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But of course they couldn’t possibly be. Glassware such as this, had it been antique, would have been locked away in a museum somewhere. To have owned glass like this in the seventeenth century one would have had to have been a very wealthy person indeed. It was, no doubt, something in the traditional manufacturing process that gave the gloss an ‘antique’ look.
The more she studied the pieces the gypsy woman was showing her, the more Beth’s excitement grew. To be able to display glassware such as this in her shop would indeed be a wonderful coup. So far as she knew, no one had ever seen anything like it, other than in private collections or locked away behind glass doors in a handful of very expensive and up-market specialist stores. The gilding alone...
In all, the gypsy woman had brought half a dozen pieces for Beth to examine, in three slightly different styles of stemware, in cranberry, the deepest, richest blue Beth had ever seen, gold and emerald. There was a very ornate pedestal bowl, with an intricately faceted stem that caught the light as brilliantly as a flawless diamond, a breathtakingly beautiful water jug, with flowers cut into its handle and lavishly embellished with gilt, two wine glasses and, last of all, a pair of lustres even more beautiful than the ones Beth had seen in the gift shop. She wanted it all, knew she could sell it all if, and it was a very big if, the price was right.
There were, here and there in Europe, she knew, small factories with dedicated craftsmen that still made such articles, but at a cost that put them way, way out of the means of most people. A wealthy oil sheikh, a millionaire pop star, royal houses—they might be able to afford whole suites of such stemware, but her customers, even the most comfortably off of them, could not.
All Beth’s original plans to purchase good-quality but relatively inexpensive plain glass crystal stemware, perhaps embellished with a discreet amount of gold, flew out of her head—and her heart—as she studied the pieces the gypsy woman displayed to her.
Her budget was relatively small, and she had no doubt that these pieces would be expensive, but Beth knew she just had to have them. Already she could see them displayed in the shop. Already she could hear the delighted gasps of their customers, the flood of sales. Her excited thoughts ran on and on whilst Beth tried as sedately as she could to elicit from the gypsy what exactly the factory did manufacture.
‘Do these come in suites of stemware?’ she asked her, picking up one of the glasses. ‘A full set, or just these wine glasses?’
‘A full set could be made if that was what you wanted,’ the gypsy told Beth, her eyes narrowing as
she added shrewdly, ‘Of course, that would mean you would have to give the factory a substantial order.’
Beth’s heart sank. How much exactly was a substantial order? When the gypsy told her her heart sank even further. One hundred suites of glassware in the same pattern was far more than she could ever hope to sell, unless...
‘If I have so many could I have a mix of colours? Say twenty-five suites of each of the four colourways?’ she asked.
The gypsy pursed her lips.
‘I am not sure. I would have to check with the factory first about that.’
‘And the cost?’ Beth asked her quickly. ‘How much is the glass? Do you have a price list?’ she added.
The gypsy shook her head, her smile revealing the gap in her teeth.
‘How much can you afford?’ she challenged Beth.
Beth paused. Haggling had never been one of her strong points—that was far more Kelly’s forte than hers—but, driven by her desire to order the glassware, she named a figure per suite of glassware that allowed her some margin to bargain with.
The gypsy laughed.
‘So little, and for such glass.’ She shook her head. ‘No,’ she denied, and then she named a figure that made Beth blanch a little as she quickly worked out the cost of a total order at such figures.
‘No, that is far too much,’ she told the gypsy firmly, and then added, ‘Perhaps I could visit the factory and speak with the manager there...’
The gypsy’s eyes narrowed. Beth had the most uncomfortable impression that something she had said had amused her.
‘The factory...it is very far away, a whole day...’
‘A whole day.’ Beth frowned.
‘You can say everything you have to say to me,’ the gypsy started to assure her, but Beth shook her head.
She suspected that the woman, in giving her the price, was allowing a very generous margin for herself. Common sense told Beth that had the glass been as expensive as she was quoting then it would have been sold via one of the expensive outlets she had seen on the city’s main shopping streets.
As though she had guessed what she was thinking, the gypsy suddenly pulled hard on Beth’s sleeve and leaned closer to her, whispering, ‘The factory, it is not owned by the Czechs. It belongs to...others... You can visit it if you wish, but...’ She gave a small shrug.
‘I do wish,’ Beth told her firmly.
‘Very well, then I will arrange it for you. But first you have to make a show of good faith,’ the woman told her.
Make a show of good faith? For a moment Beth was nonplussed, and then she realised that the woman was asking her for money. All she had on her was a small amount of currency, and parting with it under such circumstances went against everything she personally believed in, but she had, nevertheless, to do so.
With one last lingering inspection of the glassware, Beth made arrangements to meet with the gypsy again.
