Ravensdale (Rewriting)

Chapter Three - The Letter

Dora watched as the older gentleman shook David's hand. He wore a knitted sweater that was probably just as old as him, and his wide-rimmed glasses took up half of his face. He walked up to the desk. Her breath hitched as she observed him in a trancelike state as he stroked the surface of the desk with his fingers.

"Sir," David said. "It's a surprise seeing you. Did you come all the way in from England just to talk to me about purchasing the desk?"

"I was in the area and remembered you informing me where your shop was located. In all honesty, Mr. Markham," he said, his attention still on the desk. "I can't stop thinking about the desk."

"You can't?" David asked, looking at Dora and mouthing to her, "I'm sorry."

No. I can't let him leave with this. I must have it. I must.

"Sir," Dora said, her insides contorting when the older gentleman tore his gaze away from the desk.

"Are you speaking to me?" He arched a brow.

"I am. Look, I was just talking to David here about purchasing the desk."

He did not seem to show any expression on his face. Instead, it seemed as if he was ignoring her. He took out a checkbook from the front pocket of his tweed jacket. His wide rimmed glasses fell to the tip of his nose as he began scrawling down numbers on paper.

"I'm willing to give you a check, Mr. Markham. Right now. I am paying you what it is worth, plus extra, since I know your lot marks things up. I will do anything to have it."

"No," Dora said, making her voice more present in the room. "You won't have it because it is not up for debate. I was going to talk to David about buying the desk for myself."

This man grated on her last nerves. From the way he ignored her very presence in the room.

"It is true, Dr. Thomas," he said with an apologetic smile. "She was just discussing with me about the prospect of purchasing it when you walked in."

"Do you have any idea what this is, young lady?"

"First," she said, stopping him with a gesture of her hand. "I am twenty-seven years old. You do not have to call me a young lady like that. I am not someone you can talk down to like that. And second, I know what it is because it's a Louand and Straub desk. The company shut down shortly after, which is why they're so rare."

"Well, I found out who it belonged to, thanks to my research. Before whomever owned it in 1999. I must have it. I had come into the store and find you. After my research, I have discovered something incredible."

"What did you find out, sir?" David asked, as if hanging on to the older man's every word.

"It belonged to the artist Sarah Greyson. The same one that painted The Garden."

Dora's heart soared when she heard this.

"Do you have any documentation?" David asked with a smile. "That is an incredible discovery."

"Here," he said, setting his large messenger bag on the desk. "I have it right here. It is a copy of an incredibly old photo."

"Oh my God, you're right." David peered closer and closer to the picture. "I even see the inscription. Dora, see this."

She walked up to the photo and intuitively knew it was the same desk as in the photo. She did not even need to see the inscription.

"I have the means to pay for it, Mr. Markham. And I came all the way from England. Please consider this. Do you know what this means to have a desk owned by the great Sarah Greyson in my collection?"