The Collected Short Stories (26 page)
Read The Collected Short Stories Online
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
“How considerate of you,” said Christopher.
“And where's young Malcolm?” asked Margaret.
“He's on a scouting vacation in Scotland. Doesn't like to mess about in boats the way we do.”
For the first time he could recall, Christopher felt some admiration for the boy. A moment later the engine started thunderously.
On the trip across the bay, Ray Kendall-Hume expounded his theories about “having to get away from it all ⦠. Nothing like a yacht to ensure your privacy and not having to mix with the hoi polloi.” He only wanted the simple things in life: the sun, the sea, and an infinite supply of good food and drink.
The Robertses could have asked for nothing less. By the end of the day they were both suffering from a mild bout of sunstroke and were also feeling a little seasick. Despite white pills, red pills, and yellow pills, liberally supplied by Melody, when they finally got back to their room that night they were unable to sleep.
Avoiding the Kendall-Humes over the next twenty days did not prove easy. Beyazik's, the garage where their little rental car awaited them each morning and to which it had to be returned each night, could only be reached via the quayside where the Kendall-Humes' motor yacht was moored like an insuperable barrier at a gymkhana. Hardly a day passed that the Robertses did not have to spend some part of their precious time bobbing up and down on Turkey's choppy coastal waters, eating oily food, and discussing how large a carpet would be needed to fill the Kendall-Humes' front room.
However, they still managed to complete a large part of their program and determinedly set aside the whole of the last day of the vacation in their quest for a carpet. As they did not need Beyazik's car to go into town, they felt confident that for that day at least they could safely avoid their tormentors.
On the final morning they rose a little later than planned and after breakfast strolled down the tiny cobbled path together, Christopher in possession of the seventeenth edition of
Carpets
â
Fact and Fiction
, Margaret with a tape measure and five hundred pounds in travelers' checks. Once the schoolmaster and his wife had reached the bazaar, they began to look around a myriad of little shops, wondering where they should begin their adventure. Fez-topped men tried to entice them to enter their tiny emporiums, but the Robertses spent the first hour simply taking in the atmosphere.
Carpets
â
Fact and Fiction
, Margaret with a tape measure and five hundred pounds in travelers' checks. Once the schoolmaster and his wife had reached the bazaar, they began to look around a myriad of little shops, wondering where they should begin their adventure. Fez-topped men tried to entice them to enter their tiny emporiums, but the Robertses spent the first hour simply taking in the atmosphere.
“I'm ready to start the search now,” shouted Margaret above the babble of voices around her.
“Then we've found you just in time,” said the one voice they thought they had escaped.
“We were just about toâ”
“Then follow me.”
The Robertses' hearts sank as they were led by Ray Kendall-Hume out of the bazaar and back toward the town.
“Take my advice, and you'll end up with one hell of a bargain,” Kendall-Hume assured them both. “I've picked up some real beauties in my time from every corner of the globe at prices you wouldn't believe. I am happy to let you take full advantage of my expertise at no extra charge.”
“I don't know how you could stand the noise and smell of that bazaar,” said Melody, obviously glad to be back among the familiar signs of Gucci, Lacoste, and Saint Laurent.
“We rather likeâ”
“Rescued in the nick of time,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “And the place I'm told you have to start and finish at if you want to purchase a serious carpet is Osman's.”
Margaret recalled the name from her carpet book: “Only to be visited if money is no object and you know exactly what you are looking for.” The vital last morning was to be wasted, she reflected as she pushed open the large glass doors of Osman's to enter a ground-floor area the size of a tennis court. The room was covered in carpets on the floor, the walls, the windowsills, and even the tables. Anywhere a
carpet could be laid out, a carpet was there to be seen. Although the Robertses realized immediately that nothing on show could possibly be in their price range, the sheer beauty of the display entranced them.
carpet could be laid out, a carpet was there to be seen. Although the Robertses realized immediately that nothing on show could possibly be in their price range, the sheer beauty of the display entranced them.
Margaret walked slowly round the room, mentally measuring the small carpets so she could anticipate the sort of thing they might look for once they had escaped.
A tall, elegant man, hands raised as if in prayer and dressed immaculately in a tailored worsted suit that could have been made in Savile Row, advanced to greet them.
“Good morning, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendall-Hume, selecting the serious spender without difficulty. “Can I be of assistance?”
“You certainly can,” replied Kendall-Hume. “I want to be shown your finest carpets, but I do not intend to pay your finest prices.”
The dealer smiled politely and clapped his hands. Six small carpets were brought in by three assistants who rolled them out in the center of the room. Margaret fell in love with a muted green-based carpet with a pattern of tiny red squares woven around the borders. The pattern was so intricate she could not take her eyes off it. She measured the carpet out of interest: seven by three exactly.
“You have excellent taste, madam,” said the dealer. Margaret, blushing slightly, quickly stood up, took a pace backward, and hid the tape measure behind her back.
“How do you feel about that lot, pet?” asked Kendall-Hume, sweeping a hand across the six carpets.
“None of them is big enough,” Melody replied, giving them only a fleeting glance.
The dealer clapped his hands a second time and the exhibits were rolled up and taken away. Four larger ones soon replaced them.
“Would you care for some coffee?” the dealer asked Mr. Kendall-Hume as the new carpets lay unfurled at their feet.
“Haven't the time,” said Kendall-Hume shortly. “Here to buy a carpet. If I want a coffee, I can always go to a coffee shop,” he said with a chuckle. Melody smiled her complicity.
“Well, I would like some coffee,” declared Margaret, determined to rebel at some point in the vacation.
“Delighted, madam,” said the dealer, and one of the assistants disappeared to carry out her wishes while the Kendall-Humes studied the new carpets. The coffee arrived a few moments later. She thanked the young assistant and began to sip the thick black liquid slowly. Delicious, she thought, and smiled her acknowledgment to the dealer.
“Still not large enough,” Mrs. Kendall-Hume insisted. The dealer gave a slight sigh and clapped his hands yet again. Once more the assistants began to roll up the rejected goods. He then addressed one of his staff in Turkish. The assistant looked doubtfully at his mentor, but the dealer gave a firm nod and waved him away. The assistant returned a little later with a small platoon of lesser assistants carrying two carpets, both of which when unfolded took up most of the shop floor. Margaret liked them even less than the ones she had just been shown, but as her opinion was not sought she did not offer it.
“That's more like it,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “Just about the right size for the living room, wouldn't you say, Melody?”
“Perfect,” his wife replied, making no attempt to measure either of the carpets.
“I'm glad we agree,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “But which one, my pet? The faded red-and-blue, or the bright yellow-and-orange?”
“The yellow-and-orange one,” said Melody without hesitation. “I like the pattern of brightly colored birds running round the outside.” Christopher thought he saw the dealer wince.
“So now all we have left to do is agree on a price,” said Kendall-Hume. “You'd better sit down, pet, as this may take a while.”
“I hope not,” said Mrs. Kendall-Hume, resolutely standing. The Robertses remained mute.
“Unfortunately, sir,” began the dealer, “your wife has selected
one of the finest carpets in our collection, and so I fear there can be little room for any readjustment.”
one of the finest carpets in our collection, and so I fear there can be little room for any readjustment.”
“How much?” said Kendall-Hume.
“You see, sir, this carpet was woven in Demirdji, in the province of Izmir, by over a hundred seamstresses, and it took them more than a year to complete.”
“Don't give me that baloney,” said Kendall-Hume, winking at Christopher. “Just tell me how much I'm expected to pay.”
“I feel it my duty to point out, sir, that this carpet shouldn't be here at all,” said the Turk plaintively. “It was originally made for an Arab prince who failed to complete the transaction when the price of oil collapsed.”
“But he must have agreed on a price at the time?”
“I cannot reveal the exact figure, sir. It embarrasses me to mention it.”
“It wouldn't embarrass me,” said Kendall-Hume. “Come on, what's the price?” he insisted.
“Which currency would you prefer to trade in?” the Turk asked.
“Pounds.”
The dealer removed a slim calculator from his jacket pocket, tapped some numbers into it, then looked unhappily toward the Kendall-Humes.
Christopher and Margaret remained silent, like schoolchildren fearing that the headmaster might ask them a question to which they could not possibly know the answer.
“Come on, come on, how much were you hoping to sting me for?”
“I think you must prepare yourself for a shock, sir,” said the dealer.
“How much?” repeated Kendall-Hume, impatiently.
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“Pounds?”
“Pounds.”
“You must be joking,” said Kendall-Hume, walking around the carpet and ending up standing next to Margaret.
“You're about to find out why I'm considered the scourge of the East Midlands car trade,” he whispered to her. “I wouldn't pay more than fifteen thousand for that carpet.” He turned back to face the dealer. “Even if my life depended on it.”
“You're about to find out why I'm considered the scourge of the East Midlands car trade,” he whispered to her. “I wouldn't pay more than fifteen thousand for that carpet.” He turned back to face the dealer. “Even if my life depended on it.”
“Then I fear your time has been wasted, sir,” the Turk replied. “For this is a carpet intended only for the cognoscenti. Perhaps madam might reconsider the red-and-blue?”
“Certainly not,” said Kendall-Hume. “The color's all faded. Can't you see? You obviously left it in the window too long, and the sun has got at it. No, you'll have to reconsider your price if you want the orange-and-yellow one to end up in the home of a connoisseur.”
The dealer sighed as his fingers tapped the calculator again.
While the transaction continued, Melody looked on vacantly, occasionally gazing out of the window toward the bay.
“I could not drop a penny below twenty-three thousand pounds.”
“I'd be willing to go as high as eighteen thousand,” said Kendall-Hume, “but not a penny more.”
The Robertses watched the dealer tap the numbers into the calculator.
“That would not even cover the cost of what I paid for it myself,” he said sadly, staring down at the little glowing figures.
“You're pushing me, but don't push me too far. Nineteen thousand,” said Mr. Kendall-Hume. “That's my final offer.”
“Twenty thousand pounds is the lowest figure I could consider,” replied the dealer. “A giveaway price, on my mother's grave.”
Kendall-Hume took out his wallet and placed it on the table by the side of the dealer.
“Nineteen thousand pounds and you've got yourself a deal,” he said.
“But how will I feed my children?” asked the dealer, his arms raised above his head.
“The same way I feed mine,” said Kendall-Hume, laughing. “By making a fair profit.”
The dealer paused as if reconsidering, then said, “I can't do it, sir. I'm sorry. We must show you some other carpets.” The assistants came forward on cue.
“No, that's the one I want,” said Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “Don't quarrel over a thousand pounds, pet.”
“Take my word for it, madam,” the dealer said, turning toward Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “My family would starve if we only did business with customers like your husband.”
“Okay, you get the twenty thousand, but on one condition.”
“Condition?”
“My receipt must show that the bill was for ten thousand pounds. Otherwise I'll only end up paying the difference in customs duty.”
The dealer bowed low, as if to indicate he did not find the request an unusual one.
Mr. Kendall-Hume opened his wallet and withdrew ten thousand pounds in travelers' checks and ten thousand pounds in cash.
“As you can see,” he said, grinning, “I came prepared.” He removed another five thousand pounds and, waving it at the dealer, added, “and I would have been willing to pay far more.”
The dealer shrugged. “You drive a hard bargain, sir. But you will not hear me complain now that the deal has been struck.”
The vast carpet was folded, wrapped, and a receipt for ten thousand pounds made out while the travelers' checks and cash were handed over.
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