Page 22 of Arranging Ayra
“Essentially a magazine rack... or for sheet music. Any antique store is sure to have one.”
“Oh. Okay. And what about... Delftware. Now, what in the world is that?”
He smiled. “Essentially china with that pretty blue pattern.”
“Oh, yeah. I know what you mean.” I continued to look at my list, hoping to stump him. “Here’s one. What’s a Calmette?”
He chuckled. “Ah, yes. Essentially, that is a very ornate vase.”
“Youessentiallyknow your stuff,” I said, playfully teasing his repeated use of the word.
He turned to frown, not understanding my little joke. “You can’t grow up in England without knowing those things,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Really?”
He shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know, really. But my mum just loves antiques, so I learned a few things along the way.”
“Well, either way. I’m sure you’ll be a big help.”
We came to the outskirts of town, and I spotted a equestrian shop. “Can you pull in here?”
“Riding?”
“Yes. It’s for your scene riding through the fields, remember?”
“Right you are.” He pulled up in front of the shop. “Good thing I came along with you then. I’m quite particular about the saddle I set my arse in.”
I let out a laugh as I got out of the car. Not only was he so damned good looking, but he had a sense of humor, too.
We spent over an hour in the shop sitting his ‘arse’ down in virtually every saddle they had before he finally found one he liked.
“A riding crop would be nice.”
“It’s not on my list.”
“I’m sure Keely will approve.”
“You do know that we’re on a tight budget.”
He looked at me with big pleading eyes.
“Okay, fine. If we don’t need it, we can always bring it back.”
We loaded the saddle and riding crop into the back of his truck and got back on the road. But we didn’t have to go far. Just around the corner was a huge antique shop.
“You’re going to love this place,” Barn said as he pulled up.
Just seeing the window display was enough to convince me that I would find everything I needed right here. Antique dressers and interesting lamps and gorgeous picture frames beckoned us in.
I pushed open the heavy door and a bell rang overhead as we entered the shop.
“Hello,” an elderly gentleman called out as he came towards us. “I’m Winston Harold, the shop owner. Are you looking for something in particular?”
I pulled out my lengthy list and handed it to him. “I certainly would appreciate your assistance, Mr. Harold.”
“Oh,” he said as he perused the list. “Now, that’s an interesting array of items.”
“We’re in the process of filming the movie version ofPride and Prejudice.”
