Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

bird, but its feathers were exquisitely rendered. She could almost feel their texture. The shades of brown were rich and deep, like a chocolate cake laced with caramel cream. And its eyes. Alert and inquisitive. Friendly. And fearful.

Amy had to have it.

She handed it to the man without even asking the price. He nodded at her choice as if he approved. Amy felt her excitement mounting as she perused the shelves. They were laden with treasures. She found an owl made from tiny shells, each one in the perfect place to replicate its feathers. There was a beautiful china cup, shaped to look like a bulbous purple tulip. Amy felt her lips tingle at the thought of drinking from it. There was even a glazed ashtray in the shape of a lemon, so perfect that Amy couldn’t help but bite her lip. She presented each item to the man, with strict instructions to guard her would-be purchases at the till. Although she was the only customer in the shop, she couldn’t risk someone else gazumping her. The mere thought of losing one of these treasures made her feel sick.

Adding a silver cigarette lighter, a handheld vanity mirror and a heavy carriage clock to her haul, she beamed at the shopkeeper. ‘You have so many beautiful things in your shop,’ she said, feeling friendly, ‘I could buy it all.’

‘You’ve got a fair bit of it,’ he said.

‘I have something else too,’ she said. ‘Something to show you.’ Amy put her hand to the ring at her throat, then lifted her arms to fiddle with the clasp of the chain. She removed it and slid the ring off, bringing it to the man’s attention. ‘This came from your shop. I was hoping that you might remember selling it?’

The man frowned at the ring. Amy felt a small wrench in her heart as he took it from her and she already longed to be holding it again. ‘It’s lovely,’ he said. Amy nodded. She knew that. ‘But before my time.’

Amy felt her heart sink. ‘When is your time?’

‘I took the place over four years ago,’ he told her.

So Tim hadn’t been to the shop in the last four years. Amy felt disappointment well up inside of her. She grabbed a small china vase, the action feeling vaguely familiar. She looked at the vase. It was white with a blue Greek meander pattern winding round the neck. She added it to her pile for purchase and felt a little better. The ring was still more of him than she’d had for a long time. And it could still help her.

‘Do you keep sales records from earlier?’ she pushed. ‘Could you find out who bought it?’

‘It wasn’t you?’

Amy paused, not wanting to share too much. ‘It was a gift,’ she said. ‘But it got lost for a long time so I don’t know who it’s from.’

‘Too many admirers?’ laughed the man. Amy frowned, unsure if he was making fun of her. ‘Sorry,’ he continued, seeing her expression. ‘We keep sales records now, but it doesn’t date back to before my time.’

‘And you’re sure it wasn’t sold more recently?’ Amy held her breath, willing the man to sound uncertain.

‘We stopped selling jewellery when I took over,’ he said definitively, handing her back the ring. Amy threaded it through the chain and fastened it around her neck as the man began carefully wrapping Amy’s selections in tissue paper. ‘Never sold much of the stuff anyway,’ he continued. ‘We don’t have a proper security system here and a few bits went missing. Installing CCTV was too expensive. So I stopped stocking it.’ He paused to admire the shell owl. ‘Arnold picked this for the shop, maybe fifteen years ago,’ he said. ‘He’ll be pleased it’s found a good home.’ He paused and looked at Amy. ‘I don’t suppose you want a stuffed elk head?’

Amy blinked, thinking of the name over the door and the old man she had met. ‘Arnold? Could I talk to him?’ Perhaps he would remember.’

‘He’s gone, I’m afraid,’ said the man.

‘Dead?’ asked Amy. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No chance, tough old beggar,’ laughed the man. ‘He’s ninety-five now. Doesn’t look a day over eighty. He’s retired. Handed the business over to me. I’m his grandson.’ The man smiled, looking proud of his lineage. ‘He still likes to keep tabs on what I’m selling, though. I think he’s worried I’m going to turn the place into a trendy gift shop. As if.’ He looked around his musty empire. Amy could sense a kindred spirit.

‘I wonder if I could visit him?’ asked Amy.

The man smiled back at her. ‘He’d always like to see a good customer,’ he said. ‘He’ll probably try to sell you something, though. You can take the man out of the shop . . . ’ He winked at Amy. She decided that perhaps he wasn’t a kindred spirit after all.

She would never wink.

‘I was just about to give up on you.’ Amy looked in surprise at the man standing in her front garden as she arrived home, clutching her bag of purchases. He’d articulated a thought she’d had so many times. ‘I thought maybe you didn’t get the letter.’

‘The letter?’ asked Amy.

‘Don’t tell me the letter didn’t come through,’ he said. ‘The office is usually pretty good, but every now and then. Never mind. I’m here. You’re here. Shall we get it done anyway?’

‘I’m sorry,’ began Amy. ‘I don’t . . . ’

‘Of course not,’ said the man. ‘You didn’t get the letter.’ He held out his hand and, after a moment’s confusion, Amy took it and found her own hand engulfed in a vigorous handshake. ‘I’m Bob,’ he said. Then he inexplicably laughed. ‘The kids love it, but I was Bob the builder before there were any cartoons or that catchy little song.’ Amy looked at him blankly. ‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I’m from Partners in Weysham. We look after the council’s freehold properties. You own the leasehold, correct?’ He glanced down at a clipboard.