‘Weather Edge’

A short story by James Braxton

Feeling like a wet dog, I pinched the pleats in my damp trousers as the automatic doors beeped and closed. No rain had been forecast on this spring day, so lacking both coat and umbrella, I sheltered in my car until the very last minute.

A fortnight earlier, my mother and I had travelled from Polegate station in East Sussex to London to buy, my now damp suit. Made of a heavy grey flannel, it was just right for an important interview — I was 19 and had made it to the last two candidates for a much-coveted position in a firm of long-established Mayfair antique dealers. 

As I gently steamed in the open area between Standard and First Class I took stock of my fellow passengers. Most in Standard were crouched over phone screens, some playing audible videos with a cheery disregard for their fellow passengers. There was only one person in First Class, a man in his late 50’s dressed in a navy-blue chalk stripe suit, boasting a double-breasted waistcoat and unusual turned cuffs on his jacket sleeves. While I took in the details of his bespoke suit he lowered his pink broadsheet, caught my eye and smiled.

Minutes later, this relative peace was broken.

“This train will terminate at East Croydon. Please change for your onward journey,” the announcement continued, “Lines to Victoria are subject to signal failure.”

The information was repeated on a loop, increasing my panic. I desperately scoured the bulkhead map which, despite boasting colour-coded lines, remained a confusing maze to me. 

As the doors opened, I felt a hand on my elbow, 

“Come with me.”

His voice was quiet and authoritative.

With no alternative, I followed him up a long flight of steps to a bridge connecting East Croydon's numerous platforms, all of which are surrounded by tall brick, steel and glass apartment blocks. It has an anonymous feel, everything new, everything similar and everything sort of on-the-move.

“Off for an interview? I noticed the new suit and your reluctance to sit down. You should have dried out by now.”

“I have an interview with Mallet, the antique dealers in Bond Street, at noon.”

“You’ll be fine. London Bridge is only 15 minutes away and then it’s the Jubilee line. I would recommend getting off early at Green Park and walking. Reconnaissance is key: you’ll then be able to clock their competitors, of which, there are many.” 

He said this with a smile as we took our seats on the next departing train.

“Why antiques?”

“After finishing school, I didn’t know what to do, so I got a job in an auction room in Lewes, listing, labelling, and carrying everything from Art Deco diamond bracelets to heavy oak dressers. I became fascinated with the items and the people involved: the dealers, the knocker boys, the collectors, and the sellers.”

We continued talking and during that short journey I found common ground with this kind stranger. He worked in The City and was passionate about how weather affected businesses. As we parted at London Bridge Station he give me his business card and a cheery ‘Good luck with the interview.’  

I did as he said, and exited at the earlier stop, emerging between two London landmarks, The Ritz Hotel and Langan’s Brasserie, both built from London’s characteristic white Portland stone. Sir Christopher Wren established the use of this West Country stone when he designed St Paul’s Cathedral following the Great Fire of London in 1666.

I arrived at the interview early and was taken around Mallet’s many showrooms, where each antique seemed to be more impressive than the last. Two directors interviewed me and as they wrapped it up, the senior one asked, “What might you bring to our business?”

“Sales,” I said, sliding the stranger’s business card towards them.

Sir Clive Cloudesley Shovell

Weather Edge Investments

On it, he had written, “Barometers bought.”

A short story by James Braxton