Page 13 of Fe
Ripley ordered wine. “How did you get into the antiques business?”
“I’d tried all sorts of things and it turned out to be something I could do. But I don’t like the haggling, buying and selling. I prefer repair and restoration. Only minor restoration though. No one’s going to let me get my hands on anything really valuable.”
“And you like Japanese ceramics?”
“I like what’s in that cabinet. The netsuke, lacquerware, Kokeshi dolls, kintsugi ware, little bowls—especially if they have fish on them.”
“Have you ever been to Japan?”
“I’ve not even got a passport.”
The guy arrived with the wine, then another waiter came to take their order.
“Did you really like the globe?” Fen asked when they were alone again.
“Do I strike you as someone who’d pay six hundred pounds for something he didn’t like?”
“No. But then I don’t know you. Not really. I can guess a little but…” The moment he’d said that, he wished he hadn’t because he knew what was going to come now.
“What impression do you have of me?”
Fen had walked into the trap, now he had to climb out of it and not mention the wordgay. “You’re focussed, driven, single-minded and in a job that requires you to wear designer suits. I have no idea what you do for a living. Maybe you run your own company or you could be a plastic surgeon.”
Ripley gave nothing away.
“You have expensive tastes. Cartier cufflinks. Crombie coat. You don’t like being called out on anything… Me saying you should have thanked me, in particular, though I didn’t intend for you to hear so you obviously have the hearing of a bat.”
Ripley chuckled. “That’s been said before.”
“You like good food and are prepared to pay well for it. You drink expensive wine. I’m guessing it is anyway. Please don’t tell me how much it was or I might not be able to drink it. You drive an expensive car recklessly through puddles, but you can also afford a driver. You’re pissed off with your mother and for some reason that as yet escapes me, I interest you.”
Should I have said that last part? Or any of it?
Ripley twirled his wine glass in his fingers. “I do find you interesting.”
Fen took a sip of wine for something to do with his mouth other than mutter inane comments. Except he couldn’t help himself. “Why?”
“You’re a little like a piece of kintsugi. Damaged—hence the crutch, but strong and not broken. Maybe more beautiful for all of that.”
Fen knew his jaw had dropped. “What—what do you do for a living?”Poet?
“I’m a barrister.”
Nowhere near a poet but someone who was good with words.
“Not tempted to tell me I’m well dressed for someone who works in a coffee shop?”
“More tempted to tell you that you shouldn’t tell bad jokes and insult my intelligence. Barista has the emphasis on theis, whereas barrister has the emphasis on the doubler. I was thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea to argue with you. Though you wouldn’t be arguing, would you? You’d be explaining why you were right. You must be a nightmare to live with.”
Ripley laughed and his face lit up. Fen wished he’d laugh more often because it made him look human. Well, a friendlier type of alien. He wished he dare take a picture.
“Do you live with your mum?” Fen asked.
“She found me a nightmare to live with.”
“I don’t believe you. Mums never think that about sons.”
But the slight shadow crossing Ripley’s face made Fen wonder.
