my shoulder, wondering whether I should leave. ‘Do you have a nervous disposition, dear?’
I turn back to find she’s stopped again and is watching me closely. ‘Why?’
‘You look ready to bolt.’
‘Not at all,’ I lie through my teeth.
‘That’s good.’ Off she goes again, and I follow. ‘Because, you see, the boss, he’s a little . . .’ She pauses. I can’t see her face, but I can tell by the slight cock of her head that she’s thinking how best to word it. ‘Difficult,’ she finishes, leaving me even more worried. Difficult? ‘Here we are.’ She swipes a card through a metal keypad on the wall. Security? Okay, so that’s a step up from my father’s store. Putting some weight behind her, she pushes the door open.
And I nearly fall over. ‘Bloody hell,’ I splutter, looking around me in shock.
‘Now then, dear.’ She looks at me disapprovingly. ‘Is there really any need for such language?’
‘I’m sorry. Just a bit of a surprise, that’s all.’ I’ve stepped into another dimension. Left behind me are the damp brick walls and stale smell. Now, I could be standing in the Garden of Eden. We’re in a cobbled courtyard, with a horseshoe-shaped brick building surrounding us and a stone fountain positioned centrally, trickling a peaceful sound of water over the edges. Iron railings form balconies on the first level of each of the three walls, and luscious greenery climbs the brickwork. It’s beautiful and so very unexpected. It doesn’t look like any type of business is run from here. I want to live here. I want to swing open those balcony doors in the morning and drink in the fresh air, let the voile curtains billow around me while I stretch and let the sun warm my vitamin D-deprived face. You would never know that the madness of London existed beyond the walls of this idyllic place.
‘Welcome to The Haven, dear. This way.’ Mrs Potts seems oblivious to my awe. ‘We’ll chat—’ Her lips purse as she pushes her way through one side of a giant wooden double door. ‘We’ll conduct the interview in here.’
I enter the huge room, trying to hold on to my surprise once more. I fail. ‘Wow.’ I walk aimlessly into the centre of the area, gazing at the ceiling that stretches up at least two floors. Tapestries cascade down the bare brick walls, and the most beautiful pieces of furniture grace the colossal space. Sideboards, desks, chairs, tables, cabinets . . .
It’s all haphazard. There’s no uniformity or organisation to the room. Cabinets displaying vases, lamps, and ornamental pieces are scattered across the floor space, and paintings are propped up in every available space, covered in protective sheeting. It’s organised chaos. It’s a treasure chest: Aladdin’s cave. Pandora’s Box . . .
Nothing like my father’s store.
‘Oh my God,’ I tear my awestruck eyes from the endless beautiful pieces and allow them to rest on Mrs Potts.
She smiles at my wonder and heads towards a door, leaving me slowly turning and drinking in the space again. ‘I’ll pop the kettle on. Won’t be a moment.’
I begin to wander, weaving through the pathways between the endless items of furniture, soaking up the sheer beauty of it all. My fingertips lightly glide over various surfaces as I pass them. I’m smiling, too. The history in this room is almost alive. It’s strange to admit it, but it’s like I can almost hear the antiques. It’s as if they’re all talking to me, keen for me to centre my attention on each and every one of them and let them blow my mind with their stories. Problem is, I wouldn’t know where to start. There are things I recognise, things I’ve studied. Famous pieces. I stop in the middle of the room and breathe in deeply, letting the air in my lungs leave on a happy exhale. This is more like it. This is what I imagined when I watched my dad pour his energy into restoring worthless pieces of junk, when I’ve lost myself in books. I shake my head in wonder. ‘But where am I?’ I ask quietly as my eyes take another greedy circuit of the room, lifting slightly once I’ve pivoted a full three-sixty degrees.
What I see when I look up has me stepping forwards, trying to focus. Towards the back of the giant space it breaks into two levels, a glass wall dropping from the vaulted ceiling to meet a mezzanine floor. It’s like a giant glass box