Bracelet Man

Bracelet Man 1607 words

Jane pulls her puffa-coat collar closer and re-arranges her flapping scarf. There must be a warmer way of earning a living than this, she thinks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and wishing, as always, that she could afford a pitch inside one of the barns.

She squinted into the raw sunlight and saw a tall figure examining an antique chest near the gateway to the field. Hope flickered. The man was back! She recognised the way he ambled across the grass, oblivious to the cold, just as he had three weeks ago, when she'd first seen him. Soft leather jacket draped round his shoulders, glowing amber skin, dazzling white shirt - you know - the sort of guy you'd see leaping off a yacht in Malaga. Not the usual Friday morning browser in this windswept corner of the antique market.

Jane remembered the bright morning last month when the man had stopped at her stall, his glance flicking over the tat onto the good stuff. She'd been hopeful. A possible customer. A collector? Her welcoming smile was automatic but then she'd seen his eyes – the colour of sunlit-dappled forests, the shifting depths of the sea. Her heart lurched at the memory. She'd busied herself then to cover her confusion, tidying the display on her table, but watching his tanned fingers select the early Georgian wine glass, hold it to examine the twisted line of bubbles inside the stem, weigh the foot of it in his palm and then delicately stroke its rim as he might the lips of a lover. A heavy silver bracelet, set with flat-cut peridots echoing the green pools of his eyes, gleamed on his wrist. Stop staring stupid. Jane had pursed her lips, straightened her posture, tried to look professional but, as the man had twirled the glass, and the facets of the gems in the bracelet flashed in the sunlight, a gentle waves of delight and desire had rippled through her body.

'Any others?' His voice had shocked her out of her trance. Shaking her head, she had leant on the edge of the table for support. Do I want to sell it? What would Granny have thought? It had seemed a good idea to leave it there to attract interest - put a ridiculously high price on it - but Jane realised that she had fallen into a trap of her own making. She paused. 'They're pretty rare these days. I..It was my grandmother's.'

'How much?'

Surely he could hear her heart pounding? She had taken a breath, attempted her best artless smile. 'Three hundred and eighty-five.'

The ball had bounced back immediately. 'Take three-fifty?' The gentle eyes had held hers. The sun had teased her face. He'd raised an eyebrow above the green pools, the shifting seas, and her doubts had melted. The back of her neck had tingled as she'd returned the volley. 'Three-sixty?'

'Done.'

Game over.

Jane had rummaged under the stall for some bubble-wrap to protect Granny's treasure, picturing the delicacy of the stem in Granny's bent fingers as the old lady sipped her afternoon sherry. She'd wrapped it with care, letting go of the precious memory, and handed it over. The jewelled bracelet had glinted on the man's skin, as he held out the money. Taking it, her hand had trembled. Remorse, lust or something deeper? - she hadn't been sure.'

Er, Beautiful bracelet.'

'Oh! Really? Family heirloom. Adore it. Never take it off. No sisters I'm afraid.' He'd stuffed the parcel in his jacket pocket and had given her the kind of smile which should have had a twinkling star at the corner. Turning to go, he'd hesitated, as if about to say something, then had taken a breath. 'Er, I'm quite into Georgian glass, especially air-twists like this one. I'll stop by another time, if I may, and see what you have.'

'Um. Yes. Fine.'

If only!

#

Now, three Fridays later, Jane is beginning to regret running with her instinct and spending all that time – and all that money she couldn't afford, trawling the internet to find another air-twist glass. Blinking hard and grimacing at the smell of fried onions drifting across the field from the burger-van, she plunges her hands into her coat pockets, stares at her online prize. She'd had to beat off several other bidders who'd come in at the last minute but she'd prevailed and, now, the double air-twist, twinkled centre-stage on her table.

Will he come today?

The longing is becoming unbearable.

She bites her lip, guilt gnaws. I shouldn't have sold Granny's glass in the first place. A shadow falls across the table. Jane glances up. Bracelet Man's green eyes seek hers. Her heart leaps.

He shrugs a bulky holdall off his shoulders, sets it on the ground, scans the display and reaches for the double air-twist piece. The wind scatters dried leaves and bits of grass over the table and teases her hair, but Jane's cheeks glow. Warmth is creeping up towards her ears.

'Another one!' Bracelet Man holds the glass up to the sunlight as if searching for defects. Most buyers hide their enthusiasm but he must be innocent of such wiles. His eyes sparkle, his lips curl. 'This is exquisite. Perfect.'

Jane manages to speak. She's not sure how. 'Er. It's about the same date as the other one. Maybe a bit earlier.' Bracelet Man nods. '1750 or thereabouts.' He replaces the glass on the table.

No bracelet!

He doesn't notice her gaze as he glances over his shoulder at a young woman standing at a retro-clothing stall a little distance away. 'Tascha! You happy over there for a minute?' Jane's eyes follow the direction of his call to where an improbably glamorous girl is moving elegant fingers along a rail of Fifties suits. She looks up in response, flicks aside a curtain of blonde hair and flashes an immaculate smile. A silk dress, totally unsuited to raking around second-hand clothes' stalls, flutters against her long legs. She raises a hand. A heavy silver bracelet clunks on her slender arm.

Misery stabs Jane's chest.

The bracelet! The family heirloom! The one he never takes off! No sisters – but obviously a girl-friend – fiancée even - wife? Stupid to expect that someone like him would be unattached, would be still swimming around in the sea with the other fish.

In the confusion of stalls and people, wind blown litter and greasy burgers, the meaningless jumble of life, Jane's heart sinks. Clouds race to cover the sun. The sunny day turns bleak, hostile, lonely. She digs her hands deeper into her pockets and sniffs. How could I have sold Granny's favourite glass? How could I have been so callous? How could I have been so charmed by a pair of eyes? Stupid or what? She bites her lip - tastes the blood.

Bracelet Man's face clouds too. 'Are you all right?'

Jane clenches her fists. Turns away from the verdant pools, the shifting seas. 'I'm fine.' She begins a needless re-arrangement of three pink-lustre jugs on the table, picks up the eighteenth-century glass, puts it down again. His wrist, naked without the bracelet, reaches towards her. 'May I see it again?'

She grabs the glass. 'It's not for sale!'

“Oh! Is this your grandmother's too? I did wonder if you were happy selling the other one.”

Jane hugs the glass. 'No.,.er yes.'

His gentle eyes seek hers. 'It's difficult letting go of memories.'

'You obviously don't find it hard.' Jane's cheeks are wet. She doesn't care. 'You said you never take it off.'

Confusion swims in the green pools. 'Er..?' He glances at his wrist. 'Oh. Oh that!' He smiles. 'Please don't cry.' If the glass means so much, you must have it back. I'm not really a big collector. I wanted to ask you out last time but just ended up inventing a feeble excuse to see you again.'

'What about your girl friend?'

'Girl friend?' The skin around the green pools crinkles like the golden wave-patterned sands of the Aegean Sea. 'Tascha? Ha! She's hardly that.'

The wind bites the raw wetness of Jane's face. How can he laugh? Aware of the pathetic picture she is making, she sniffs, glares at him. 'She's wearing your family heirloom. You said you never take it off.' She gestures towards the vintage clothes stall then gropes in her pocket for a tissue.

Bracelet Man's eyes crinkle again, but he doesn't laugh. 'Girl-friend? No way! Tascha's here for a fashion-shoot I'm doing in one of the barns.' He indicates the camera-bag at his feet. 'I'm a photographer. She's my model today but she brought the wrong sort of jewellery. The stylist wanted her in something chunky so I lent her the bracelet. The rest of the crew are in the pub. She wanted to look at the clothes. I wanted to see you. Must remember to get the thing back before she walks off with it.” He takes Jane's hand. 'I only chose this location, because you might be here – after inventing that pathetic tale last time about being a glass collector.' He pauses. Shakes his head, but keeps his warm hands around hers. 'I just came to find you.'

The clouds roll away from the sun. Over at the retro-stall, Tascha is trying on a little feathered hat. Jane looks away from her and into his eyes, into the sunlit forests, into the shifting depths of the sea. The sun kisses her face. Bracelet Man smiles - and this time his smile does have a twinkling star at the corner.