his name Xander?”
“Sealed, as in private.”
“Can you at least give the buyer a message?”
He folded his arms.
I had to wonder if Xander had actually left no way of being contacted.
“Consider this an official report,” I told him, snapping the case shut.
He dragged his fingers over his mouth as though thinking this through. “If the owner returns—”
“He knows where I live.”
“Take care of that violin.” His bushy eyebrows rose with a hint of condescension. “You have something special, young lady.”
I raised the case for dramatic effect. “Circa 1645 to 1750 there was a little ice age. During that time tree growth slowed resulting in unusually dense wood. Boom, you get a violin with superior sound.”
“True. The wood was also meant to come from cathedrals.”
“Debunked.”
He nodded, impressed. “You know your violins.”
“I do, and it’s a shame after talking to you I don’t know more.”
I headed for the door, having failed miserably to get Xander’s contact info.
“Miss? I never caught your name.”
I stopped and looked back. “Emily Rampling.”
“Sounds like that violin was destined to find you, Emily.” His eyes lit up with a smile.
“Not sure about that.”
“Someone obviously thinks so.”
I glanced past him to the back wall. The old black and white photos hanging in fancy frames revealed Charles Bisbee’s passion for instruments. Knowing we had this interest in common, I shared a look of understanding with him before heading out.
