The dilapidated shop-front did not fill Helena with confidence. She checked the envelope that Jonas had thrust upon her the previous evening at the Sotheby’s auction in Queen Street.
‘It will so be worth your while. Go through the shop, heading toward his work area. In the corridor between the two, high up on the left, there is an absolute treasure!”
Cupping her hands against the plate glass, Helena peered into the dim interior. Even from the outside, the musty smell of an old-wares shop set her heart to beat faster. It had ever been thus, since she was twelve and tagging along behind Aunt Dora through the lane ways that criss-cross Chapel Street – a scavenger in training.
With the jangle of the bell in her ear, she negotiated her way through the jumble of other-people’s-treasures, and there it was as Jonas had described: a 1952 Wegner Cow Horn chair.