The pavement outside Harrods in Knightsbridge was another excellent bit of strasse. Directly across the road was an auction room whose name escapes me in Montpelier St.. Having concluded ones affairs one casually crossed the road and took up station to better observe the parade.
We had, from time to time, truck with both Aspreys the Jewellers and Purdeys, the gun people. The sorts of people who frequented this top end area didn’t give a tinker’s curse about fashion, had a chauffeur and were as rich as Croesus. A lot of them were noticeably eccentric. One day, whilst I was waiting for something to be fixed, one of the terribly well spoken chaps at Purdeys was nice enough to remove from it’s case and show me a priceless, wholly hand made twelve bore shotgun. It was like a piece of jewellery, and beautifully engraved…
“Done a bit of shooting, I bet?’ said a voice from behind me. I turned and there was this nondescript character behind me with a huge toothy smile and a friendly hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry?’ I stammered, a bit taken aback, and unsure.
The terribly well spoken chap smiled and said nothing.
The toothy man recognized my accent immediately and became instantly convinced that he’d shot with me last year in France.
At that moment, the terribly well spoken young man eased the shotgun from my grip ( just in case I went berserk and donged the toothy one on the noggin.)
It was all becoming a bit uncomfortable. The young man dextrously made his excuses to the teeth, touched the side of his nose knowingly to the Teeth and ushered me into another room, but not before the teeth muttered; ‘Nuff said!’ pressed a card in my pocket and an invitation to dinner.
He turned out to be one of the Queen’s looney relatives with decidedly odd habits and the well mannered young man apologized.He also insisted he take back Toothy’s card. and then,finally things got back to normal. Apparently, if I had refused to return the card, there were two plain clothes officers on the premises who would have persuaded me to change my mind.
I couldn’t ever after, enter Purdeys without some member of staff enquiring as to how the latest bloody Queen’s garden party went.
I.M.N. O’Scent.