Page 40 of The Little Shop on Silver Linings Street
‘There seems to be something about me that brings out the worst in you,’ he said, a slight twinkling of amusement in his eyes. ‘Or perhaps it’s the best… Are you always this argumentative?’
‘No, not usually,’ she said with a chastened smile.
Lawrence shrugged. ‘Must be me then.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I’m curious… When I asked what my dad dying had to do with anything, you replied, “Probably everything.” What did you mean?’
Daisy groaned. ‘I don’t know… Please, just ignore me. My mouth was clearly running away with me.’
But Lawrence’s look pinned her to the chair. ‘I don’t think it was,’ he replied. ‘Come on, tell me what you meant, I’m actually interested to know.’
She picked up the spoon that was sitting on a saucer beside her drink and buried it in the foamy mountain of cream that was oozing down the glass. ‘Let’s at least have breakfast first, shall we?’
She put the spoon in her mouth, praying that the steward would appear soon. She didn’t think she would ever be more happy to see a plateful of food in her life.
13
Friday 13th December
Twelve shopping days until Christmas
Daisy’s mouth hung open and they hadn’t even got inside the shop yet.
She was standing on the pavement, trying to take in the sheer spectacle of the window displays that seemed to run the entire length of the street. The decorations at Buchanans had always been her domain – under Bea’s direction of course, with the familiarNutcrackertheme – but it was always her responsibility to interpret Bea’s ideas and ensure that the displays looked as good as they could be. And up until now she thought she’d always done a good job. But these… these were another kind of display entirely.
‘Quite something, aren’t they?’ said Lawrence, standing by her side, an amused expression on his face. ‘I’ve already seen them of course, I came to the unveiling, but they’re quite magical.’
Daisy was utterly dumbstruck.
‘Of course, when you have the kind of budget these stores do, pretty much anything goes.’
She swept her eyes along the row of windows, marvelling at the incredible imagination and talent they displayed. Glamorous, intricate and executed like the finest works of art, they were on a level she’d never seen before but she dreaded to think how much they had cost. Despite their jaw-dropping quality, this fact made her feel slightly uneasy. It didn’t seem right somehow.
‘Shall we go inside?’ she said faintly.
Lawrence had obviously been there before, on many occasions. He dipped his head at the doorman and walked through the doors with absolute assurance while Daisy was feeling more and more like a fish out of water with every step, and struggling to keep up with Lawrence’s long stride. There was just so much to take in, so manythings, all leaping out at her, shouting their availability for purchase at the top of their shiny, sparkly lungs. She trailed after him in a daze as he steered them away to the right.
Daisy saw immediately why he had taken her this way first. In front of them lay the entrance to the fine jewellery room; acres and acres of gilt and glass, gleaming gold, marble and finely detailed panelling which surrounded a series of large glass cases. She clamped her lips together, not wanting to be seen with her mouth hanging open.
‘You might begin to see some similarities,’ said Lawrence as he led them through the hall.
Of course… how had she not seen it straight away? Albeit on a much smaller scale, and worlds apart in terms of grandeur, Buchanans was clearly modelled on this famous store. The deep blue cloth inside the cases was almost identical in colour, the panels beneath each of the glass cabinets was wrought with the same ornate scrollwork that looked like burnished metal, and even the gold banding set around the edge of the room was the same. It was very clever. She glanced across at Lawrence.
‘Your idea?’ she asked.
‘Of course, but with Mother’s approval, naturally. It fits with her aspirations and inclination towards the theatrical, and – you have to admit – it’s the most wonderful piece of marketing.’
Lawrence was surveying the room with undisguised pride.
‘But do you really think that any of our customers will even know that Buchanans is modelled on Harrods? I certainly didn’t.’
‘That hardly matters,’ replied Lawrence. ‘Those who do will have an appreciation of the finer things in life, and those who don’t will think, as you do presumably, that the decor is elegant and refined. Either way, if Harrods has chosen it to enhance the consumer experience and encourage sales, then it will work equally well for us.’
Daisy could see the logic, partly, but she didn’t entirely agree. It was true, she did think that the interior of Buchanans worked in some regards, but she had always assumed that it had been designed to fit the beautiful Georgian building that housed it. Now that she could see it wasn’t, she couldn’t help wishing that Buchanans had its own style, something that made it special in its own right. It could have so much more going for it – the very traditional jewels they sold were fine, but they only appealed to a particular type of shopper, and not everyone was the same. And of course there would be no room for her own jewellery in a setting like this. She suddenly felt very small; this was clearly not a world in which she belonged.
‘Pick something,’ said Lawrence, gesturing further into the room, but Daisy was rooted to the spot. She could feel the sales staff closing in.
‘No,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s cheating. I told you Bertie asked me the same thing, and I refused. The difference is that he was teasing.’
‘And I’m not?’
