Chapter 4 - Glass
The Castle's Walk is a prominent Pyran street. It runs from the Grand Square to the Castle's outer wall.
Many avenues have or had their awkward back streets and The Walk (as it is called for short) makes no exception: there's an alley between The Walk and the wall called Bonnie's Close.
The name has a Scottish touch and guides like to tell their flock that many centuries ago there was a beautiful courtesan named Bonnie of Edinburgh who controlled every brothel in town. ´And these,´ a guide will say, vaguely waving an arm towards the narrow houses, ´were her head-quarters.´
I don't know if the whole Bonnie story is true, but it has been told for so long now, that it is accepted as part of the Pyran history.
Documents dating back to the 16th century prove that there were brothels in The Close even then. The fact that many courtiers, princes and even Kings visited the small street to enjoy themselves, never found its way to official writings. Novelists however have had a lot of virile blue blooded men sneak off the Castle's grounds to find relief in Bonnie's.
In the 1930's the whores were forced to leave The Close. For forty years it was a quiet little street. Then a goldsmith settled there. She was followed by a frame-maker, a hatter, a lingerie shop, a portraitist, a dressmaker, an exclusive linen-draper's shop, a tea-room, a jeweller, a china shop and several galleries. Surprisingly they all survived and nowadays The Close is a street that graces the city.
After telling tourists about the goldsmith's refined work, the awards the dressmaker has won and other trivia, the guides never fail to tell that Her Majesty can occasionally be found in Bonnie's Close, to see if the galleries have something worth purchasing. I am sure you can imagine that people turn their heads at that point in the story, to check if the Queen happens to be near.
OoOoOoO
Had The Close still been the domain of common whores, then Viscount Mabrey would not want to be seen there. He had to keep up appearances, didn't he? The Close however was not a place to be avoided these days especially not when you needed cuff-links.
Stepping outside the jeweller's, the door being held for him by the owner himself, the Viscount wondered what to do. He looked left. He could take the short cut to the House of Parliament where his car was parked. He looked right. It was a nice day: he could go down Bonnie's Close to Queen Anne's fountain and return to Parliament via The Walk.
He inhaled and turned right.
He liked the luxurious surroundings. When he passed the tea-room two working class women stepped outside. They had enjoyed the only luxury they could afford in this street: a cup of tea and a scone. The Viscount would make a bet that his new cuff-links were worth at least a week of their wages.
Ten metres further down the road, a handsome young man politely nodded at him.
Now, you can say a lot about Arthur Mabrey, but not that he is stupid. As if it had been his intention from the start, the Viscount walked inside the long narrow shop in front of which the bodyguard, for that was the young man's occupation, was waiting.
OoOoOoO
Mabrey found himself in a shop slash gallery specialised in glass. On the ground floor glass-ware was shown and the first floor housed glass art.
A shop-assistant stepped towards him but the Viscount waved his hand and said that he just wanted to look around. The assistant returned to a young lady who had all the characteristics of a bride.
White tea glasses, blue water glasses, green glass bells, brown oil-bottles: it was nothing short of an orgy. When he heard footsteps above him he grabbed two glasses from a shelf and made it for the counter.
The assistant apologised to the bride, saying that he needed to help the gentleman.
´I am not in a hurry,´ the gentleman told the assistant, ´please help the lady first, I do not mind.´
The bride smiled at him and the assistant inclined his head.
Mabrey took his position at the counter, admiring the glass objects behind it. He hummed a tune. He was ever so relaxed. Just minding his own business, seeing this shop, remembering that he needed new glasses for his bathroom...
High heels on the stairs. High heels on the floor. The bride gasped. Mabrey inhaled.
The gallery's owner greeted him politely and carefully placed a paper-weight on the counter. Mabrey glanced at it. The object didn't seem remarkable. He looked to his left.
´Your Majesty. What a surprise to see you here!´
´Viscount.´
The owner didn't know how to proceed. The Queen noticed it.
´Do help the Viscount Mr Machado, he was waiting.´
´I have no appointments and I am not in a hurry ma'am. I am sure you have a busy schedule, as usual.´
The Viscount addressed the owner: ´Please sir, help Her Majesty first.´
Mr Machado was already searching under the counter for a box to pack the Queen's purchase into.
The Queen thanked the Viscount en nodded at her bodyguard who whispered something in his microphone.
´That is an... elegant paper-weight ma'am.´
The Queen raised her eyebrows, a sparkle in her eyes. ´It looks quite ordinary now, but it comes alive when the sun shines on it.´
She looked outside. The counter was placed at the back of the shop but it received daylight through French windows that overlooked a small garden.
´There,´ Her Majesty said, when a cloud had passed the sun.
Green veins showed in the glass. They seemed to move, whirl.
´Just as I said,´ the Viscount stated, ´Elegant.´
It didn't take long before the item was packed, wrapped, placed in a paper bag and paid for.
When the Queen stepped in her limousine (that had been driven to the front of the gallery), the bride expressed her delight in having seen the Queen 'live'.
Mabrey acted the man of the world. After all, he saw the woman on a regular basis. He talked to her more often, although usually not about paper-weights.
Unlike the bride, the shop-assistant and the gallery's owner, he, Viscount Mabrey, knew that Her Majesty's smiles and charm were all fake, but still, he appreciated good solid acting.
OoOoOoO
That night Arthur Mabrey woke up from a dream. She had been at his place. They had talked about jazz. She had sat on his couch in her elegant way, sipping wine. When he bid her farewell he had kissed her hand and he had waved at her car as it rounded the gate. He had waved! Mon Dieu.
He and that woman could never be on friendly terms. How dare she invade his dreams!
He punched his pillow and fell asleep again.