Mrs. Moffat, clutching her shopping basket, peered closely at the paper-wrapped confections in the jar.
"Well, ah dont know.
If I remember rightly, madam, you indicated that you were seeking something in the nature of a Russian caramel, and I can thoroughly recommend these little sweetmeats. Not quite a Russian, but nevertheless a very nice, smooth-eating toffee.
His expression became serious, expectant. The fruity tones rolling round his description made me want to grab the sweets and devour them on the spot, and they seemed to have the same effect on the lady.
Right, Mr. Hatfield, she said eagerly, Ill ave half a pound.
The shopkeeper gave a slight bow. Thank you so much, madam, Im sure you will not regret your choice.
His features relaxed into a gracious smile and, as he lovingly trickled the toffees onto his scales before bagging them with a professional twirl, I felt a renewed desire to get at the things. Mr. Hatfield, leaning forward with both hands on the counter, kept his gaze on his customer until he had bowed her out of the shop with a courteous, Good day to you, madam, then he turned to face the congregation.
Ah, Mrs. Dawson, how very nice to see you. And what is your pleasure this morning?
The lady, obviously delighted, beamed at him.
Id like some of them fudge chocolates I 'ad last week, Mr. Hatfield. They were lovely. Have you still got some?
Indeed I have, madam, and I am delighted that you approve of my recommendation. Such a deliciously creamy flavour. Also, it so happens that I have just received a consignment in a special presentation box for Easter.
He lifted one from the shelf and balanced
it on the palm of his hand.
Really pretty and attractive, dont you think?
Mrs. Dawson nodded rapidly. Oh, aye, thats real bonny. Ill take a box and theres summat else I want. A right big bag of nice boiled sweets for the family to suck at. Mixed colours, you know. What ave you got?
Mr. Hatfield steepled his fingers, gazed at her fixedly and took a long, contemplative breath. He held this pose for several seconds, then he swung round, clasped his hands behind him, and recommenced his inspection of the jars.
That was my favourite bit and, as always, I was enjoying it. It was a familiar scene. The tiny, , crowded shop, the proprietor wrestling with his assignment and Alfred sitting at the far end of the counter. Alfred was Geoffs cat and he was always there, seated upright and majestic on the polished boards near the curtained doorway which led to the Hatfield sitting room. As usual, he seemed to be taking a keen interest in the proceedings, his gaze moving from his masters face to the customers, and though it may have been my imagination I felt that his expression registered a grave involvement in the negotiations and a deep satisfaction at the outcome. He never left his place or encroached on the rest of the counter, but occasionally one or other of the ladies would stroke his cheek and he would respond with a booming purr and a gracious movement of the head towards them. It was typical that he never yielded to any unseemly display of emotion. That would have been undignified, and dignity was an unchanging part of him. Even as a kitten he had never indulged in immoderate playfulness. I had neutered him three years earlierfor which he appeared to bear me no ill willand he had grown into a massive, benevolent tabby. I looked at him now, sitting in his place. Vast, imperturbable, at peace with his world. There was no doubt he was a cat of enormous presence. And it had always struck me forcibly that he was exactly like his master in that respect. They were two of a kind and it was no surprise that they were such devoted friends.
When it came to my turn I was able to reach Alfred and I tickled him under his chin. He liked that and raised his head high while the purring rumbled up from the furry rib cage until it resounded throughout the shop. Even collecting my cough drops had its touch of ceremony.
The big man behind the counter sniffed gravely at the packet and then clapped his hand a few times against his chest.
You can smell the goodness, Mr. Herriot, the beneficial vapours. These will have you right in no time.
He bowed and smiled and I could swear that Alfred smiled with him. I squeezed my way out through the ladies and as I walked down the alley I marvelled for the umpteenth time at the phenomenon of Geoffrey Hatfield. There were several other sweet shops in Darrowby, big double-fronted places with their wares attractively displayed in the windows, but none of them did anything like the trade of the poky establishment I had just left.
There was no doubt that it was all due to Geoffs unique selling technique and it was certainly not an act on his part, it was born of a completely sincere devotion to his calling, a delight in what he was doing. His manner and posh diction gave rise to a certain amount of ribald comment from men who had left the local school with him at the age of fourteen, and in the pubs he was often referred to as the bishop, but it was good-natured stuff because he was a well-liked man. And, of course, the ladies adored him and flocked to bask in his attentions.