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THE CURIOSITY SHOP

by


1. The Domain of Conrad Black

by Lucy Appleby

He strode through the crowded street, a tall enigmatic figure, sartorially elegant in his formal though dated attire. He wore a frock coat of charcoal grey. His trousers were of the same fabric and colour with a subtle pin stripe. The sombre colours were complemented by a pristine high-collared white shirt, worn with a silver and black cravat and an embossed silk waistcoat the colour of rich claret.

From his waistcoat pocket hung a polished silver watch on a silver chain. His height was enhanced by a top hat of black felt, and the finishing touches to his attire were a pair of highly polished black lace-up ankle boots and a gentleman's walking stick with a silver plated head and a black hardwood shaft. He held the stick in his right hand - a large, well proportioned, yet delicate hand, with long tapering fingers and perfectly manicured nails. The point of the stick tapped smartly on the pavement as he walked.

He looked every inch the Victorian gentleman, totally incongruous amidst the hoards of Saturday shoppers jostling on the crowded pavements. He cast a disdainful glance at a noisy group of girls eating burger and chips from brown paper bags outside McDonald's. They ignored him. No-one gave him a second glance, which was odd given his unusual garb, his striking good looks, thick dark hair and commanding presence.

His sharp eyes missed nothing. Deep set and dark brown, they glittered and sparked in the late morning sun as he observed the goings on around him. On the busy main road the traffic was building up for the afternoon's football match, and some cars drove past with supporters leaning out of the windows, yelling and waving. He watched carefully. Sometimes his wide sensual mouth would twitch into a smile at the things that amused him; and when he was displeased, he would frown and narrow his eyes into a baleful glare.

Still, he rather enjoyed his indulgence of people watching. There were always deserving people to be found amongst the throng, and he derived great pleasure in selecting the special ones and ensuring they got precisely what they deserved.

He turned off into a small narrow side street away from the surging crowds, leaving the hubbub behind. At the end of the street was the green door to a shop which had double fronted bow windows, and a sign above that read The Curiosity Shop - antiques and curios from all corners of the globe. At the bottom of the sign, in small ornate lettering was the name Conrad Black, Proprietor.

Taking a small brass key from his pocket, Conrad Black used it to unlock the door. He locked and bolted it behind him, and walked through the shop. The rather ordinary external façade revealed a startlingly opulent and large interior. It was a sparkling Aladdin's cave, brim full with all manner of furniture and collectables.

There were bookcases, desks, chests and coffers; sofas, chairs and stools; cupboards, cabinets and dressers; clocks and watches and barometers. Gilt framed mirrors, oil paintings and watercolour prints hung from the walls, and display stands were bedecked with glass, porcelain and ceramic items, silver plate and glittering jewellery. There were all manner of lamps and chandeliers, iron grates and firedogs, interspersed with decorative planters, stone lions and garden ornaments. Further down the shop were beautiful Persian rugs and silk tapestries and wall hangings, and library shelves filled with ancient books.

Conrad Black walked past the books and opened an oak paneled door set into a dimly lit recess. It led in to a large private room with an adjacent small kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. This was his personal space and the place where he kept his private collection. He opened a large carved armoire and ran his hand along the rows of canes, crops, floggers, straps and paddles. He selected a two-tailed Lochgelly tawse of dark brown leather. It felt solid and heavy in his hand, and the two stiff tails at the business end of the implement were specially designed to maximize sting.

Removing his coat, he seated himself at his desk, his long sensitive fingers caressing the stiff leather of the tawse. He remained deep in thought for a few moments before he reached a decision. At that point he knew exactly who would shortly be on the receiving end of the tawse. The thought brought a wolfish smile to his lips and his dark eyes gleamed in anticipation.




2. The Mirror

by Geraldine Hillis

Grimy and exhausted, Ella Williams flopped into a dilapidated armchair and popped the cork from a bottle of Cava. She poured a healthy measure into her glass - a chipped half pint tumbler - lifted it in a toast, and said to the empty room, "To me! And to happiness in my new home."

At long last the young woman had broken free of parental constraints, and moved into her own flat. Her day had been spent in ferrying various items of furniture from the homes of generous parents, aunts, uncles and friends, and carrying them up three flights of stairs.

A palace it wasn't. The mismatched chairs and tables were certainly more Shabby-Tat than Habitat, and the assortment of glassware and crockery wouldn't have graced any elegant dining table. But since she didn't have a dining table, elegant or otherwise, it didn't matter.

She drank deeply, savouring the fizz and the moment, before re-corking the bottle, finishing the pizza she had ordered in, showering, and collapsing into bed.

Next morning, despite the exertions of the previous day, Ella was up early. After a breakfast of tea and leftover pizza, she considered her plans. A trip into the town centre seemed in order - the sales had started, and the flat could certainly do with some brightening up - perhaps some pictures for the walls, some decent wine glasses, or a matching set of dishes.

Half an hour later, she was strolling down the High Street. The sales were indeed in full swing, but unfortunately, even sale prices seemed to be beyond her meagre means. A fine bone china tea-service, was 'reduced' to a mere £140; a water-colour seascape, bore a £600 price-tag, and she sighed over a mahogany-framed cheval mirror - a snip at £260.

Somewhat disheartened, Ella wandered down a side street, having decided that she might have better luck with charity or second-hand shops. Oxfam and Barnardo's yielded nothing of interest, and she reflected wryly that the charities were in for a thin time if they were relying on the sale of such junk.

Just as she was about to give up and return home, something caught her eye ...

At the end of the street was the green door to a shop which had double fronted bow windows, and a sign above that read The Curiosity Shop - antiques and curios from all corners of the globe. At the bottom of the sign, in small ornate lettering was the name Conrad Black, Proprietor.

She crossed the street and approached. Cupping her hands on the leaded glass window, she peered into the dim interior, but was able to see little but vague shapes. "Ella," she chided herself, "it's an antique shop. You won't be able to afford anything in there!"

But somehow, her feet took her to the green door, and her hand reached for the handle...

The air smelt musty. Small tables in a variety of styles took up much of the floor space, each bearing vases, china plates, delicate figurines, ships in bottles, crystal goblets, ornaments of brass and pewter, bowls of wax fruit under glass domes. Glass-fronted cabinets held jewellery and pocket-watches, coins and medals.

The walls displayed mirrors and clocks, tapestries and paintings - portraits in oils, landscapes in watercolour or pastels, still-life studies portraying fruit or flowers, or dead pheasants and rabbits, lying beside the shotguns which had presumably robbed them of life.

There did not appear to be anyone there.

Ella began to browse. "Oh, how lovely," she said, reaching out to trace a finger over a delicate Spode tea-service. "But way beyond my budget," she added regretfully, glancing at the price-tag. She moved on, pausing now and then when an item caught her interest. She was gazing into a large, ornate mirror, when...

"Can I help you?"

The cultured voice made her jump, and she peered into the dim recesses of the shop, to see a man emerge from behind a beaded curtain. Handsome in a Saturnine way, he seemed to fill the shop with his presence. His clothes, hopelessly old-fashioned, seemed somehow right in this setting, and even the silver-topped walking cane he carried did not seem out of place.

"I ... um ... just browsing," she stammered, curiously disconcerted. "I've just moved into a flat, and I'm looking for ... some things," she finished lamely.

He moved to where she stood in front of the mirror. "You are a lady of taste, I see," he remarked. "A fine piece, this. Ornate French gilt - antique gold finish. Reproduction, of course - the genuine article would cost several thousand pounds. Just £120, and in such excellent condition." He made her a quaint, courtly bow. "I am Conrad Black, proprietor of this establishment."

Ella nodded. "It's lovely, but ... I'm not sure ... I mean..."

"It's quite all right," said Mr. Black easily. "Take your time. Such purchases should not be rushed. I shall be nearby should you need assistance."

With another little bow, he melted back into the shadows.

Ella wandered around, tracing her fingers gently over some fine porcelain, lifting and replacing various knick-knacks, examining paintings. But always the mirror drew her back.

£120, she mused. A lot of money. I wonder if ... She left the thought unfinished.

Glancing round to check that Mr. Black was not in sight, she rummaged in her handbag and withdrew a nail-file. Quickly, she leant forward and made a little scratch on the frame of the mirror.

"Uh - not quite excellent condition," she said loudly. "Look!"

Mr. Black was immediately at her side. He peered at the damage. "Dear me," he said. "I can't imagine how that can have happened. I was so sure it was perfect. But - since it isn't, I suppose I could reduce the price somewhat. Let's say - £90?"

"Sixty," said Ella.

"Oh, come, my dear." He remonstrated with her gently. "Only half price? It is, after all, such a little scrape. I really don't think I could go lower than £75."

Ella grinned triumphantly. "Done!" she said. Quickly, before he could change his mind, she produced the required amount of money, and watched as the gentleman wrapped the mirror carefully in tissue paper - "To prevent further damage" - and handed over her receipt.

She hurried homeward, clutching her treasured parcel. It was almost lunch-time, but she had bought no food. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered - except the mirror.

Where to put it? Her eyes swept the room. There! The perfect place - above the fireplace, where it would catch the light from the window. But how to manage it?

A search of the as yet unpacked boxes produced a tool-box of sorts, containing a hammer, screwdriver, various spanners, and a box of carpet tacks. It would have to do.

Teetering precariously on a chair, Ella hammered a couple of tacks into the wall, and lifted the mirror, positioning it carefully.

When she climbed down, she stood back to admire, examining herself in the glass. Was that a smear? Ella reached into her pocket for a tissue, leant forward to wipe it - and a hand reached out from the mirror to grasp her wrist.

Ella gasped and struggled, but the grip on her wrist was inexorable. Slowly but steadily, she was drawn right into the mirror.

She was in a room, just like the living room, but in reverse.



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