The woman, who had deep red hair cut in a very elegant curly bob, looked in the box Helena was holding. ‘Blessed be the day when we can have a cheese straw for breakfast. Thank you!’
Everyone Helena offered snacks to was equally grateful. ‘We none of us had time for breakfast,’ said one, ‘so a sausage roll is bliss!’
‘I’ll do a coffee run when they’re open,’ said a third, having had two cheese straws and a vol-au-vent. ‘So sensible to bring food!’
‘It’s my mother,’ Helena explained. ‘She hardly lets me leave the house without a food parcel – certainly not her house anyway. She’s a feeder.’
‘I love her already,’ said the handbag maker, whose name was Venetia.
‘She’s coming so you’ll be able to tell her,’ said Helena, relaxed and happy now.
A slight rumble of conversation was heard. ‘Oh! To your places, it’s show time!’ This was said by a wonderfully camp jeweller whose pieces made even Helena’s abstemious heart beat faster. He was as kind as he was camp and had made Helena feel extremely welcome.
Helena greeted her first potential customer, hoping she didn’t have flaky pastry down her front. She had dressed up for this occasion, put on make-up and tonged her hair into fat curls that fell over her shoulder: she didn’t want the effect spoiled by a moment of carelessness.
She and Amy had made her stall look great. The loom, which was already threaded with the beginnings of a scarf on it, was now assembled. It was the centrepiece, and all around hung her creations. She put the big mohair blankets destined for World of Wool at the back. They were monochrome but the shades were vibrant, bright yet subtle, and made a very colourful background to her more subtle and vastly more expensive silk scarves.
‘What a lovely stall!’ said the woman. ‘I love your scarves! I am a bit addicted,’ she went on. ‘My husband says I have the largest collection of them in private hands. How he would know, I have no idea.’ She frowned. ‘Unless he found my private stash of them under the spare bed.’
The woman didn’t add to her collection by buying one but she took a card and promised to keep an eye on her website. Helena was grateful she’d remembered to bring her cards as she nearly always forgot. They were important, Amy was always telling her. Although she made most of her money through weaving workshops, she did sell things online.
But a member of the second group of people did buy a scarf and draped it round her neck. It looked stunning on the woman’s rather formal black jacket, giving it the lift it needed.
‘What’s so good about these scarves,’ the woman said while Helena was processing the purchase, ‘is that they do for men and women.’
Helena smiled as she handed the woman her receipt. ‘True.’
‘And what’s good about that is,’ the woman went on, ‘a woman can buy it for her husband – men are always so hard to buy for – and then wear it herself if he doesn’t appreciate it.’ She looked down at the scarf. ‘In fact – can you wrap this up for me after all? Alexis has a birthday next week. That makes the scarf practically free!’
‘Do you want a quick whizz round the other stalls?’ asked one of Helena’s neighbours an hour or so later. ‘My friend has come and can mind my stall and it’s a shame not to see what other people produce.’
‘Oh, that is very kind! I was expecting my mother but she’s coming with my brother and his wife and they’re obviously delayed. I’d appreciate a trip to the loo as well. If you’re sure.’
After a quick chat with Amy, whose stall was right up the other end, Helena took her tour of the show.
There were some exquisite things to see. Even if one wasn’t intending to buy anything, just seeing the skill and beauty of the items made it very worthwhile for visitors. It could be a museum of the future, Helena thought.
There was a furniture maker who was an artist in marquetry. His jewellery boxes were like puzzles,full of secret drawers with hidden springs. She instantly thought about Ismene. She would love one of these boxes and she was so difficult to buy for. Helena considered for a few minutes and then, although the boxes were way above her normal budget for presents, chose a small oval box. There was a picture of a running horse and the secret compartment was very well concealed. While she would never be able to spend so much on her niece, Gilly, the ultimate indulgent grandmother, would have no trouble.
Having taken up time buying the box, Helena hurried past a violin maker, a glass blower (although not blowing currently) and a ceramicist.
Her purchase having been admired and approved by Jennifer, who’d been minding her stall, Helena said, ‘The standard here is really high, isn’t it? I was so lucky to get in.’
‘But your work is lovely,’ said Jennifer. ‘I sold two of your blankets while you were away. Cash sales, thank goodness.’ She handed Helena a wodge of notes.
‘Oh, thank you! I’m only here because someone else dropped out.’
‘Was that the woman who made garden ornaments?’ asked Venetia from two stalls down. ‘Rather a second-rate artisan if I may say so.’
Helena laughed. ‘As long as you don’t call me that the moment my back is turned.’
‘Of course not!’ said Venetia, horrified. ‘Your work is of the highest standard! I’m talking casts of gnomes with wheelbarrows and unfortunately placed fishing rods. From the back they looked horribly vulgar.’ She bit her lip. ‘They were quite funny though.’
Reassured, Helena smiled. ‘Oh! Here’s my mother.’
‘Will she be bringing more snacks?’ said Jennifer.
‘Quite likely. As I said, she is a feeder.’
