I glanced up from my crossword puzzle as the bell above the shop door tinkled. A man, broad shoulders, bright white smile and wearing black wraparound shades, strode into the warren of dusty shelves and cabinets. He moved with purpose, the material of his jeans hugging the tops of his long thighs and his paces eating the ground.I’d bet my last ten quid he wasn’t from around here. Fenchurch Brokers had been my home since I was a young girl and I’d taken it over when Pops had died ten years ago. I knew everyone’s face, the way they knew mine.‘So what have you got for me?’ I asked, then realised a few moments too late that I’d fluffed my brunette locks over my shoulders and licked my lips. His broadening grin told me he was used to the effect he had on women, of any age.Inwardly I berated myself. I was the local bank-of-crisis, get-money- quick supplier. I bought crap, or treasure, for pennies, and sold it on for a few quid whenever red letters landed on doormats or kitchen cupboards
Last Updated : 2026-05-14 Read more