THE TIFFANY TOUCH

Now we were strolling towards the Viceroy in Midtown, Manhattan to meet friends for sundowners. I realised it suddenly: I was looking into Tiffany’s windows and picturing Holly.

Tiffany’s is not the place to contemplate shopping when your purse holds little more than $200 in spending money, but JJ reminded me that you can’t get that close without going inside.

A friendly doorman at the revolving door welcomed us to a universe of sparkle; a girl’s best friends everywhere, all with price tags beyond my budget. We looked and admired, but didn’t touch.

A little later, an “elevator” driven by another smiling, well-groomed gentleman raised us to the third floor: the silver department.

To Caroline, I explained I was living a dream on my landmark birthday, wanted something to commemorate it, but felt embarrassed by my nearpennilessness. Tiffany’s, she smiled, has something for everyone. Browse care-free and call if we needed her, she said as she left us.

But it wasn’t long before she returned — carrying a silver tray bearing a magnum of champagne and two flutes, with Tiffany embroidered napkins.

Tiffany’s hoped I would remember my time there, she said, and introduced Ben, dapper in a suit and tie, who had worked at the store for 15 years. He would be our personal assistant.

Ben made me believe, as I floated between displays sipping dry bubbly, that I was the only customer in the shop. He tendered bracelets, rings and necklaces and held a mirror for me to try them on. The wow factor hit me when he offered silver earrings of the signature “Tiffany’s knot”. They seemed to have been made for me. And I had just enough cash.

Ben polished them, packed them in a cute blue box with a white bow, and dropped them in a Tiffany’s carrier bag with a silver cloth to polish them.

Fifteen minutes before the 7pm closing, Ben sat us at a table set with all Tiffany’s crockery, to finish the champers at our leisure. True, it was not breakfast, but again I remembered Holly.

When finally we left, staff formed a guard of honour to wish us well. They hoped to see us again.

I dream so, too. — © Megan Barber

Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za