The Collected Short Stories Read online

  “Come on, come on, how much were you hoping to sting me for?”

  “I think you must prepare yourself for a shock, sir,” said the dealer.

  “How much?” repeated Kendall-Hume, impatiently.

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  “Pounds?”

  “Pounds.”

  “You must be joking,” said Kendall-Hume, walking around the carpet and ending up standing next to Margaret. “You’re about to find out why I’m considered the scourge of the East Midlands car trade,” he whispered to her. “I wouldn’t pay more than fifteen thousand for that carpet.” He turned back to face the dealer. “Even if my life depended on it.”

  “Then I fear your time has been wasted, sir,” the Turk replied. “For this is a carpet intended only for the cognoscenti. Perhaps madam might reconsider the red-and-blue?”

  “Certainly not,” said Kendall-Hume. “The color’s all faded. Can’t you see? You obviously left it in the window too long, and the sun has got at it. No, you’ll have to reconsider your price if you want the orange-and-yellow one to end up in the home of a connoisseur.”

  The dealer sighed as his fingers tapped the calculator again.

  While the transaction continued, Melody looked on vacantly, occasionally gazing out of the window toward the bay.

  “I could not drop a penny below twenty-three thousand pounds.”

  “I’d be willing to go as high as eighteen thousand,” said Kendall-Hume, “but not a penny more.”

  The Robertses watched the dealer tap the numbers into the calculator.

  “That would not even cover the cost of what I paid for it myself,” he said sadly, staring down at the little glowing figures.

  “You’re pushing me, but don’t push me too far. Nineteen thousand,” said Mr. Kendall-Hume. “That’s my final offer.”

  “Twenty thousand pounds is the lowest figure I could consider,” replied the dealer. “A giveaway price, on my mother’s grave.”

  Kendall-Hume took out his wallet and placed it on the table by the side of the dealer.

  “Nineteen thousand pounds and you’ve got yourself a deal,” he said.

  “But how will I feed my children?” asked the dealer, his arms raised above his head.

  “The same way I feed mine,” said Kendall-Hume, laughing. “By making a fair profit.”

  The dealer paused as if reconsidering, then said, “I can’t do it, sir. I’m sorry. We must show you some other carpets.” The assistants came forward on cue.

  “No, that’s the one I want,” said Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “Don’t quarrel over a thousand pounds, pet.”

  “Take my word for it, madam,” the dealer said, turning toward Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “My family would starve if we only did business with customers like your husband.”

  “Okay, you get the twenty thousand, but on one condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “My receipt must show that the bill was for ten thousand pounds. Otherwise I’ll only end up paying the difference in customs duty.”

  The dealer bowed low, as if to indicate he did not find the request an unusual one.

  Mr. Kendall-Hume opened his wallet and withdrew ten thousand pounds in travelers’ checks and ten thousand pounds in cash.

  “As you can see,” he said, grinning, “I came prepared.” He removed another five thousand pounds and, waving it at the dealer, added, “and I would have been willing to pay far more.”

  The dealer shrugged. “You drive a hard bargain, sir. But you will not hear me complain now that the deal has been struck.”

  The vast carpet was folded, wrapped, and a receipt for ten thousand pounds made out while the travelers’ checks and cash were handed over.

  The Robertses had not uttered a word for twenty minutes. When they saw the cash change hands it crossed Margaret’s mind that it was more money than the two of them earned in a year.

  “Time to get back to the yacht,” said Kendall-Hume. “Do join us for lunch if you choose a carpet in time.”

  “Thank you,” said the Robertses in unison. They waited until the Kendall-Humes were out of sight, two assistants bearing the orange-and-yellow carpet in their wake, before they thanked the dealer for the coffee and in turn began to make their move towards the door.

  “What sort of carpet were you looking for?” asked the dealer.

  “I fear your prices are way beyond us,” said Christopher politely. “But thank you.”

  “Well, let me at least find out. Have you or your wife seen a carpet you liked?”

  “Yes,” replied Margaret, “the small carpet, but …”

  “Ah, yes,” said the dealer. “I remember madam’s eyes when she saw the Hereke.”

  He left them, to return a few moments later with the little soft-toned, green-based carpet with the tiny red squares that the Kendall-Humes had so firmly rejected. Not waiting for assistance he rolled it out himself for the Robertses to inspect more carefully.

  Margaret thought it looked even more magnificent the second time, and feared that she could never hope to find its equal in the few hours left to them.

  “Perfect,” she admitted, quite unashamedly.

  “Then we have only the price to discuss,” said the dealer kindly. “How much were you wanting to spend, madam?”

  “We had planned to spend three hundred pounds,” said Christopher, jumping in. Margaret was unable to hide her surprise.

  “But we agreed—” she began.

  “Thank you, my dear, I think I should deal with this matter.”

  The dealer smiled and returned to the bargaining.

  “I would have to charge you six hundred pounds,” he said. “Anything less would be robbery.”

  “Four hundred pounds is my final offer,” said Christopher, trying to sound in control.

  “Five hundred pounds would have to be my bottom price,” said the dealer.

  “I’ll take it!” cried Christopher.

  An assistant began waving his arms and talking to the dealer noisily in his native tongue. The owner raised a hand to dismiss the young man’s protests, while the Robertses looked on anxiously.

  “My son,” explained the dealer, “is not happy with the arrangement, but I am delighted that the little carpet will reside in the home of a couple who will so obviously appreciate its true worth.”

  “Thank you,” said Christopher quietly.

  “Will you also require a bill of a different price?”

  “No, thank you,” said Christopher, handing over ten fifty-pound notes and then waiting until the carpet was wrapped and he was presented with the correct receipt.

  As he watched the Robertses leave his shop clinging on to their purchase, the dealer smiled to himself.

  When they arrived at the quayside, the Kendall-Humes’ boat was already halfway across the bay heading toward the quiet beach. The Robertses sighed their combined relief and returned to the bazaar for lunch.

  It was while they were waiting for their baggage to appear on the carousel at Heathrow that Christopher felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned round to face a beaming Ray Kendall-Hume.

  “I wonder if you could do me a favor, old boy?”

  “I will if I can,” said Christopher, who still had not fully recovered from their last encounter.

  “It’s simple enough,” said Kendall-Hume. “The old girl and I have brought back far too many presents, and I wondered if you could take one of them through customs. Otherwise we’re likely to be held up all night.”

  Melody, standing behind an already loaded luggage cart, smiled at the two men benignly.

  “You would still have to pay any duty that was due on it,” said Christopher firmly.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” said Kendall-Hume, struggling with a massive package before pushing it on the Robertses’ trolley. Christopher wanted to protest as Kendall-Hume peeled off two thousand pounds and handed the money and the receipt ever to the schoolteacher.

  “What do we do if they c