The little old lady who was seated next to me at the auction was drunk. I could smell the sherry fumes on her breath even before she leaned precariously across to speak to me. I tried to ignore her rasping whisper, but finally had to turn and acknowledge - very reluctantly - her presence.
"Hey girlie - " I hate being called girlie, " - what are you after? I'm gunna get that writing bureau when it comes up. My grandmother had one just like that when I was your age."
I just looked at her. She must have been my age about a century ago, I thought. And she wasn't going to get that bureau anyway. I wanted it. With a bit of luck it wouldn't fetch too much. Not that the price mattered; I wanted it and I was going to have it, regardless. Knowing that the boozy old lady next to me wanted it too served only to increase my determination.
"Hey girlie - " I gritted my teeth and pretended I hadn't heard but that didn't deter her; she leaned across and grabbed at my sleeve. Carefully I pulled free and stared back at her.
"Don't call me girlie."
She sniggered.
"Well, what's ya name then?"
I scowled. There ought to be a law against letting little old ladies - drunk little old ladies - attend auctions. Come to think of it, maybe there even ought to be a law against little old ladies, period.
"What's ya name?" she repeated and I sighed.
"Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth. Heh. And d'they call you Betty, or Lizzie?"
I just looked at her coldly.
"They call me Elizabeth." No one, but no one, not even David, dared call me Betty. And as for Lizzie - never!
She chortled. "It's a pity, Elizabeth, that your manners don't match your pretty name."
"What?" I was taken aback and blinked at her. The nerve of her!
"Young girl like you, she oughta be polite to her elders, insteada just scowling an' frowning and trying ta pretend I'm not here." She looked sad. "Just 'cause I had a wee drop t'drink before I come out."
She had had a damn sight more than a wee drop, I decided, but opted to keep that opinion to myself. After all, if I antagonised her too much she might bid against me out of pure spite. Some people are like that, you know. Not that she was likely to get any use out of a beautiful piece of furniture like that bureau; it would be of far more use to me and for far more years. I shrugged and tried to be pleasant. Even if she were a drunk, I suppose she did deserve some courtesy on account of her age, if nothing else.
"I was - thinking of something else."
"A boyfriend, I suppose?" She gave a little cackle. "Pretty young girlie like you, she's got lotsa boys sniffing around her, I suppose?"
Really! This was too much. But I said nothing. The auctioneer was fast approaching the bureau and it was the one thing that interested me. Most of the other stuff here was just junk. But when David and I had looked in at the items for sale earlier in the week I had spotted it and had immediately gone into raptures over it.
"Look, David, I've always wanted an old writing bureau like that. I must have it." He had laughed at me, fondly and indulgently.
"It's a pretty thing, yes. But what would you do with it? Where would it go?" He shrugged. "It's far too fragile to put your computer on." I had frowned at him. He had no appreciation of beautiful objects. For him, furniture needed only to be functional and practical. He'd even rather talk to people than go looking in shops for furniture. He thought it was a waste of time. How silly. But that bureau ... I could imagine even if he couldn't just how good it would look, sitting in the corner of my living room. And I knew just how I would be complimented upon my good taste by all who observed it, and could see its value.
He didn't say anything more at the time, but as we continued he turned and gave the bureau a long and thoughtful stare. I am sure he was agreeing with me, but his masculine pride was preventing him from admitting it.
I had thought then that neither of us would be able to make it to the auction. But I had been able, after all, to talk my boss into letting me off for a couple of hours. I told him I needed it for important private business. Well, it was important to me.
And I intended to make the most of it. No drunken little old lady was going to prevent me from acquiring that writing bureau. It was mine!
As it turned out, no one else wanted it, just her and me. We bid against each other steadily, upping the price beyond its true value. I almost gave it up at one stage, but hated the thought of her sitting crouched over it, breathing her alcoholic fumes onto its beautiful surface. She would probably even be careless and end up by spilling her bottle or glass on it and making a permanent stain on it, ruining it for all time.
In the end it cost me six hundred dollars, far more than it was worth. But I would have paid twice that, believe me, for the pleasure of possession, and for the pleasure of ensuring she did not get it. She seemed disappointed, but shrugged to herself and was silent the rest of the auction. I came to the conclusion she had bid against me purely out of spite after all. Nasty old thing!
But then, when it was all over and I had paid for my treasure, she sidled up to me with a piteous expression on her wrinkled old face.
"Please, girlie, would you consider selling me your writing bureau? I'll pay you eight hundred dollars for it."
"No." I didn't even consider accepting her offer. Why should I? It was mine, fair and square, and I intended to keep it.
"Nine hundred?" This was embarrassing; by now several people were staring and listening. Nasty nosy busybodies!
"Are you deaf as well as drunk? I said no!"
She nodded and turned away, tears in her eyes. Anyone would have thought I had ill treated her! I put my chequebook back into my handbag and made arrangements for the bureau to be delivered to me the next day. I was looking forwards to finding a special place for it. It was beautiful. She really couldn't have loved it as I would.
I didn't say anything to David when he rang later on. It would be a surprise. My surprise. But he didn't mention it, just confirmed the arrangements we had made earlier for dinner that night. It was going to be a family meal; him and his family and me. My parents are overseas, but they will be home for our wedding in three months' time.
We met at the restaurant and after he had kissed me, rather more perfunctorily than usual, he held me at arm's length and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but after we've had dinner I think you and I might go somewhere and have a little chat about some things. Some serious things."
"What?" I stared at him and frowned. "What - serious things - have we got to chat about, David?" We had finalised all the wedding arrangements, surely?
He shook his head, rather sadly, I thought.
"I'm not sure, Elizabeth, that you and I ought to jump into marriage quite so quickly."
"And why not?"
He shrugged, uncomfortable.
"I care about people. You care about things. I'm not sure, you see, that we would get on so well after all."
"And what brought this on, may I ask?" I was angry - well, who wouldn't have been? This was supposed to have been a pleasant family meeting and meal and here he was, getting all introspective on me. Almost as if he had had second thoughts and didn't want to marry me. Well, if that was the way he felt....
"The desk, the writing bureau you were after - "
"Oh yes!" I smiled at him. "I got it, David, after all."
"I know."
"Well, you're surely not peeved that I bought it. It's my money after all. And I wanted it. I told you that."
"Yes, you told me that." He sighed. "I was going to try to get it for you, darling. I could see how very much it meant to you. But I knew I couldn't get there myself, so I asked my grandmother to go and bid for it for me. When I told her it was to be a gift for you, she insisted on being allowed to pay for it herself." He smiled. "She is very well off and she assured me she would be able to afford it, however much it ended up costing. She wanted so much to be able to give us something nice. So I agreed, and before she went I described it perfectly, so she wouldn't have any trouble recognising which piece it was at the auction."
"That was very thoughtful of you, and of her too. I really must thank her when I meet her. But as it turned out, you needn't have bothered. I was able to get time off from work and I bought it myself."
"Yes." he let out his breath. "My grandmother, you see, drinks a bit. She always has, especially since my granddad died. But she's an old dear. A lovely old dear and I wouldn't want her hurt for the world. She wanted to be able to do something to make me happy, but she ended up by being made very unhappy herself." I had heard clearly only the first part of this and it had shocked me.
"She - drinks?" Great, all I need is a dipsomaniac in my husband-to-be's family! Whatever will my parents think? And will this grandmother of his manage to be sober for our wedding? All of a sudden I wasn't so sure that I wanted to be part of a family that viewed drunkenness in such a fond indulgent manner. I had had my fill of drunken old ladies recently. If David were going to maintain this sort of attitude he was indeed correct; we did have some important matters and attitudes to discuss. He must be made to see there were family traits and weaknesses one did not encourage and preferably did not even have to tolerate, either privately or publicly.
"Yes." He nodded and then he smiled past me at someone who had at the moment entered the restaurant. "And she told me all about the young woman who bid against her, and was so rude to her. I'm not sure I could live with the person she described, Elizabeth. She sounded spiteful and bad mannered and malicious. It never occurred to me that you would act like that towards someone you didn't even know. That you would be so determined to own something that you didn't care who you hurt making sure you got what you wanted."
And then, from behind me I smelled again the sickly sweet fumes of sherry and heard her hoarse old lady's voice.
"Hello, girlie."