Hitchin Heat
"Antique dealer Nneka finds rare treasures for clients—but the thick Beninese collector who walks into her Hitchin shop is looking for something that can't be appraised."
Solange collected art.
But she looked at Nneka like she wanted to add her to the collection.
"You have excellent taste," Solange observed, examining a Victorian chaise. "This piece is perfect."
"I only source the best."
"I can see that." Those eyes traveled over Nneka's curves. "May I see your private collection?"
The private collection was in the back room.
Pieces too valuable for public display. Items for special clients.
Solange examined each with appreciation—and kept finding reasons to stand close.
"This is exquisite," she said of an art nouveau mirror. "I see myself in it. And you behind me."
"The reflection is remarkable."
"So is the reality."
"You're very forward," Nneka observed.
"I know what I want. I acquire it." Solange turned. "I want you."
"I'm not for sale."
"I'm not buying." She stepped closer. "I'm hoping you'll give yourself freely."
"Why should I?"
"Because you want to. I see it in how you look at me."
On the Victorian chaise, they proved its sturdy construction.
Solange was demanding—a collector's precision applied to pleasure.
"Tell me what you like," she instructed.
"This. You. Everything."
"Be specific."
Nneka was very specific.
The affair continued through acquisitions.
Each piece Solange bought came with additional appreciation.
"You're my best dealer," Solange said.
"You're my best client."
"Am I just a client?"
"You're whatever you want to be."
Eventually, Solange moved to Hitchin.
Her collection required a permanent advisor, she claimed.
Nneka knew better.
Some things were too valuable to let go.
And some treasures had nothing to do with antiques.