3

3

Fen took the medal into work with him the next day. He had a feeling the driver of the car was going to come in search of it. The moment Fen stepped through the door, Charles pounced and Fen jumped. "Priority for you is cleaning up that revolving bookcase. I've got someone interested."

That was quick, considering yesterday Charles supposedly hadn't wanted it. But Fen said, "Okay," because adding anything else would get him into trouble. He hung up his coat and put on his apron. "Morning, Alistair."

"Morning, Fen," Alistair called from the other side of the workroom.

Fen had learnt all he knew about the antique business, including repair and restoration, from Alistair, Charles' younger brother. After he'd left school at eighteen, Fen had struggled to find work, and not stuck at any job for very long, until Alistair had offered him an apprenticeship. For the last three years, Fen had worked for him and Charles, and for the last year, Alistair had been going out with Fen's mother. Fen had been a bit unsure about that at first but Alistair had reassured him that even if he and Fen's mum didn't last, the job would. Though Fen suspected depending on the way they broke up, it probably wouldn't.

Alistair was kind and Charles was not. Alistair never lost his temper. He was patient, fun and had a great sense of humour. Charles ordered, demanded, complained and shouted. Alistair worshipped Fen's mum so that made him a good guy, though Alistair didn't cope well with illness, in himself or anyone else, and he backed away from confrontations, which meant Charles got away with too much.

Scott had come to work in the business two years ago. Under duress, from what Fen understood. Fen had only caught snippets of conversations, but Scott had left university without graduating. ‘Asked to leave' was what Fen understood. Scott was an arsehole. He was lazy and a liar. He was supposed to be learning the business, but the only time he showed any enthusiasm was when money was mentioned, or if any attractive women came into the shop. Scott's day comprised of flirting with Tara or Vicki, depending on which of them was working, messing around on his phone, more than likely gambling, and occasionally wafting a duster around when his dad was watching.

After Charles had left the workshop, Alistair came over to Fen. "It's a nice bookcase."

"Charles said he wanted the lot below in the catalogue, not this."

Alistair tsked. "There's no pleasing him." He ran his hand over the top. "Rosewood with satin birch cross banding. It's well made."

"Revolves well too, considering its age." Fen rotated it on the casters.

"I don't think it needs too much work. Though replacing the broken slat will be tricky. Want a hand lifting it up?"

"Please." Fen put his crutch to one side and between them, they lifted the bookcase onto his work table and laid it on its side.

Alistair went back to the old chair he was recovering and Fen pulled on his gloves, partly because it was cold, partly because he didn't want to dirty his fingers. He wondered about asking Alistair's opinion on what to do about the things he'd bought yesterday, whether he should give them back. Though hadn't he already made up his mind? He needed to call the auction house and find out for certain if that man had been telling the truth about the lot being withdrawn.

The first thing Fen did was to wipe the bookcase with mineral spirits, which gave the impression of it having had a coat of clear varnish. It showed whether there were any imperfections needing to be dealt with. Not every blemish had to be blended away. They were part of the piece's history and gave it character. This bookcase looked pretty good for its age. Fen gave it a scrub with a sponge using a vegetable-based oil soap and warm water, then spent some time removing ingrained dirt with a toothbrush and tooth pick.

He wiped it down again and left it to dry while he searched for a piece of rosewood to make a new slat. He couldn't take the whole thing apart to put another in, so he'd have to find a way to gouge out enough space, top or bottom, preferably top, to slip it into place. It needed to be a tight fit. The discovery of a strip of wood that might work made him happy, and he took it over to compare to the one he'd removed. Not bad. Now he had to make it identical.

That afternoon, Alistair had gone out and Fen was still working on the bookcase when Scott came in from the shop. "There's some dude asking for you."

Fen pushed himself up from his stool. Since the only person who ever came to the shop and asked for him was his mother, he could guess who this might be. He took off his apron and gloves and pulled down the sleeves of his sweater. He glanced at his crutch, thought about leaving it behind, but then grabbed it.

He was right about the identity of the man. He was half-turned away from him, but Fen recognised his hair. He was tall, over six feet, quite a bit taller than Fen, and wearing a dark grey, three-quarter length Crombie coat. His side profile was… Fen gulped. Do not let yourself fancy him. The guy was staring into the cabinet of Oriental curiosities, which happened to contain Fen's favourite items in the entire shop.

Once Fen reached his side, he cleared his throat. "Kintsugi ware. The globe has been repaired with lacquer mixed with powdered gold. The imperfections make the object unique."

The man turned to look at him and his dark eyes widened in surprise. Why was he surprised? What was different about Fen from yesterday? He no longer looked like a drowned rat?

"Do I know you from somewhere?" the man asked, his expression now calm and watchful.

"Puddle? Car? Forgotten already?"

"Not that. I didn't get a clear look at your face yesterday. You look familiar."

Fen didn't know why. He'd have recalled this guy, he was sure. But he felt as if he was being mapped, placed in some file for future use. He had to fight not to swallow hard as an irrational surge of lust blocked his throat. That level of interest didn't come over him very often, and Fen strangled, then stamped down on it. Forget it. He's not interested in me. He'd never be interested in me. Fen could still ogle though, and maybe try to impress him with his knowledge.

"The art ofkintsugiis linked to the Japanese philosophy ofwabi-sabi, which focusses on the acceptance of imperfection, things not lasting forever and the beauty found in simplicity. Imperfect beauty has always been praised in Japan. Sometimes repaired pieces are more valuable for their history than for what they actually are. The Japanese have made an art of appreciating the beauty in almost anything and embracing imperfection. I think it's a great philosophy."

"Even if it's something ugly?"

Fen's heart faltered. Does he mean me? "Ugly to one person can be beautiful to another. There's too much made of perfection. The Japanese principle is that if something broken can be repaired, then it can be useful again. Striving for faultlessness only leads to stress. Things don't have to be perfect."

"Hmm." He glanced at Fen's crutch.

Fen felt himself shrinking. He thought about challenging him for the look he'd given his crutch. Fen might be able to appreciate this man's beauty, but beneath it, he was as cold and hard as steel. But maybe he was seeing something that hadn't been there. Fen was still touchy about having to walk with an aid. It was a reminder about the future he'd rather ignore.

"In an age of mass production, the ability to celebrate imperfect things is something to be praised." Fen still wanted him to see the point. "Fragments of disappointment can be transformed into something different, something to admire. Something might not be quite what you expected but as time passes, you might change your mind. To me, this globe is beautiful. It's strong and different. It's not a useful object in one way but it demonstrates resilience and persistence. It's a thing of beauty to the person who repaired it and hopefully to the person who buys it. It can teach us a lesson. Don't be too quick to judge."

Fen met the guy's gaze and didn't look away. Still going to be a dickhead?

"That box of items…" the man said.

"That you want back." Fen had called the auction house earlier and been told they'd given this guy the address of the shop. "How do I know you weren't late arriving at the auction, missed bidding for them and you're trying it on?"

He stared at him so intently, Fen felt like a bug under a microscope.

"It isn't the case."

"So you say."

"The auction house was very helpful. They gave me your name. Fen Wood. And told me you work here."

Fen wasn't sure that was either ethical or legal, but what could he do now?

"I can see from your face how you feel about that, but the box is very important to me. I know exactly how much you paid. So my offer of a hundred pounds was fair."

Not if Fen was going to get awkward about how much the medal was worth. A George Cross could be worth thousands of pounds, maybe tens of thousands. "Not necessarily. What's your name?"

"Ripley Belmont."

Fen gave a quiet sigh. Right. So the medal most likely belonged to him. "What relationship are you to Russell Belmont?"

"He was my grandfather. Why?"

Why suggested he didn't know about the medal, though Fen still wouldn't keep it. He had it in a zipped pocket inside his coat.

"How did the box come to be at the auction?" Fen asked.

"My mother…made a mistake. I got everything else removed from sale: a side table, gramophone, chairs, punchbowl and so on, but the box of bits and pieces slipped through."

That explained all those lots being missing. "Okay. Wait here a moment, please."

He turned to go back to the workroom and saw Scott and Vicki standing by the counter, listening. Fen retrieved the medal then went back into the shop. Charles was in there too now.

"If you bought the lot fair and square, you don't have to give it back," Scott whispered as Fen went past.

Fen ignored him and stopped in front of the guy. "You can take this with you now. I don't have the rest of the things here."

He took the medal from Fen with a sigh. "I had no idea that was in there."

"It was in a wooden box. No key but I was able to get inside without damaging it. If you'd like to come tomorrow, I'll bring the box and the rest of the things."

The man put the medal in his pocket, turned and started to walk away.

Fen frowned. "I don't even get a thanks?"

He'd said it quietly, but the man turned. "What?"

"I didn't have to give it you," Fen said. "I bought it fair and square. Legally, it's mine. I could have kept it. Sold it. I know it's worth a lot of money. But I gave it back to you. You could have at least said thank you. It's rude not to."

Charles rushed up behind him, flapping his arms, looking like a bellowing dragon. "Fen! How dare you speak to a customer like that. Apologise at once."

"He's not a customer," Fen said.

There was a moment's pause before the man spoke. "I'd like to buy the blue kintsugi globe."

When he took out his wallet, Fen scowled.

"Now I am a customer." He offered Fen an American Express credit card.

"I'll take that." Charles stepped forward. He had what passed for his version of a smile on his face. Fen had always wondered if he'd looked up how to smile in a self-help book.

"I want Fen to handle the sale."

Charles backed off, but hissed, "Apologise, Fen!" under his breath as he passed.

The silence stretched and stretched.

"Fen!" Charles snapped.

Fen exhaled. He kept his voice low. "I'm so sorry for pointing out you seemed rather ungrateful for my offer to return the items I paid for. You must have said thank you so quietly that I missed it. I'm sorry my hearing isn't more acute. I clearly need to go and have it tested."

The guy gaped at him, then gave a loud laugh. "Take the card."

Fen plucked it from his fingers. Then he had to get the globe out of the locked cabinet and carry it over to the desk while still holding the credit card. He was relieved when he and the globe made it to the counter in one piece.

"Are you sure you want it?" Fen asked. "It's broken."

He could almost hear Charles grinding his teeth behind him.

"And repaired, as you explained. Yes, I still want it. Beauty in imperfection. I did listen to what you said."

Fen lowered his voice even further. "Are you trying to do me a favour because the word sorry isn't in your vocabulary? I don't get commission."

"I'm buying it because I like it. You're right. It's a lesson in not being quick to judge. I know better."

Now Fen wished he'd not mentioned commission. He wished he'd not said any of it, but that ship had sailed, disappeared over the horizon, fallen off the edge of the world.

"Make sure you don't drop it." Fen was talking to himself but the man let out a low chuckle.

"Do they usually let you loose on the public?"

"Hopefully, never again." Fen carefully wrapped the globe in bubble wrap, putting on far too much tape. Have fun opening that, dickhead! He put it in a Winn Brothers Antique Dealers and Restorers paper carrier, then turned the card reader and pushed it across the counter. "If you could check the amount and insert your card, please sir."

Fen admired the long fingers and manicured nails. Even though Fen did his best to protect his hands, his fingernails weren't tidy. Those Cartier cufflinks, currently dazzling him, probably cost as much as the globe. He kept his eyes down. He'd been rude. He knew he had. He'd been in the right at first, well, at least held the moral high ground, except now he looked petty and mean-spirited.

"Thank you," Fen said when the guy turned the card reader around. "Sorry if I was rude. Your grandfather was very brave. I looked up why he was awarded the medal." He risked looking up to see the man staring at him in a way that made Fen's gaydar zing. You're gay. At least, I think you are.

"Yes, he was."

What? Fen had lost track of the conversation.

"Thank you for returning the medal."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Keep your mouth shut, Fen! "It gets easier the more you say it. Slips out more smoothly, as though it's second nature. Tip of the day from me—saying please and thank you makes it more likely you'll get what you want."

Even me. Maybe. Oh look, an imaginary bull charged into the shop and nothing got damaged. Fen had many sayings that meant the same as pigs might fly. He needed a whole lot more to remind him to keep his thoughts to himself. Loose lips sink ships. Apt in the wrong way.

"I'm sorry. I was too busy thinking the medal might have been lost and I wouldn't have known where."

Sorry had been said, now guilt pounced. So maybe the man wasn't a complete arsehole. Just a bit of one.

"Tell you what," the bit-of-an-arsehole said in a quiet voice. "Meet me for a drink tonight. Bring everything then. Give me your phone."

Fen bristled at the tone but still found himself handing it over.

"I'll let you know where and when." He handed back the phone and left the shop.

Why the hell would I want to meet you for a drink? Except he did want to. Take every opportunity offered. That was what Fen had told himself the moment he'd been informed his life had gone off track. Think twice before he said no.

"What was all that about?" Charles barked. "How dare you speak to a customer in that way! What on earth were you thinking? Have you gone insane?"

"He wanted a lot I bought at the auction. It should have been withdrawn with some others, a number of which you wanted. I found a George Cross inside a wooden box. I called the auction house earlier and they told me they'd given him this address. I knew he'd come. The only reason he bought the globe was to irritate me."

Charles rolled his eyes so dramatically, Fen wondered if his pupils would disappear. "People don't spend hundreds of pounds on the spur of the moment to irritate someone." He didn't say the words like you but Fen heard them and he thought that was exactly what the guy had done because it had worked. Fen was now irritated for all sorts of reasons. One of which was a globe he loved was now in the hands of someone who wouldn't love it anywhere near as much as Fen did.

Fen spent the rest of the day rerunning the conversation with…Ripley, trying to read more into it than there was. Part of him wanted to text and tell Ripley to come to the shop tomorrow to get the rest of his stuff because why should Fen have to make the effort?

But he asked me for a drink.

Which was merely a thanks for Fen being amenable. Nothing more.

Do I want it to be more?

Why was he even bothering? This man was so far out of his league, he might as well have been on another planet and not one in this solar system.

But when the text message BarCalypso Covent Garden 7.00 arrived, Fen was way more excited than he should have been. Forget that it was a trek for him to get there and he had to carry all that stuff, Ripley hadn't needed to ask him for a drink but he had.

I am officially an idiot.

Fen had finished the revolving bookcase by mid-afternoon and asked Alistair to check it over.

"Can you tell which slat is new?" Fen was really pleased with the job he'd done. He'd found the perfect colour match for the stain.

Alistair looked at it carefully, spun the unit three times and shook his head. "I can't tell. Well done. Want a hand lifting it down?"

"Please."

Fen went to tell Charles it was ready, then returned to one of the jobs he'd been doing before the bookcase had been deemed a priority. He was repairing the model of a cargo ship, something made by a German prisoner of war who'd been held at a camp in the UK. Alistair had bought it for forty quid in a house sale and Charles reckoned he was going to be able to ask over two hundred pounds when it was restored. Maybe more ifyou don't bollocks it up. Fen chewed his cheeks. Charles always had to say something nasty.

His mother phoned just before he was due to leave work.

"Hi, Mum."

"You all right, sweetheart?"

"Fine, thank you." He never said anything different regardless of how he felt.

"Can you come for dinner on Sunday. Something I need to tell you."

"It's not…bad news, is it?" His heart gave a heavy thump.

"No, don't worry. Come as early as you like."