As he started to walk back to the store, he took a deep, appreciative breath. It was a beautiful Monday morning, and spring couldn’t be far off, as there was a definite lift to the air. Unfortunately, it was fast intermingling with exhaust fumes, but that was the price one paid for being in this part of the city. Pushing open the door of the emporium, he was immediately faced with a smell of a different kind—a mix of mouldering bric-a-brac, furniture polish, dusty carpets and incense. Looking around, he had to agree with Maggie that although he didn’t know too much about antiques, most of the merchandise seemed to be a load of junk. “See anything you like, dearie?” Nat realized that this overly made-up, peroxide blonde must be Rosie. “These are not genuine?” he said, pointing to two tall vases masquerading as cloisonné. Rosie seemed to size him up before answering. “I can see a gent like you knows a real genuine article when he sees one.”
