Arthur Dodge had exquisite taste. Correction—it wasn't so much exquisite as it was expensive. Exquisite taste is defined by style, a sense of grace and manner. On the other hand, expensive taste can sometimes be defined simply as an attraction to something that glitters. Like a moth to a flame. Or a shark to a shiny silver object bobbing on the surface of the sea.
Artie was neither a moth nor a shark, but oh, how he loved things that sparkled.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he said in an accent that had been swept straight off the grimy streets of London's East End. With it came a smile and the glint of Artie's diamond tooth.
"Nice place," Scott said, tossing Artie his leather bag.
Artie caught it in a panic. "Careful! What if I had dropped it?"
"With your fingers?" Scott smirked. "They're as sticky as a spider's web."
Artie beamed proudly. "Indeed they are. Come in, come in!"
Scott assisted Sophie in through the doors of the apartment as Artie made a grand sweep of his arm, gesturing to the lavish living space and the concertina balcony doors opening up to a breathtaking view across Paris.
With the clunk and clatter of her elbow crutches, Sophie made her way out into the sunlight-bathed balcony. Scott and Artie joined her. "It's beautiful, Artie," she said, her eyes gazing upon the Eiffel Tower, a smile on her face.
Together, the three of them had come a long way.