“The 1780s?” she asked hopefully.
He cleared his throat and laid the tray on a side table. “The 1980s.” He must have seen her face fall because he added, “It’s still vintage, though. There’s a huge market for vintage.”
“The 1980s is vintage? That can’t be right, I was born in the eighties and I consider myself as only at the beginning of my voyage to female enlightenment—I can’t be vintage!”
Duncan chuckled, whether at her or with her she couldn’t be sure. He looked uncomfortable in the large chair, as though he was both too big for it and at the same time being swallowed by it. He went back to making notes about the vase, picking it up, turning it, and then resting it back on the table and making more notes.
“How long have you been an appraiser?” she asked, perching herself on the chair next to him. The chairs were still arranged as they had been last night; the smell of burning dust from the gas heater lingered.
“Well, I studied for my master’s at the Sotheby’s Institute of Art and from there I was taken on by Sotheby’s. I’ve been in this role for about ten years.”
“I can’t imagine being so qualified.”
“That’s a strange thing to say.”
“Is it?”
“Most people are qualified in something, aren’t they?” He looked up from his notes.
“I’m not. I mean, I’ve worked in lots of different jobs, but I don’t feel particularly qualified for any of them.”
“There’s a lot of training for this work, and you pretty much never stop learning, which works for me because I get bored quickly.”
“Do you?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Well, I get bored quickly too, only I look like the type of person who would get bored quickly.”
“And what do I look like?”
“Someone who enjoys concentrating.”
“So . . . boring.”
“Not necessarily.”
Duncan frowned. “I’m giving off concentration vibes. I mean, that’s not exactly setting the world alight, is it?”
“Trust me, burning your world to the ground is not as exciting as it sounds.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.” He was looking at her in the same way he had been studying the vase. She didn’t know if she liked being appraised. “You come across like someone in control of their destiny.”
“Are any of us in control of our destiny, really?” he asked.
“Maybe not, but you seem like you’d have a better chance of choosing your own fate than most.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“What happens if you get bored?” She was curious.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you go wild and tear up the town, or do you flop about like a slug?”
“I don’t know that I do either. I get restless, I suppose. That’s why I knit; it occupies me. What do you do?”
“I make unwise choices,” she said, and was rewarded with him raising a quizzical eyebrow. “But I’m trying to make changes on that front. I’m trying to be less impulsive, to stick at things rather than moving on when they get tricky. Would you teach me to knit?”
“Yes, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, I would like. That’s two things you’re going to teach me, now we need to think of something I can teach you.”
Duncan smiled. “Perhaps you could show me how to look less like my superpower is concentration.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, though she was beginning to hope that some of his focus would rub off on her. “Right, well, I’m going to start hunting for a strongbox.”
“I thought you were going to clean the silver.”
“Oh, yes. You see, short attention span. When I’m bored of looking for the strongbox, I’ll clean the silver.”
“Deal.” Duncan smiled at her, and she returned it. They stayed that way for just a little too long, as though they each had an inkling that they’d found a friend.
16
The grocer’s was quiet when Maggie got back from the solicitors’。 Joe was creating a bounteous display of fresh produce in the window. He smiled knowingly when he saw her.
“Still suffering?” he inquired.
“I think it was the whisky that pushed me over the edge. I may never be the same again.”
“The shop’s been very busy. Lots of people popping in for ‘just a few bits’ and ‘just wondering what that business was about outside North Novelties & Curios last night.’？” He gave her a wry smile. “And apparently there were ‘high spirits’ in the early hours.”
She grimaced. “My singing voice has been likened to mating foxes.”
“I’d have gone with coyotes myself.”
She laughed half-heartedly.
“How did you get on with Vanessa?” he asked.
“We gave her the houses; she gave us a key to an elusive strongbox. God, I feel like death.”
“What if there was something I could do to take your mind off it?”
She managed a half smile. “I’m not sure I’m up to it.”
Joe put the parsnips down, flicked the sign on the door round to Closed, pulled down the blinds, and latched the door. He walked determinedly toward her. Instinctively she took a step backward and found her back against the wall. She ought to at least attempt to protest that it wasn’t good business to close the shop willy-nilly and she really did feel dreadfully hungover, but those thoughts were fleeting, and her body was already in full agreement with Joe’s plan. Her pulse spiked; she squeezed her thighs together in delicious anticipation. He had that look in his eyes, the flash of something dark that took her breath away and brought heat to her cheeks. It was a look that made her forget everything.
“Sometimes,” he said, his voice low as he took her by the wrists and pulled her arms above her head, “you need to counteract one strong feeling with a more powerful sensation to cancel it out.”
* * *
“How’s your hangover?” he asked, his face buried in her hair.
“Cured.” Maggie smiled dreamily.
He pulled away, sweeping her curls off her face and tracing his finger along her jaw. He kissed her softly, his sweetness returned. Maggie enjoyed all the sides of Joe. The attentive, tender lover and the one who could apparently shag a hangover right out of her.
As they put themselves back together, she knew that her cheeks were red from more than just the exertions of the last fifteen minutes. She was embarrassed at her own wantonness. It had been a long time since she’d been so brazen, maybe not since Josh. With Joe, she felt able to embrace all the facets of herself, not just the parts she felt were palatable to others, and that notion both pleased and frightened her at the same time.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said sheepishly.
“You can’t buy that remedy at the pharmacy.” She couldn’t suppress her smile. “Is it a tried and tested treatment?”
His laugh was soft and low. “A gentleman never cures and tells.”
“Fair enough.” The sharp scratch of jealousy caught her off guard. She had no right to it.