As such shops went, this one was truly remarkable. The frontage itself was a true work of art, with the carved mahogany panels surrounding two vintage bay windows, and the brass fittings that gleamed on the recessed door in between.
Elegant features lovingly maintained, but they weren’t the first thing that struck the casual observer, as the shop’s wares were far more compelling. Even Josse had noticed them in passing, although he had very little use for toys – but these products, it had to be said, were something else. Handmade from carefully chosen wood that had been processed to a deep sheen; the few that were coloured had been painted with skill, patience and taste.
There was a whole window of fat mouse-dolls with assorted frilly dresses and pointy princess hats, alongside a range of mechanical puzzles, gamer dice and Brussels-themed souvenirs. Carved miniatures of the façades lining Grand-Place were jostling for attention amid armies of diminutive Mannekens and an array of beechwood potato mashers with a stoemp recipe attached. A large, imperious cat sat among the pretty trinkets, eyeing passers-by with weary disdain.
The other window displayed a vast, multi-level dolls’ house, complete with a cellar, an attic and a beautifully detailed roof, and a lush garden that even featured a shed. In some ways not unlike the lutinarium, in fact, but built to a much smaller scale, and every floor showcased a different period. Designs went upward in time, from the Victorian kitchen on the ground floor to a sleek contemporary loft conversion, all bare brick, exposed beams and minimalist décor. Further sets of tiny collectibles in various styles were set out on glass shelves to either side.
‘Berghmans,’ the name on the door simply said in large, olde-worlde bronze letters. Dozens of customers entered and exited as he stood contemplating the details, most apparently tourists shopping for keepsakes before considering their options for lunch. Few left without purchases – the shop clearly attempted to ensure there would be something nice to find even for those who couldn’t spend much.
So business was brisk, Josse mused, as he observed the ebb and flow of the mobile-toting clientele. Why would such a successful woman stoop to doing Mr Obnoxious’s dirty work?
Maybe none of the big-ticket items ever sold. And premises in prime locations never came cheap.
***
Inside, he had to push through a throng of excited day trippers to reach the till, where the lady in pink stood gift-wrapping a large wooden replica of the statue atop the town hall. Had it come from the workshop that was visible at the back? She seemed affable enough, but he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries as he walked straight up to the counter and interrupted the transaction.
“J’ai à vous parler. Vous préfèrerez qu’on ait cette conversation dans un endroit plus calme.”
“Bonjour à vous aussi. Laissez-moi finir avec ce client et… au fait, il y a la file. Je vous propose d’attendre votre tour.”
She tied the current customer’s parcel up with a pretty bow and turned to the next person in line. Three more to go.
The cat, sensing trouble, sidled over for a closer look.
***
By the time he had the woman’s full attention, the shop had nearly emptied out. She closed the door and put up a ‘Back at 2 p.m.’ sign, leaving the remaining customers to browse. The door would open to let them out, but for the coming hour or so no one would be able to get in.
“Donc,” she said. “Qu’est-ce qui vous amène?”
In lieu of a reply, he tossed the folder with the drawings on the counter.
“C’est vous, ces dessins?” His simmering anger summoned the cat, which jumped up on the worktop with a sharp hiss.
“Ah. Je me demandais où ils étaient passés. Non, non, Zinzin, descends – il est gentil, le monsieur.”
“De quel droit est-ce que vous espionnez mon équipe?”
“Vous êtes le patron de chez Jos Le Rêveur, c’est bien ça?”
“C’est fait exprès, je suppose? Encore une tentative d’intimidation?”
“Comment ça?”
“Vous direz à ce connard que ça devient lassant. Il a eu ma réponse, maintenant qu’il aille se faire voir.”
“Attendez. Qui ça? De quoi?”
“Je dis que ça commence à bien faire, ces petits jeux idiots. On a tous mieux à faire.”
“Je n’ai aucune idée de quoi parlez. Mais je vois que mes gribouillis vous ont perturbé et j’en suis sincèrement désolée.”
There wasn’t a hint of deception in those wide blue eyes.
“Vous ne voyez pas de quoi je parle.”
“Absolument pas. Il y a un très gros malentendu quelque part. Si on reprenait depuis le début?”
See how age doesn’t imply sagacity? A wiser man might not have jumped to conclusions, Josse berated himself.
“Vous avez raison, Madame Berghmans.”
“Fleur. Je m’appelle Fleur.”
***
A few minutes later, the last customers having left, they were seated in the small break room behind the shop. Fragrant steam was rising from two colourful mugs, and Fleur had set out a selection of chocolates from a neighbouring shop.
It would have been a peaceful scene if Zinzin hadn’t decided to sharpen her claws on the side of their visitor’s armchair. From the corner of his eye, Josse noticed the ripple of muscles moving under the cat’s short-haired coat.
“Donc voilà. Je dessine à mes heures perdues; ça me repose. Et ça me permet d’étudier des lignes et des formes; c’est toujours utile dans mon métier. Et il se fait que j’aime bien votre taverne. Arrête, Zinzin.”
“J’entends bien, et pour autant que je sache c’est pas interdit tant que vous ne publiez pas les images. Mais il y a des gens qui pourraient trouver ça malaisant.”
“Je n’ai pas du tout l’intention de publier les images, c’est pas le but. D’ailleurs c’est des dessins, à peine reconnaissables, et pas des photos. Zinzin, je t’ai dit d’arrêter.”
“Ils sont très reconnaissables, vos dessins. Et plutôt réussis, mais c’est pas le sujet.”
“Si vous préférez, j’irai dessiner ailleurs.”
“Je ne sais pas.” Josse considered the matter. “Ça semble un peu exagéré.”
“C’est vous qui voyez. Brísinga Berghmans, tu vas arrêter ça tout de suite, sinon je te mets à l’étage le temps qu’on termine.”
A dire threat indeed. The cat huffed away towards a position in Josse’s line of sight, treating him to a clear view of her humongous fangs as she feigned a bored yawn.
“Voilà ce que je propose. Si vous voulez faire des dessins ressemblants, arrangez-vous avec nos serveurs – certains seront ravis. Pour le reste, n’hésitez pas à dessiner des aspects génériques. Des coiffures, des mains, des silhouettes.”
“Il y a des coiffures parfaitement identifiables,” she replied, aligning her studies of Josse’s topknot.
“Oui, ça arrive,” he grinned. “Vous ferez pour le mieux. Et je préviens le bar que votre prochain cappu est pour la maison, avec une belle part de gâteau. Par contre, là, je dois filer. Merci pour le thé.”
The cat, in the background, finally seemed to relax. It now appeared to be playing with a toy chariot. A balsawood contraption with a harness affixed to a yoke at the front, and he could have sworn that Zinzin was about to slide into this loop. With a very practised move.
***
As she was clearing the table and preparing for the afternoon trade, Fleur wondered about her unexpected visitor’s obsession with privacy.
“Si ça tombe, il nous cache quelque chose, celui-là,” she remarked to Zinzin.
The cat miaowed, then slunk across the room to jump on a shelf where carved runes on braided straps were dangling from a necklace stand.
“Descends de là tout de suite! Tout va tomber!”
Zinzin, in true feline fashion, took absolutely no notice. Instead, she began to paw one of the pendants, setting it swinging.
Eihwaz, the yew tree rune, a symbol of longevity and endurance.
“M’enfin,” Fleur replied. “Il n’est pas si vieux que ça, tout de même. Il doit avoir mon âge.”