How to Find Love in a Book Shop(17)

And it took her mind off the fact that she missed him.

The shop had been busy over the past week, busier than usual, with people dropping by. Every time the bell tinged, she looked up expecting it to be him, walking in with a takeaway coffee and the day’s newspaper. But it never was.

Her eye was caught by a large car drawing up and parking on the double yellow lines outside the shop. She raised her eyebrow: the driver was taking a risk. The traffic warden in Peasebrook was notoriously draconian. No one usually dared flout the rules. When she looked closer, however, she realised this particular driver had no regard for the rules. It was an Aston Martin, with a personal plate.

Ian Mendip. Her stomach curdled slightly as he got out of his car. He was tall, shaven-headed, tanned, in jeans and a leather jacket. She could smell his aftershave already. He stood for a moment looking up at the shop, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. She could imagine him calculating the price per square metre.

It was ironic he had chosen not to use the book shop car park, as that was what he was after. Nightingale Books fronted onto the high street next to the bridge over the brook. Behind it was a large parking area owned by the shop, with room for at least ten cars. And adjacent to the book shop, behind the high street and backing onto the brook, was the old glove factory, disused and rundown, which Ian Mendip had snapped up for his portfolio a few years ago. He wanted to turn it into luxury apartments. If he had the book shop car park, he could increase the number of units: without the extra allocated parking his hands were tied, as the council wouldn’t grant him permission without it. Parking was enough of an issue in the small town without extra stress being put on it.

Emilia knew Ian had approached Julius, who had quietly shown him the door. So she wasn’t surprised to see him, though it was a bit soon, even for someone as hard-bitten as Ian. She knew him of old: he’d been a few years above her at Peasebrook High. He’d never looked at her twice then. He’d been a player, a chancer; there’d been an air of mystique about him that Emilia had never bought into, because she could see how he treated women. Not well. He had a trophy wife, but there were always rumours. He turned her stomach slightly.

She clambered out of the window so as to be ready for him. The bell tinged as he came into the shop.

‘Can I help?’ She smiled her widest smile.

‘Emilia.’ He held out his hand and she really had no choice but to shake it. ‘I’ve come to give you my condolences. I’m really sorry about your dad.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, wary.

‘I know this might seem a bit previous,’ he went on. ‘But I like to strike while the iron’s hot. You probably know your dad and I had conversations. And I thought it was more polite to come and see you in person to discuss it. I like to do business out in the open. I like a face-to-face chat. So I hope you’re not offended.’

He gave what he thought was a charming smile.

‘Mmm,’ said Emilia, non-committal, not giving him an inch.

‘I just want you to know the same offer I gave your dad is open to you. In case you’re wondering what to do.’

‘Not really,’ said Emilia. ‘I’m going to be running the shop from now on. And trust me – no amount of money will change my mind.’

‘It’s the best offer you’ll get. This building’s worth more to me than anyone else.’

Emilia frowned. ‘I don’t understand what you don’t understand: I’m not selling.’

Ian gave a smug shrug, as if to say he knew she would come round in the end.

‘I just want you to know the offer is still on the table. You might change your mind when things have settled down. I think it’s great that you want to carry on, but if you find it’s a bit tougher than you first thought …’ He spread his hands either side of him.

‘Thank you,’ said Emilia. ‘But don’t hold your breath. As they say.’

She was proud to stand her ground. Proud that her father had taught her there was more to life than money. The air felt tainted with the scent of Mendip’s wealth: the expensive aftershave he wore that was cloying and overpowering.

Seemingly unruffled, he held out his card.

‘You know where to find me. Call me any time.’

She watched as he left the shop and climbed back into his car. She rolled her eyes as it glided off down the high street. Dave loped over to her.

‘Was he after the shop?’

‘Yep,’ she replied.

‘I hope you told him where to get off.’

‘I did.’

Dave nodded solemnly. ‘Your dad thought he was a cock.’

With his dyed black hair tied back in a ponytail, his pale skin and his myriad tattoos, Dave wasn’t what you’d expect to find in a book shop. All she really knew about him was he still lived with his mum and had a bearded dragon called Bilbo. But his knowledge of literature was encyclopaedic, and the customers loved him. And Emilia felt a surge of fondness for him too – for his loyalty and his kindness.

‘I just want you to know, Dave, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with the shop yet. Everything’s a bit upside down. But I don’t want you to worry. You’re really valued here. Dad thought the world of you …’

‘He was a legend,’ said Dave. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. It’s tough for you.’