On Monday afternoon, Iris stood at the end of the main aisle while Hugh held a noticeboard in front of his face.
“Higher?” he asked through it.
“No. Lower. I’d like the audience to know you survived.”
He lowered it. The board was covered in faded gold letters advertising a sale that had taken place before Priya was born.
“The other side’s plain,” Hugh said.
“The other side has a water stain.”
“We can put something over it.”
They could. The question was whether everything they could do would add up to an evening she wanted to invite people to.
The mirror islands stood on either side of them, their curved wood edges polished by decades of passing hands. People would see themselves walking between the two. The old store photograph would stand at the end, framed by reflections of the room they were about to lose.
That was the picture Iris had been holding. It was also a picture containing somebody else’s valuable property.
Priya brought a second board down from storage. Daniel arrived while they were trying the two together, one hiding a stain, the other a row of thumbtack holes.
“I have numbers,” he said.
“Everybody does lately,” Hugh replied.
The buyer’s written offer remained four thousand two hundred, collection Thursday, all listed pieces ready on the loading floor. If the estate retained the islands, the revised offer for the rails alone was much lower; selling the islands later might recover the difference, or it might not. Removal would have to be arranged separately.
Iris checked the figures beside his written offer.
“How much to use these instead?” he asked, looking at the boards.
Iris showed him her estimate. Extra paid preparation time, plain cloth to cover the boards, a narrow rail to hold the photograph. One hundred and forty dollars, within the remaining event allowance if Joan agreed to the change. Hugh and Priya wanted the extra paid hours.
Daniel read it, checked one figure and handed it back.
“That seems reasonable.”
“It will look reasonable.”
He glanced at her. She looked down the aisle, trying not to feel petulant about the difference between reasonable and lovely.
Priya set the old photograph against the plain part of the board.
“Stand there,” she told Daniel.
He did.
“No, not like you’re waiting to tell someone a house is worth less than they think. Like a person at a party.”
Hugh laughed. Daniel looked at Iris, and the expression Priya wanted arrived before he could arrange it.
She put Iris beside him.
“There.”
Iris looked at the photograph on Priya’s phone. Two people at the end of an aisle. A ridiculous noticeboard, one corner of the old store picture, Daniel’s shoulder close to hers. Nothing reflected them into a larger scene.
Her eyes went to their faces.
“All right,” she said.
Daniel turned toward her.
“Take the offer. We’ll change the setup.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. I’d still rather have the islands. I can’t justify asking the estate to lose two thousand dollars for it.”
He nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Let’s put the change to Joan.”
They called from the office, Iris explaining the event cost, Daniel the fixture value. Joan asked two questions, approved the revised preparation amount and authorized the sale by email afterward. By six, the buyer had a signed acceptance and the staff had a schedule for the extra work.
Iris stayed behind after Hugh and Priya went to the stockroom for cloth. Daniel put the offer copy in his case.
“You wanted that,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Not just because it was your job.”
He met her eyes. “I like making a good deal. I like knowing I found the right buyer instead of sending everything to the first van that turned up.”
“Even when the rest of us make it difficult.”
“Especially then.”
She laughed and put a hand against his arm.
“Thank you for letting me dislike it,” she said.
“I noticed you were going to anyway.”
She kissed him, briefly. Then she took her drawing from the desk and crossed out the islands.
On Tuesday, Winnie brought the yellow dress in a suitcase.
It was an old blue case with metal corners, more substantial than the clothes required, and she set it on the alterations table as if delivering diplomatic papers.
“I don’t want commentary,” she said.
“Then you’ve come to the wrong department,” Iris told her.
The dress unfolded into a surprising amount of silk. Deep yellow, nearly gold, with a narrow waist and a full skirt that made Iris think of dancing in rooms where people still wore gloves.
Priya put down the poster she was holding.
“Oh, Winnie.”
“Yes. I know.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“I thought you were going to ask how old it was.”
“How old is it?”
“Older than your mother. Probably more fun.”
She took it behind the curtain. Iris heard the zip move, stop, move again. Then silence.
“Come in,” Winnie said.
The dress fitted everywhere except the waist. Not by much. Enough that the last section of zip refused to negotiate. Winnie stood with one hand on her hip, looking at herself with an expression more curious than distressed.
“Well,” she said. “I’ve lived.”
“We could let it out a little.”
“Is there enough seam?”
Iris checked. Barely. The cloth had also faded slightly along the folds. A perfect restoration would require more work than the evening justified, and Winnie knew it.
“I could wear it open with a jacket,” Winnie said.
“You could.”
“Or I could carry it and tell them what happened when I wore it.”
“What did happen?”
Winnie smiled at her reflection.
“I turned down a man who became extremely rich.”
Iris laughed. “Do you regret that?”
“I regret the house. Not the man.”
They decided she would carry the dress on a hanger, wearing her own bright shirt and a black skirt. Priya could hold up a photograph if they found one. The story would be about the woman who had chosen the dress, not whether her body still obeyed it.
Hugh’s suit required a different compromise. He could get into it, but not comfortably breathe. He demonstrated this with a stoicism Iris refused to encourage.
“Take it off before we need a first-aid incident report.”
“I had it on at my daughter’s wedding.”
“Your daughter has a son old enough to give recitals. Time has passed.”
He exhaled, relieved. They found him a jacket from the remaining stock that fitted properly and agreed he would carry the wedding photograph instead. He claimed this was a victory for visual aids.
By lunchtime the alterations room contained two historic garments, four photographs, a pair of shoes Priya insisted could be walked in and a list of names that no longer seemed remotely orderly.
Iris felt the first stirrings of a familiar urge: do everything herself before the group could make a mistake.
She put the list on the table.
“I need someone to handle photographs and someone to handle the order.”
Priya took the photographs. Hugh took the order and immediately wanted to change it. Winnie took a biscuit from the tin and said she would supervise complaints.
It was not efficient. It was much more cheerful.
Daniel came up at two with the approved seating plan. He had drawn fifty chairs in rows with an aisle down the middle. Hugh pointed out that half of them would be facing the back of a mannequin.
“We’ll move the mannequin,” Daniel said.
“She’s been there longer than you.”
“Then she can retire.”
Priya laughed. Iris watched Daniel move a chair symbol on the tablet with the same concentration he’d used for the estate figures. His shirt collar was open. A small patch of skin showed at his throat, and she found herself remembering the warmth beneath it with an entirely inappropriate degree of detail.
Winnie caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.
Iris looked down at the seating plan.
At four, Daniel asked if they could walk out for coffee.
She had twenty minutes before she needed to go home for the viewing. She said yes, leaving Hugh and Priya to disagree about which direction a procession ought to begin.
Outside, the air was warm enough that neither needed a coat. They walked to the bakery and bought coffee to take away. Daniel seemed preoccupied, glancing at his phone once before putting it firmly in his pocket.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes. Work.”
“Toast racks again?”
“No. A collection in Oregon. A firm I’ve worked with before wants me to lead the valuation.”
She looked at him. “Oregon.”
“Yes.”
They stopped beside the park. Children were throwing crumbs to birds beneath Thomas Wren’s disapproving face.
“For how long?”
“About six weeks. Starting after this closes.”
The warmth of the afternoon shifted. Not disappeared. Shifted, as if a cloud had passed before the sun while she hadn’t been looking.
“Have you accepted?”
“No. They sent details this morning.”
“Oh.”
He looked at her carefully. “It’s good work.”
“I imagine.”
“Better paid than most of the local contracts. Enough to make some other decisions easier afterward.”
She understood that. She had just watched a deposit leave her savings. She didn’t want a man who behaved as if money ceased to matter because he had met her.
“Would you want to go?” she asked.
“Yes. Parts of it. The collection’s interesting. The hotel less so.”
She took a sip of coffee, too hot, and wished she had waited. Six weeks was not forever. It was longer than they had known each other.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
He described rooms of furniture, decorative objects, a family trust needing an independent valuation. Some of it sounded tedious. Some sounded like the books on his shelves had turned into an actual house he could walk through.
She could see why he wanted it.
“And then?” she asked.
“Then I’m back.”
She looked down at the lid of her cup.
“I don’t want to make plans that assume you’ll be here if you won’t.”
“I know.”
“Will you tell me when you decide?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. He reached for her free hand, and she let him take it.
“We’ll find a way through six weeks,” she said.
“I’d like that.”
They stood for a moment beneath the young leaves. He kissed her once, lightly, then they began walking back.
At home, Iris moved her shoes out of the hallway and put the damp tea towel in the laundry before the agent arrived. The viewers were a couple in their thirties with a little boy who immediately tested the garden gate. Iris left them to it, walking around the block twice because she didn’t know where else to go without making the outing seem larger than it was.
When she returned, the house smelled faintly of somebody else’s perfume.
“They liked it,” the agent said. “No promises. They have one more to see.”
“Of course.”
“They particularly liked the garden.”
Iris looked through the kitchen window. The broken pot beside the shed, the old clematis, the patch Beth had once planted with sunflower seeds and forgotten to water. Places did not require the same memories from their next occupants.
After the agent left, she made toast and ate it at the table. On the chair opposite lay the draft opening cards she’d brought home to check. Name. Number. Appointments. A date after the room became hers.
She had thought Daniel might help bring the machine up the stairs that week. She could ask Hugh instead. That was not the part that made her uneasy.
The uneasy part was how quickly a future had grown a space shaped like him.
She put the cards away and called Beth to hear about the workshop. For twenty minutes they discussed buttons, small children and a jar of glue that had defeated three adults. By the end Iris was laughing.
Later, Daniel sent a photograph from his kitchen. Eggs in a pan, toast unburnt.
Making progress.
She smiled at the screen, then typed: Don’t become too impressive. I’ve only just got used to you.
His reply came a minute later.
No danger of that.