Please Don't Stop The Music by Jane Lovering Read Free Book Online

blobbery things that
never go anywhere and have to have the TV on for
company.’
    I
was about to laugh when I saw the shiny glimmer of tears in her
eyes. ‘I’ll ask him. But don’t hold your breath.’ I stood up.
‘Better get on. You know what Saskia always says about the early
bird –’
    ‘ Yeah, it gets eaten by the even earlier cat.’
    ‘ Quite.’
    * *
*
    It
felt strange to be heading into town without Harry but it was a
damn sight faster. I found myself standing outside Le Petit Lapin
just as Saskia’s assistant Mairi was putting the blinds up and
unlocking the front door.
    ‘ Is
Saskia in yet?’ I asked.
    Mairi paused to consider the question. She was a stunningly
lovely girl, slim as a young tree and with hair so unreasonably
shiny that I was convinced it was nylon. What she wasn’t, however,
was particularly bright.
    ‘ Well, she was going over to the Harrogate shop first thing,’
was her final and very considered answer. ‘But I heard someone
moving about in the back.’
    ‘ Could be ghosts.’ I squinted through the trendily dark
windows to see whether Saskia still had any of my pieces on
display.
    ‘ You
think so? You hear so many stories, don’t you, about these old
buildings? Across the road there, they swear they’ve got plague
victims buried in the garden.’ Mairi followed me up the step and
into the shop. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I saw a ghost. What
would you do, Jemima?’
    ‘ I’d
probably try to sell it something,’ I muttered, looking around the
new improved interior of Le Petit Lapin. Saskia had swept away the
hanging displays and the little cluttered corners which had been
ideal for browsing. Instead a few choice examples of what I
supposed must be native art stood in the centre of the floor
reflected in long mirrors. I stared and wondered which long-term
institution the manufacturers were natives of.
    ‘ Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Saskia swept into view. The mirrors
reflected her too; it was like being surrounded by Lucrezia Borgia.
‘It’s called “Femininity”.’
    I
looked closer at the largest item. ‘It’s a twig.’
    Saskia flipped her hair. ‘That remark just shows how little
you understand about Art, Jemima. That is a central representation
of the essential core of womanhood. It’s American.’
    ‘ Right.’ I stared a bit longer. ‘Americans must be very
different, if that’s their essential core. Looks like a bit of old
firewood. Are they flammable generally, Americans?’
    Saskia turned her back and began fussing with a small glass
case containing what looked like a phial of urine. ‘Did you want
something Jemima? Mairi darling, put the machine on would you, I’m
absolutely dying for an espresso.’
    I
made the sign of the cross behind her back but she didn’t crumble
to dust as I was hoping. ‘I was just wondering if you’d thought any
more about carrying on selling my jewellery.’ Even I could hear the
note of desperation. ‘You must be able to find somewhere to put it.
Now you’ve got all this space. Or, you could stock it over in
Harrogate, I wouldn’t mind travelling over there with stuff, if you
wanted.’
    ‘ Jemima.’ Saskia looked up at the ceiling. ‘Take a teeny tiny
peek around you. What do you see?’
    ‘ Space. Loads of it.’
    ‘ And?’
    ‘ And
a twig.’
    Saskia spun around. ‘Shall I tell you what
you can see, Jemima? Shall I? Class, that is what it is. Class,
exclusivity, rare items available only to the discerning purchaser.
Now while I admit that your pieces are lovely, they are a little –
oh how to put this to cause the least offence? – they are a
little obvious .
Darling.’ she added as though the endearment would make me less
likely to want to kill her. ‘Mairi, do we still have any of those
invitations to our official re-opening?’
    Mairi tippytoed forwards on her immaculate little feet.
‘There’s still a pile here,’ she pointed out helpfully. ‘And over
here.’
    ‘ Right.’ Saskia pulled a