cracking it or crushing his feet.
He was not used to manhandling large objects. At first he managed the weight with ease, having found the point of balance. Then as he was rolling it towards the edge, the vase leaned a shade too far towards him. He was forced backwards. Instinctively he tugged at the rim to stop himself falling over. The inevitable happened. The massive shoulder of the pot thumped against his chest. He was powerless to hold it.
Disaster.
He went down.
The vase crashed on the cushion just to his left, missing him narrowly. The broadest part hit the floorboards and smashed. The sound must have carried through the entire building.
He said, 'Jeez,' and lay still, shocked and winded.
From somewhere downstairs, Peg's voice called out, 'What happened?'
Some other visitor to the shop called back superfluously, 'Something fell over, I think.'
Somebody looked in and asked if Joe was all right. He answered that he was fine. Probably he was, apart from bruises. His elbows hurt and his backside was numb, but he could feel no sharp pain. He sat up, rubbing his left elbow.
The woman at the door said, 'It's a wonder this isn't happening all the time, there's so much crammed in.'
Joe murmured agreement.
'Are you all right?'
'Hundred per cent.' He struggled to his feet and summoned a smile. 'Better off than the vase.'
'Let's hope it isn't valuable.'
'It isn't any more.' Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs and Joe had an impulse to grab the precious writing box of the floor and hide it from Peg. He was sure, however, that when she saw the broken vase she would remember what it had been standing on.
He stood like a schoolkid whose baseball has smashed a window, trying to think of some excuse.
Peg arrived. The first thing she said was, 'What was it?' The second thing: 'Oh, it was you.'
'My fault, ma'am,' he admitted. 'All my fault. Shouldn't have tried to move it. I'll pay for the damage. Is it insured?'
'You're joking, ducky,' Peg told him. 'I can't afford to insure this lot.' Her eyes took in the whole scene. 'You found the box, then. I should have remembered it was here.'
'Like an idiot, I tried to remove the vase. Was it a special piece?'
'Egyptian,' said Peg.
'Oh, my God.' Thousands of years of history were lying in pieces at his feet. 'How much was it worth?'
'How much is anything worth?' said Peg indifferently. 'Only as much as someone is prepared to pay. This has been here for years. Nobody ever made me an offer.'
'If it's from Ancient Egypt, some museum would have been glad to own it.'
Deeply relieved, Joe said it was still his fault and he ought to pay compensation.
But Peg was dismissive. 'Forget it. Open up the writing box and I'll tell you if it's the one your book was in.'
He needed no more encouragement. His hands were shaking, whether from shock or anticipation he didn't know. He felt for the fastening and found it was a brass plate with a lock. 'It won't open. Do you have the key?'
Peg rolled her eyes upwards. 'Now you're asking.'
'You must have had it when you looked inside.'
'I'm sure I did, sweetheart. But putting my hands on it now is another thing. I've got a million keys in my office. Finding the right one will be the problem.'
He stood up again.
'Why don't you bring the box downstairs?' Peg suggested. 'Is that your book on the window sill? I'll hold that for you.'
'No, I can manage,' Joe said quickly, snatching it up and thrusting it under his arm. 'What about this mess?'
'Leave it. I'll get Ellis to clear it later.'
Ignoring the twinges in his back, Joe stooped and lifted the writing box with extreme care. It was not so heavy as he expected. He followed Peg through the labyrinth of rooms and down the stairs.
In her hideaway behind the grandfather clocks, she reached for an old biscuit-tin, and scooped up a handful of small keys and dropped them on top of her desk. 'You don't have to hold it to your bosom, dearie. Put it here and take your pick.'
He did as instructed and wiped away the dust with his sleeve. The shape of the vase's base was still imprinted.
'Care for a sherry while you try them out?' Peg offered. She was into her sales pitch now. He was already under an obligation after breaking the vase.
'Thanks, but I hope it won't take that long,' he said. 'My wife is waiting to go out for dinner.'
'You Americans eat so early.'
Joe started trying keys. This extra delay was almost too much to endure. Peg poured herself a large Amontillado, grabbed some more keys from the tin and sat watching. She seemed to be enjoying the performance. At one point she remarked that she still couldn't be certain if it was the correct writing box. 'I'll tell you when I see inside.'
Joe's hopes were on a higher plane. Secretly he wished for some incontestable link with Mary Shelley. Maybe some embossed initials, or a sheet of notepaper with something in her handwriting. Antique writing desks frequently had secret drawers built into them. Was it too much to hope that he might discover an unpublished love poem by Shelley?
The lock was resisting all his attempts. He could eliminate some keys at a glance. He had a rough idea of the size he needed. Some fitted the hole, but none up to now would turn the lock.
Peg put down her glass and provided another handful from the biscuit tin.
'How many more are there?'
'I don't want to depress you.'
'I'd rather know.'
'Two more biscuit tins to go,' she said. 'The Victorians had a thing about security. They locked everything. Bookcases, wardrobes, writing desks, work baskets, sewing machines, even chests of drawers. Put them out on display and you soon lose the blessed keys. Believe me, darling, they're an infernal nuisance. My solution is to keep them all here in boxes.'
'Great-if you label them. Or leave the furniture unlocked.'
'Don't sound so glum, professor. We're getting there slowly. I couldn't bear to force a fine old piece like this. It's really elegant, isn't it? The wood hasn't been looked after, but it would come up nicely with some polish. This is walnut. Belonged to a lady if I'm any judge. Men's writing boxes are bigger and more robust, reinforced with brass along the edges. Makes you wonder what they did with them. Threw them at the servants, I expect.'
Joe's thoughts were strictly in the present. 'Suppose you sold me this without the key. How much would you want?'
She took a long, thoughtful sip. 'There's no extra charge for the key.'
'That isn't what I meant.'
'I think we should go on looking.'
'But if I run out of time.'
Her eyes were pitiless, opaque. 'I'm sorry. I can't quote you a price without seeing the inside myself. The finishing is so important.'
'I could make you a substantial offer.'
She smiled and shook her head. It was becoming obvious that she knew she had a coveted item here.
