Broken Bone China

by Laura Childs

“As far as I can see, everything looks terrific. I can understand why Southern Interiors Magazine was so eager to photograph it,” Theodosia said.

  “They’re not just doing a photographic spread,” Drayton said. He was poised on the verge of panic. “They’re asking for actual text to accompany some of the photos.”

  “I’m sure they are. The magazine appeals to readers, after all.”

  “The editor wanted to know all about the history of my house. And what kind of restorations I did.”

  “Because it’s interesting. And all those details will serve as inspiration to people who are trying to update their own homes while remaining historically accurate.”

  Drayton looked nonplussed. “You think that’s it?”

  “Yes, and it’s all going to work out wonderfully,” Theodosia said, infusing her voice with unbridled pep, hoping it might be contagious. “What’d they photograph first?”

  “My kitchen.”

  “Which is drop-dead gorgeous. Especially with your copper sink and all those lovely cupboards that house your teapot collection.”

  “I put my Chinese famille rose teapot front and center,” Drayton said with some pride.

  “Good for you. That one’s a beauty.”

  “And from the Qianlong Dynasty at that.”

  Barbara Layton came over to join them and introduce herself to Theodosia. She was midforties, wearing a black turtleneck, slim black slacks, and black flats. She looked like the epitome of a working editor with her honey-blond hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail and a pencil tucked behind one ear.

  Once they’d exchanged pleasantries, Barbara said, “The shoot is coming along beautifully.”

  “I’m sure the photos will be gorgeous,” Theodosia enthused. “They’ll do Drayton’s house proud.”

  “We’ve got good stuff to work with,” Barbara said. “You can tell that every room has been lovingly restored. And this heart pine flooring is to die for.” She flashed a dazzling smile at Drayton.

  Drayton looked like a deer caught in the headlights until Theodosia bumped him with her elbow.

  “Thank you,” Drayton said to Barbara.

  They watched the goings-on for a few more minutes and then Woody, the photographer, called out, “That’s it, we’re good. Let’s move all the equipment into the next room.” He came over to join them and Theodosia was introduced once more. Woody was tall and lanky, wearing a retro Stone Temple Pilots T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He had intense glacier-blue eyes and wore his sandy blond hair pulled into a tight man bun, almost like an ancient samurai.

  “Are you finished?” Drayton asked Woody, a hopeful note creeping into his voice.

  “Oh no, no, no,” Woody said. “We’ve still got the most important room to do. Your living room.”

  “How long will that take?” Drayton asked.

  “As long as they need,” Theodosia said.

  “Yeah.” Woody looked thoughtful. “We gotta move our equipment and I want to fire off a few test shots.” He cocked an eye at Drayton. “You’re going to pose for a couple of the shots, am I correct?”

  “That’s right,” Barbara said. “We definitely want Drayton in a shot or two. Our readers will be interested.” She raised a hand and waved to her two interns. “Tabitha? Tonya? Could one of you grab my shot list?”

  The identical-looking interns nodded and scrambled off to find Barbara’s shot list.

  “We should go pick out a couple of jackets for you,” Theodosia said to Drayton.

  “That’d be great,” Woody said. “You’ve got time, too. Our stylist is going to experiment with a few different decorative pieces for your mantle.”

  Drayton went upstairs, dug through his closet, and brought four jackets down for Theodosia to look at.

  “These are all pretty much the same,” she said. They had the jackets spread out in Drayton’s small library and every one of them was a tweed.

  “Not exactly,” Drayton said. “This one is a Harris Tweed.” He fingered another one of the jackets. “While this is a Donegal Tweed. And this other one . . .”

  “Is also a tweed,” Theodosia said.

  “Yes, but it’s done in a Prince of Wales check.”

  “I love it.”

  “You’re not just saying that? Humoring me?”

  “No, it’s really quite splendid,” Theodosia said, fighting to keep a straight face.

  Drayton paired his jacket with a white shirt and a dark brown silk bow tie by Drake’s.

  Theodosia picked a tiny piece of lint off his shoulder, adjusted Drayton’s bow tie, spun him around, and shoved him out into the living room.

  Drayton’s living room was small but elegant. A white marble French fireplace, tufted leather sofa, Georgian mahogany coffee table, and two French provincial side chairs. Plush draperies swagged the beveled glass lattice windows and a celadon-and-gold Chinese rug covered the floor.

  It was also busy as all get-out.

  Woody and his assistants had almost finished setting up the lights and camera. The interns were running around, handing out cups of coffee while pausing to gape at the screen on an open MacBook Pro computer. The stylist was trying out an assortment of props on the mantle.

  “No, too big,” Woody said, looking through his lens. He straightened up and said, “We need something smaller. Colorful but smaller.”

  “Candlesticks?” said one of the interns. Either Tabitha or Tonya.

  “More colorful,” Woody said.

  “Where’s that antiques dealer we contacted?” Barbara asked. “He should’ve been here by now.”

  “What about a Chinese blue-and-white vase?” Theodosia suggested.

  “That’s okay, dear,” Barbara said. “We’ve engaged an antiques expert who’ll take care of that. Tonya, could you . . . ?”

  “I’m Tabitha.”

  “. . . be a dear and call our antiques fellow, will you? Make sure he’s on his merry way.”

  “They’re bringing in outside props,” Drayton fussed to Theodosia. “What’s wrong with my pieces?”

  “Listen,” Theodosia told him. “The magazine people haven’t made many changes so far, so why not let them try their own accent pieces? If the mantle ends up looking junky and horrible, then we’ll lodge a protest.”

  “I suppose.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Theodosia patted his arm.

  But two minutes later, Theodosia was more than ready to lodge a formal protest. Because who should suddenly appear but Earl Bullitt!

  “There you are,” Barbara said, sounding relieved. “What tasty little pieces did you bring for us?”

  “No,” Drayton seethed under his breath as Earl Bullitt set a box of bubble-wrapped objects on the coffee table. “Not him.”

  “Easy, easy,” Theodosia warned, though she would have loved to grab Bullitt by one of his flat little ears and drag him out the back door.

  Bullitt gently unwrapped a Ming vase, a brass and glass clock, and a pair of antique Staffordshire dogs. Barbara exclaimed over each piece as Bullitt schmoozed her outrageously. Finally, when Theodosia and Drayton couldn’t take it anymore, they pushed forward to find out exactly what was going on.

  But Barbara had pulled Woody into the conversation with Bullitt, and now he was smiling as well.

  “Perfection,” Barbara said. She held up one of the Staffordshire dogs for everyone to see. “Isn’t this little guy adorable? And we have a pair.”

  “I knew you’d love those,” Bullitt said. He grinned at Barbara and then turned his attention on Theodosia and Drayton. “Well, hello there,” he said, his voice fawning and smarmy.

  “Staffordshire dogs,” Drayton said between clenched teeth.

  “Fine porcelain from the Victorian era. Three thousand, five hundred dollars for the pair,” Bullitt said. He seemed to relish the fact that he�
�d been invited into Drayton’s house. “They should help punch things up a notch.”

  “Pricey little pooches,” Woody said.

  “Then we’d better not drop them,” Theodosia said.

  “If they’re even genuine,” Drayton muttered.

  * * *

  * * *

  It took forever to achieve the lighting that Woody was looking for. But finally, with the help of various scrims and key lights, they were ready. And then Woody clicked and clicked and clicked. He photographed all aspects of the room from every angle.

  “Do you think we have it?” Barbara asked. It was six o’clock at night and she was starting to look pooped. The interns had gone home. Even Earl Bullitt had gotten bored and left, with an admonishment to the crew to be sure to return his Staffordshire dogs.

  “Just a couple more setups,” Woody said. He straightened up, glanced at Drayton, and said, “Mr. Conneley? I’d like to get one of you standing in front of your fireplace.”

  “Now?” Drayton asked.

  Woody nodded. “Last but not least.”

  Drayton was still reluctant. Until Theodosia stepped in.

  “You look elegant,” she whispered to him. “And remember, this is your home, this is your big moment. So get over there and strike a pose like the dashing Southern gent that you are!”

  Drayton walked over to the fireplace, threw back his shoulders, and positioned himself directly in front of the Staffordshire dogs so they were no longer visible.

  Theodosia gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Perfect,” Woody said. “Now tilt your chin up and hold perfectly still . . . good. I like that. See? You’re a natural.”

  The more shots Woody took, the more comfortable Drayton became. Finally, with arms folded across his chest, looking directly into the camera, Drayton hit the perfect pose.

  “That’s it,” Woody said. “That’s the money shot.”

  “And that’s a wrap,” Barbara said, sounding happy but exhausted. Lights were suddenly dimmed and everyone scurried to pack up the equipment.

  Theodosia was especially pleased. Drayton had been so reticent and nervous. But in the end he’d turned out to be a real trooper.

  “You looked great,” she told him. “Natural, but with a lot of camera presence.”

  “I gave it my best,” Drayton said. “The only thing that bothers me is the fact that it’s digital photography. I hate the idea of not using actual film. That the photos will exist only on that cumulonimbus thing.”

  Theodosia had to chuckle, she couldn’t help herself. “You mean the cloud?”

  “Is that the technical term?”

  “I don’t think you should be so hasty in your judgment of digital photography. There are a few upsides as well.”

  Drayton put on a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses and peered at her. “Name one.”

  “Well, you can see every shot immediately. Right there on Woody’s computer. Didn’t you notice how he checked to make sure his angles and lighting were spot-on?”

  “Wait a minute, we can actually see the photos?” Drayton asked. “When could we do that?”

  “Right now if you want.”

  “The photos are ready?”

  “Sure,” Theodosia said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  They edged their way over to the computer that was sitting on a side table, still booted up.

  “Oh my,” Drayton said. “These are . . . not bad at all.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Theodosia touched the mouse and clicked through a few of the shots. “These are fantastic.”

  “You like them?” Woody asked. He’d come over to join them.

  “The ones I’ve seen so far . . . by ginger, I like them very much,” Drayton said.

  “They’re terrific,” Theodosia said.

  “You want me to e-mail these photos to you?” Woody asked. “You guys can take a look, maybe give input to Barbara on which ones are your favorites.”

  Drayton looked startled. “You want to e-mail them to me? Good gracious. I wouldn’t know how . . .” He gave a helpless shrug and glanced toward Theodosia. “Theo . . . ?”

  “Send the photos to me,” Theodosia said. She pulled out one of her business cards and handed it to Woody. “My e-mail address is right there on the card.”

  Woody nodded and stuck her card in the pocket of his jeans. “Great. But give me a day or so. Tomorrow I have to run down to Savannah and shoot a big, fancy wedding at The Mansion on Forsyth Park.” He rolled his eyes. “Can you believe it? This crazy bride who hired me is having twelve bridesmaids.”

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Drayton’s French Furet clock pealed out seven melodic chimes, all the guests had left. But the tables, chairs, and sofa hadn’t quite been returned to their exact and proper places.

  “The thing to do now is move,” Drayton said, looking around.

  “Don’t worry,” Theodosia said. “I’ll help you put your home right again.”

  “And look. The stylist left those behind,” Drayton said, indicating the pair of Staffordshire dogs that stared out at them, beady-eyed, from the mantle. “I suppose it’s up to me to return these dogs to Earl Bullitt.”

  “There’s no time like the present,” Theodosia said. A spark of an idea had suddenly ignited in her brain.

  “What are you talking about? It’s . . .” Drayton glanced at his ancient Patek Phillipe. “Actually it’s after seven. Bullitt’s shop is probably locked up tight for the night.”

  “Hopefully not too tight.”

  “Theo . . .” Drayton said in a drawn out, questioning tone. “Pray tell, what are you thinking?”

  “I think Earl Bullitt was trying like mad to maneuver us away from that room in his shop the other day.” She gave a disdainful snort. “Storage room, my eye.”

  “Bullitt did act somewhat frantic when you tried to get in there and look around.”

  “What if he has the Navy Jack flag stashed in there?”

  “What if we sneak in there and get caught?” Drayton asked.

  Theodosia favored him with an angelic smile. “We’ll say we’re returning the Staffordshire dogs.”

  “An act of kindness,” Drayton said. “Not a bad excuse. Actually, quite brilliant.”

  23

  When they pulled up in front of Earl Bullitt’s antiques shop the lights were still blazing inside.

  “Look at this,” Theodosia said. “Someone’s still minding the store.”

  “I wonder who it is?” Drayton said. “I doubt that it’s Bullitt himself at this late hour.”

  They got out of the car, Drayton gently cradling the Staffordshire dogs in his arms, and glanced up and down the street. Bullitt’s Porsche was nowhere to be seen.

  “Bullitt must have an employee who takes care of the store,” Drayton said.

  “Let’s see if we can weasel our way in,” Theodosia said. “Think you could help me with that?”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” Drayton said.

  The bell over the front door dinged as they walked in and startled a fifty-something woman with a frizzle of gray hair. She’d been frowning at something on the counter and turned with an almost fearful look on her face, momentarily forgetting the box she was packing.

  “Oh!” the woman cried. “Didn’t I lock that door?” She looked harried. “I thought I did.” She finally gazed directly at Theodosia and then Drayton. “I’m sorry but we’re closed. And I need to rush off to . . .”

  “Not a problem,” Theodosia said, trying to project a friendly, nonthreatening vibe. “We just stopped by to return a pair of Staffordshire dogs that we borrowed from your employer for a photo shoot.”

  Drayton stepped forward and placed the dogs gently on the counter.

  Tension on the woman’s face drained immediately and she ma
naged a smile. “I was wondering where those little darlings had run off to.” Her voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “I had my fingers crossed that Mr. Bullitt hadn’t sold the pair. I so love having them around. Mr. Bullitt is always telling me, ‘Be careful, Mrs. Winkleman, don’t fall in love with the merchandise because every single piece is for sale.’” She smiled. “But I do love these dogs.”

  “It’s a good thing we caught you,” Theodosia said, “so these sweet pups could come back to their rightful home.”

  Mrs. Winkleman gave an offhand wave. “I had to stay late anyway and pack up a parcel for Mr. Bullitt. He sold a pair of antique andirons to a customer down in Beaufort who’s doing a total restoration on an old plantation house. Since we missed the last FedEx pickup, I promised Mr. Bullitt I’d run this package out to the airport. The FedEx office there accepts deliveries up until ten o’clock.” She made a face. “But these darn things are made of cast iron, you know, and so heavy. Which is why I had to pack them in a reinforced box.”

  That was the tiny crack, the chink in the armor, that Theodosia had been hoping for.

  “Why don’t you finish your packing and we’ll have Drayton carry that box out to your car,” Theodosia suggested.

  “I’d be most happy to help,” Drayton said, jumping in. He was no dummy, he knew exactly what Theodosia was doing.

  “Would you really?” Mrs. Winkleman looked thrilled. “That would be wonderful! These andirons are heavy as all get-out and I’m guessing the shipping’s going to cost almost two hundred dollars. But I . . . listen to me going on like this. I promise it won’t take me more than two minutes to finish up. I’ll just tape the box shut and make out a label.”

  “Take your time,” Theodosia said. “We’ll just look around.”

  Theodosia moseyed from counter to display case, keeping an eye out for the Navy Jack flag—or any flag for that matter. She didn’t see a thing. There were oil paintings, brass figurines, antique china, jardinieres, clocks, and old tin signs, but nary a flag in sight. Maybe in that side room?

  Theodosia raised her eyebrows at Drayton and he reacted right on cue.