Artful Dream

Chapter 1

People, take my advice.
If you love someone.
Don't think twice.

Songwriters: Tony Waddington / Wayne Bickerton
Sugar Baby Love lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, The Bicycle Music Company

ooOoo

Maggie Harris pushed her index finger down on the snooze button of her radio alarm clock as the voice of Classic FM Tim Lihoreau announced to a sleeping world that it was 07.05am. She then let her left arm flop down the side of the bed, letting her fingers play with the rim of a fallen Champagne flute. All around her lay the wreckage of the previous night’s one-woman Prosecco party.

The bedroom smelt of bad breath and stale alcohol, it was times like this she was so glad she didn’t have a partner to wake up too. She thought of countless couples up and down the country now waking up smelling of nightly bad breath. She shuddered at the thought and pulled the duvet up to her chin

When the radio alarm clock went off a second time, Maggie let the smooth sounds of Chopin feel her bedroom. It was Monday morning again and the only good thing about Monday and the week ahead was seeing Richard Maple, her co-partner in the antique shop their both run. He was a gentle soul, five-foot ten inches tall with short unkempt fair hair that reminded Maggie of a haystack after a storm. He had grey-blue eyes that were rather comically magnified by the thick lens in his tortoise-shell glasses.

An upper toned body from his university rugby playing days was still in evident and in addition to these good looks was his academic prowess. To make him perfect there was also a dash of practicality about him too.

He confessed to her on numerous occasions that he had never been married and was quite open to Maggie that his track record with seeing again woman after the first date, was quite low. Richard told her he liked to take his time with an potential relationships, he was not the rushing type. He liked to find out about a woman’s character; see what a potential Mrs M was like when faced with certain scenarios. For instance, how would a future Mrs M handle a burst water pipe? Would she run straight out of the flat back to whatever sanctuary she could find, or locate the stop cock and turn the water off? Maggie remembered laughing when he said to her that was his opening line to all the women on their first date. Maggie said afterwards that she was not surprised he was still living alone.

But that was Richard being practical. Not long after her original book shop had opened, it snowed quite heavy for Chelsea. Maggie had bare legs that day and wore open toe shoes. Knowing that she had a long walk to the bus stop, Richard gave her a pair of mens woolly socks and a spare pair of his walking shoes he had tucked away out the back should the need arise for a winter of discontent in Chelsea. That was the Richard Maple she'd got to know and now at long last, after so many lonely years due to her break-up, giving herself permission to gradually fall in love with.

Maggie was an antique dealer specialising in old and rare books. She bought a lot of the books mainly to full-fill client orders but she wasn’t exclusive. She ran a joint venture with Richard, sharing the same premises and her side of the shop was stacked with antique books that appealed to all types of collectors with varying budgets.

Richard was a fine art dealer and like Maggie, tracked down paintings by the world’s renowned artists for collectors and art galleries. He was approached once by the BBC who were planning to remake a Sunday tea-time antiques show. But Richard didn’t want to be in a ‘Roadshow’ travelling up and down country on the slim chance that he might find a forgotten Cezanne.

As well as his art dealership, Richard liked to promote local artists and his gallery featured the best of Fulham and Chelsea could offer. However, times were tough and surplus cash was in short supply.

It was his idea to join the two shops together after speaking with Maggie during a local traders meeting one evening. That day both of them had a visit from their accountants and both were told if trade didn’t pick-up then the bank would have to foreclose on their respected businesses.

Richard suggested to Maggie about joining her independent bookshop with his art gallery, being that his premises was the biggest. Maggie didn’t need much persuading she would do anything rather than lose her little shop. She had so loving worked hard to build her business up ever since her dismissal from the Piccadilly branch of Waterstones bookshop. She still couldn’t see what was wrong with burning all the boy band books. She said, in her defense, she was saving a generation from a fate worse than death.

So, after much discussion it was decided, Maggie sold her shop to an e-cigarette company and moved in, so to speak, with Richard Maple. That was just over a year ago, and in that time, they became good businesses partners and more than good friends.

Maggie was in love with Richard and he was in love with her. The thing was they both had trouble expressing it verbally. Those magical three little words, I love you, never seemed to make an appearance.

The time now showed 07.15. Maggie would have loved to lie there all morning, but she had a business to run. Three things were about to come together in a perfect storm for making Maggie late opening the shop. Firstly, as she slowly came too she could feel a pain across the bridge of her nose then behind her ear. She placed a hand up to her face and to her horror discovered she had fallen asleep again wearing her glasses. Bent out of shape, she would now have to go to the optician at lunch-time. But more worryingly, she had to tip her apartment upside down looking for her spare pair.

Secondly, Maggie was becoming increasingly concerned about the sticky substance between her legs. She touched whatever it was bringing her hand out from under the duvet. Her fingers were covered in a brown-like substance.

Now throwing the duvet off she jumped out of bed trampling under-foot an opened tube of Pringles. This was the third thing that was going to make her late, contending with getting crushed potatoe chips out between her toes.

A little consolation and somewhat of a relief, the brown substance was not a night-time dose of the shits but a big bag of open Cadbury Chocolate Buttons Maggie had been lying on in the night.