Amorous Goods: Seen in Sepia

"Hi, are you Vikki?" the blonde opened with a disarming smile, continuing when Vikki nodded, "I'm Charlie. My card."

Charlie's accent was a little strange, and it took Vikki a moment to place it: a working-class London girl who'd been sent to the best schools, which suggested a lottery win or a crime family. Handing out a card was a little antiquated, but Vikki looked at the white rectangle that told her she was conversing with Charlotte Knight, and gave her phone number and email. Though interestingly, there was no suggestion of an occupation.

"So, what can I do for you," said Vikki, not that keen to be talking to a stranger.

"It's a bit difficult, actually. Sorry to pry, but have you had any dealings with a Dylan McKenzie?"

Vikki didn't feel inclined to answer that question so she didn't, but her silence spoke for her.

"I thought so. Well, he's a charming sod, I'll give him that." Charlie paused before continuing, "look, I don't really want to talk on the street. Could I buy you a coffee?"

Vikki was mildly curious despite herself, and the last few days had been full of new surprises so what was one more? There was a coffee shop on the main road, around the corner, but she couldn't help glancing down at her dirty clothes, stained and dusty. Charlie picked up on her reticence.

"You look fine, bo-ho style," she said with a smile, "with your looks they won't be looking at your clothes anyway. I expect you're beating them off with a stick. Get's tiring, doesn't it?"

Which it probably did for Charlie but for Vikki it was an alien concept, as it often is for introverts.

"So, full disclosure," said Charlie as they sat with their coffees, Vikki still feeling self-conscious, "I'm in the same business as Dylan, and I've worked with him in the past."

"But you're competitors now?"

"Yes, I suppose, but there's only a handful of us and there's enough work to go round," said Charlie, her tone professional, "anyway, the problem is that Dylan has acquired a certain 'reputation.' I know you don't know me from Adam, but let me try to explain. What item did you trade with him?"

Vikki felt her defences go up at that.

"It's ok," said Charlie, "if it's a done deal it'll make no difference to me. Plus, we've no way of knowing who the customer was, anyway."

"Something called the Gultved Cup," said Vikki, reluctantly.

"Ooh, nice piece!" said Charlie, "probably about five grand up front, because the sellers rarely know what they've got, and then how much was the balance from his client?"

"I'm not sure I really want to say," said Vikki, her spidey-senses jangling.

"I understand, so how about this," said Charlie, "that piece, conservatively, should be about 40k, but with a determined client you could even be looking at half as much again. Now, you don't need to give me a figure, but did Dylan part with anything near that?"

Vikki shook her head.

"The rotten ratbag!" exclaimed Charlie, "and I bet he told you he makes his commission from the client. Well, he's actually getting notorious for skimming both sides. I know dealers who won't let him get within a hundred yards these days."

Vikki thought about Dylan. Sexy, charming Dylan, who seemed to be getting a little interested in her. But of course, that's how conmen and serial killers operate, isn't it? They don't drag people in by being unpleasant, but by making someone feel like the centre of their world, if only for a minute. She felt the happy possibility that had been living in her head all day dissipate, fading like a half-remembered song. As it faded, it became that much more obvious to her that it had been Dylan's attentions, as much as the money and the fascination with the strange things her uncle had collected, that had lifted her so much over the last week.

And now it was gone, and of course it had, because it was gorgeous, beautiful women like Charlie who had the luck fall into their laps, and it was women like Vikki who struggled and worked and got shat on relentlessly, and to expect anything else was just hopeless pie-in-the-sky.

"Do you want to play him, like he's been trying to play you?" said Charlie, and there was something of the tiger about her. Vikki nodded, more sad than angry, but knowing she needed to protect herself.

"Ok," Charlie went on, "we'll get back to your shop and I'll check your stock, and give you quotes and price ranges, then when he gets back in touch you can see if what he offers matches the market. If it does, bad Charlie! But it won't, and when he comes to make the pick-up I'll be waiting with you."

Ten minutes later Charlie was all business, her monogramed leather portfolio pad open as she noted down the Amorous Goods items in Vikki's back room. Vikki looked on as Charlie made an occasional comment, noting that this was in demand, or that was something she'd heard about but never seen. With each item she added a ball-park figure for price, and every now again she glanced at Vikki with a reassuring smile.

Once she'd finished she ripped out the page and handed it to Vikki, and she glanced down the page, noting the florid copperplate that was Charlie's handwriting: that alone must have cost her parents a chunk of school fees. Then she looked over the numbers, the very rough running total adding up to an eye-opening four hundred thousand once she'd reached the bottom of the page. If she sold everything, she decided she would be buying a house, cash down and no mortgage. The thought made her a little dizzy.

"What's this stuff," said Charlie, glancing over at the items Vikki had set aside on the other side of the room, the items not on Uncle Lewis's list.

"My uncle was running a conventional antiques business alongside the specialist stuff. Not very well by the looks of it."

"Do you mind if I take a look?" said Charlie, "I know a bit about straight world antiques."

"Sure," said Vikki, "I asked Dylan if he could give me some prices but he just said he didn't know a thing."

"Hardly a surprise," said Charlie holding up the coup stick and shaking her head, "worthless, sorry, probably came out of a props department at a film studio. He was only ever interested in the money, never the things for their own sake. Personally, I like to appreciate things."

Charlie moved along the table where Vikki had set the normal antiques aside.

"I know a man who could give you a price on these," said Charlie, nodding at the 78 records that she had grouped together.

"Much, do you think?"

"Well, don't plan a Caribbean holiday, but certainly a couple of hundred. Better than just chucking them out," said Charlie, and then she moved on, shaking her head at a couple of porcelain figurines ("1950s reproduction. Probably worth a fiver each at best.") and examining a painted fan.

"Ooh, this is cute," she said suddenly, picking up a tin embossed with Poudre L'Aphrodite, MM Brisbois et Meunier, Bruxelles, 1803, "you know there are collectors who specialise in antique cosmetics?"

"I just thought it, well, it's more than two hundred years old..."

"It's actually worth a bit. I could put you in touch with a trader who'd give you maybe five hundred if you don't want to bother with finding a buyer, or I could give you four hundred now and..."

"Can we maybe wait until we've dealt with Dylan before we talk sales?" said Vikki, reserved despite the growing warmth she felt for Charlie.

"Wise," smiled Charlie, "let's walk before we run."

"Can I ask you something?" said Vikki, suddenly even more reticent.

"Shoot," said Charlie, but it took a moment for Vikki to summon up the courage.

"Have you ever... tried out, anything?"

"You mean the esoteric erotica?" And Vikki nodded shyly.

"That would be telling," said Charlie, with an outsized wink, and she turned back to the antiques.

"Also," said Vikki, interrupting her again, "where does this stuff come from? I mean, who made it?"

"Sex magic!" smiled Charlie, "the ancient masters! I'm joking. But the older stuff? Nobody knows. More recently, well, there are serious students out there, even to this day, who create unique items that have aphrodisiac powers. You're going to tell me that magic doesn't exist, but I'm guessing you have doubts about that now. I prefer to think of it as science we don't understand yet."

Vikki thought about this as Charlie went back to studying the antiques. Science we don't understand yet seemed the only reasonable explanation Vikki could cling to, the alternative, genuine magic, being surely absurd.

***

It was on Thursday, the day before Halloween, that Vikki's world finally became a different place.

She had waved off the skip, the driver taking it away to the landfill, and walked back into the shop. It was empty, or nearly, the Mutoscope (her Mutoscope, the one thing she could hardly wait to get back home), was the only thing left, covered once more by the sheet. Otherwise, the shop was bare, and strange in the way familiar rooms always are once stripped of their furnishings. The back room was still full, but not for long, and then she would be able to drop the key in with the landlord and never return. Even on such a short acquaintance she realised she might just miss Uncle Lewis's legacy, Amorous Goods having been a strangely refreshing break from what she now recognised was a rut.

There was, however, the small matter of Dylan and Charlie still to attend to. But first she went into the city. She had come to like what she'd seen of it, and she spent a relaxing morning drifting along the streets, looking at the Georgian and Victorian upgrades to the medieval city. She had business, too, and she followed Peter's advice, turning her thousands in cash into gold coins at a couple of dealers. Frankly, she told herself, she'd been mad to carry all that cash around with her the whole time, but she just couldn't escape the sense that there was something illegal here, something wrong in even having that amount of physical money, and so she'd kept it close rather than entrust it to the security of a bank that might send the authorities to her door. And then she turned back to the shop and the showdown.

While the morning had been an exercise in displacement, her nerves came now came flooding over her with a vengeance. She wasn't good with conflict, and she knew there was going to be conflict with a vengeance. Dylan had called her with quotes that were half the amount Charlie had set out. Her heart had sunk at that, the final nail in something that she'd hoped might grow. But she'd played along, and arranged to meet him at two in the afternoon, and then she'd called Charlie, who had seemed almost gleeful at the thought of outing Dylan.

It was just past one when she stopped at the corner and looked along the near derelict street, then took a deep breath and walked to the shop.

Everything happened quickly, confusingly. Even later she found it difficult to reconstruct the next two minutes in anything resembling a coherent form. There was a flash of movement, the smell of a man, and she let out a despairing, "hey!" as she was hurled to the ground. She caught sight of a black hoodie and grey tracksuit bottoms and her backpack was ripped away from her as she bounced off the pavement. The thief was away, sprinting off with his booty, her backpack, her brain insistently screamed, but then he was tumbling, flying into a brick wall. There was a car with an open door and, detached, she saw it was Dylan's car, though it hadn't been there before, and he'd opened the door into the thief, sending him flying, and then without there seeming to be any intervening movement he was standing over the thief, fists clenched.

"Trev?" said Dylan, the surprise evident in his voice.

"Oh shit!" gasped the thief, then he scrambled to his feet and fled, disappearing around the far corner almost faster than comprehension.

Winded, Vikki tried to make sense of the world as Dylan reached down and retrieved her backpack from where it had been dropped, and as he walked towards her she became vaguely aware of a green car screeching to a halt on the other side of the road. Charlie emerged from the car, bounding across the road and placing herself in front of Dylan as Vikki struggled to her feet.

"Don't you dare come closer," she hissed, for the world like an avenging angel, before she turned to Vikki, full of solicitous care.

"What did he do to you, Vikki?" she said, reaching down to help Vikki up, "did he hurt you?"

"No," said Dylan, a strange amused calm on his face replacing his previous confusion, "he didn't hurt her. He didn't set his brother on her, either."

"What?" said Vikki, even more confused now, looking from Dylan to Charlie. There was something about the woman, a flash of guilt before she set herself.

"Another piece of bullshit, is it Dylan? That's your usual style...." But it wasn't quite convincing.

"I see you've already met Lottie," said Dylan, his calm a counterpoint to Charlie, who suddenly bristled.

"Don't call me that!"

"But I doubt," Dylan went on, ignoring Charlie, "you've been properly introduced to Trevor Knight, Lottie's brother, and the useless scrote who just tried to thieve your backpack."

Charlie tried to look ignorant but she failed, badly, not that Vikki knew what to make of any of this.

"So, what is it, Lottie?" said Dylan, "what did you tell Vikki about me? That I'm an evil conman? Or maybe even something worse, a despoiler of virgins and the thief of innocence?"

Charlie was silent, and her silence spoke to her guilt as the scenario spun out of her control.

"I think I can guess the plan," and now Dylan spoke to Vikki, "she contacted you and told you I'm a rip-off merchant, gave you some quotes and told you my quotes would be lower because I'm cheating you. And then you were going to confront me. But I'm early, and I get here before her, and I interrupt her brother as he mugs you, no doubt as part of the plan to gaslight you, making it easier for her to manipulate you. You really are a piece of work Lottie."

"It's not like that..." Charlie began.

"And I bet she never told you we used to be an item," Dylan cut her off, and now Vikki's mouth was hanging open, "yes, I thought we were together for the long haul, true love and everything, but no, she found out about my business and crept around behind my back, didn't you Lottie?"

Charlie was cringing now, every word seeming to sting her, her careful plan withering. So, did she really think she could outface Dylan? Perhaps, or perhaps it was the over-confidence of narcissism.

"Once she'd found out enough, she ditched me over a deal. Smiled in my face and stabbed me in the back for thirty grand. That was all our relationship was worth."

If Dylan had been angry or ranting it might have offered Charlie a way back, an opportunity to play the victim card. But his calm, reasonable tones presented a smooth wall that she had no chance of climbing. She was defeated, and it was written all over her face.

"Then," and now Dylan smiled, "she played the innocent and told her family I was the bastard for dumping her. Which I didn't actually get the chance to do, though I'd have loved to, because she even stole that pleasure from me."

Vikki turned and stared at Charlie, the truth of what Dylan was saying slowly sinking in and the fog in her mind lifting. Did she want to hit the woman? Yes, she decided, she wanted to hit her and she started to move forward, her intentions crystal clear. Charlie edged back, glancing over her shoulder at her car and calculating whether she could reach it in time. But once again Dylan took control.

"No," he said, his tone a warning, "you aren't running off. We're going to sort this."

"Surely you don't believe this?" said Charlie, but she was flailing, and she took another step towards her car.

"If you leave," said Dylan, "we'll be reporting Trevor for street robbery. He can get three to five for that. And I wonder if he'd do that for you? Or would he drag you down with him? I wonder what you'd get for conspiracy."

Vikki took another step forward, violence uppermost in her mind, and now Dylan was in front of her, shaking his head as Charlie dithered, caught between flight and surrender.

"I suggest," he said as if it was already settled, "that we have a look at the goods, and compare what Lottie's told you with the truth. Because there's one thing I can't see yet, and that's what her angle is here."

Perhaps it was the threat of police involvement, but Charlie seemed to accept that she needed to accompany Vikki and Dylan into the shop. She slunk, though, the personification of been caught stealing, while Dylan moved with a purpose, and Vikki just moved, not sure what was coming next. In a moment they were in the back room, and there was a tension there, for those perceptive enough to feel it. Only Vikki seemed to sense it, though, Dylan zeroing in on the three things he had offers for while Charlie stood sullenly, her back against the wall and her eyes on her feet.

"So, what was her price on this?" said Dylan, holding up the Venetian mask.

"Twelve thousand," said Vikki, taking Charlie's list from the bureau and finding the right entry.

"Shit!" said Dylan with a grunt, "if she's offered that, you should take it. Have you got the cash on you, Lottie?"

Charlie kept staring at her feet.

"Thought so," said Dylan as he moved on to the next item, a small, stone gargoyle, "let me guess, twenty thousand?"

Vikki perused the list, "nearly. Eighteen."

"And the jade snake?" said Dylan.

"Twenty-five thousand," and Dylan whistled through his teeth at that.

"So, Lottie... alright, Charlie, I'll humour you, you were prepared to tell Vikki the market is worth double my prices. But let's say she'd agreed that you should find the buyers, would you have paid those prices, and lumbered yourself with stuff you'd have to pass on at a loss of," and here Dylan rapidly calculated, "at least ten thousand pounds? I don't think so, so what are you really after?"

Charlie stayed silent, and Dylan smiled, "silence is the best defence, eh? Oh well, we'll keep looking, there must be something here."

He took the list from Vikki and scanned it, shaking his head at some entries, holding back his laughter at others.

"I'm sorry Vikki," he said, once he reached the bottom of the list, "it's ludicrous. You'd never get these kinds of prices. But she didn't do this just to spite me. Charlie here only does something if she stands to profit, and there's no profit here. None at all. Did she look at anything else, anything that isn't on the list?"

"Well, she said she knew a bit about general antiques and offered to help me with them," said Vikki, and as she spoke she saw Dylan studying Charlie, narrowing his eyes as she seemed to tense.

"Interesting," said Dylan, and he turned to the collection of 'straight' items Vikki had put aside to save. He glanced through them, humming to himself and Vikki saw Charlie begin to edge towards him out of the corner of her eye.

Then suddenly Dylan froze, and Vikki saw he was looking at the tin with the vintage make-up, the Poudre L'Aphrodite. Suddenly Charlie darted forward, pushing past Vikki and desperately trying to snatch the tin. But Dylan was too quick and his hand gripped her wrist, and in one smooth movement he lifted her arm and pushed it up and back, over her shoulder. In an instant Charlie's feet shot out from under her and she crashed down on her back, laying stunned on the floor.

"Bad dog!" he said, and Charlie actually snarled, much to Vikki's surprise.

"Did you know you had this?" Dylan said to Vikki, holding up the tin, then shook his head as if to clear some confusion, "I mean, did she give you a price?"

"She said there are collectors who might pay five hundred pounds, but she offered me four hundred to save me the trouble of finding a buyer."