“Whyhello!Violet! Fancy hearing fromyou–” Mrs. Shelby’s face darkened as she listened to an indistinct voice from within the phone. “Well, Ihardlysee how that’smy–” she started to say, before being cut off.
Celeste raised an eyebrow. Was Mrs. Shelby actually speaking with someone who had a stronger will than her, and no qualms about cutting her off mid-sentence? Either way, Mrs. Shelby’s lips pursed into a displeased frown.
“Well, of all thedemanding,impertinent…” she muttered as she hung up on the call, shaking her head, before she composed her face once more, turning to Celeste with a brittle, artificial smile. “Well. Well. It seems I’m needed.”
Celeste could feel curiosity burning within her, but she was sure Mrs. Shelby would enlighten her without her having to ask – and sure enough, a moment later, she did.
“It seems that Violet Plumwood requires some assistance in packing up some of the vases I took to her last week, in order to send them to the mainland – Igaveher all the boxes and tissue paper anyone could require, but now she says she wants my help, as she doesn’t want to be blamed if any of them break in transit. As if they would, if she would only do it properly! Justhowlong has that woman beenrunningthe post office, I ask you.”
“Oh,” Celeste said, blinking, a strange mixture of relief and regret filling her stomach. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I guess we can’t make the mugs you need right now after all –”
“Oh, no, don’t besilly, Celeste dear,” Mrs. Shelby trilled, as if Celeste had just told her the funniest joke she’d heard all day. “Ofcoursethe two of you can remain here – you don’t needmysupervision just to make a couple of hand-thrown mugs, after all!Nothingcould be simpler.”
Celeste shot a glance at Pierce. Didheknow what he was doing? Nothing in his face gave it away if so – he simply raised his eyebrows a little at her.
“Mrs. Shelby –” Celeste tried again. “I really don’t think –”
“Now, now, I can’t stand around here chatting all day,” Mrs. Shelby said, as she grabbed her tie-dyed tote bag from where she’d left it on the table. “Violet sounds like she’ll simply throw afitif I don’t get over to that post office right away. I’ll leave you to yourselves – and your mugs, of course! Just use the clay I cut for you – it should be more than enough. And have a simplylovelytime – I cannotwaitto see what you create! Cheerio!”
And with that, Mrs. Shelby was gone, swishing out of the door of the studio and into the cold of the winter air outside.
Celeste blinked, feeling mildly stunned – but then, Mrs. Shelby tended to have that effect on most people she met. Swallowing, she glanced at Pierce again, wondering what he made of all of this.
“Uh,” Celeste said, just to break the silence that had descended in Mrs. Shelby’s wake. “I’m really sorry about this, Pierce. I truly didn’t know Mrs. Shelby was on the prowl, looking for people to help her with her auction project –”
“There’s no need for you to apologize,” Pierce said, shaking his head. “It’s for a good cause, after all. Though I really don’t know how they could expect to auction anything I might make for actual money.”
Celeste laughed, almost despite herself. “Me neither. I don’t think I’ve so much as touched a piece ofclayin my life, let alone tried to, uh, hand throw something. Even something as simple as a mug.”
“It can’t be too difficult, can it?” Pierce said musingly, as he walked along the wall of Mrs. Shelby’s creations, picking up the first mug he came to. “Cup. Handle. It’s not rocket science, is it?”
“No, I suppose it’s not,” Celeste said, as she took off her jacket and then rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. “And anyway, she was very insistent. I suppose we really don’t have much choice but to at least give it a go.”
“It might even be fun,” Pierce said, putting Mrs. Shelby’s mug down on the table in front of them, as if it would help them to keep in mind what a mug was supposed to look like. “Though… this clay she gave us is in a square shape. Do you think we ought to roll it flat?”
This time, Celeste reallydidlaugh. “Wow, this is already going well. I can just see everyone lining up to get our mugs. The world’s first mug in the shape of a cube, no handle, no cup, no mug! Talk about abstract expressionism.”
Pierce joined in with her laughter – the soft quiet laugh she remembered so well and which had always made her heart flutter within her. “Well, no one can say it won’t be unique.”
“Come on, I assume we make the clay flat with a rolling pin or something like that – let’s see what Mrs. Shelby has in the way of equipment, and then we can get started.”
An hour later, Celeste had to admit that perhapsuniquemight not have been so off the mark when it came to describing the mugs she and Pierce had created.
“Hmmm,” she said, as she turned the… the… well, theitemaround on the table in front of her. It had a handle, at least. Itdefinitelyhad a cup. But nothing else about it was really recognizable as something anyone would drink out of. The top was wobbly, the bottom was barely holding on for dear life. It bulged in places no mug should bulge. Celeste was pretty sure if she actually tried to lift it off the worktable, it would simply collapse into its constituent parts. “I think… I think I’m really not going to get anything better than this.”
Pierce glanced across at her. “Are you sure of that?”
“Hey!” Celeste yelped, putting her hands on her hips – remembering only a moment later that they were absolutely covered in clay. She yelped again, wiping them on the front of the apron she’d found, and hoping the clay would wash out of her sweater. “I worked really hard on this! And what, exactly, do you callthat?!”
Pierce looked down at thethatshe’d indicated with her clay-covered fingers.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Celeste said, shaking her head. “I barely even know where to start. It’s only an inch tall, to start with.”
Pierce frowned. “I was trying to make an espresso cup.”
“Well, I suppose in terms of the fact peoplewillhave to drink it quickly before their drink leaks out of the gaping hole you havehere, it’s pretty express,” Celeste said, poking at the spot where Pierce had apparently completely failed to join the upright part of the mug to the base.
