How to Find Love in a Book Shop(53)

He was doing a pre-Christmas book tour to promote his no-holds-barred autobiography, which promised any number of secrets and scandals and behind-the-scenes indiscretion. He would give a talk, answer questions, sign books. Not that he needed to do anything, Emilia thought. He just needed to breathe.

Mick Gillespie was the perfect person to kick off her new campaign. No one was immune to his charms. Men and women young and old would be intrigued. She imagined the shop bursting at the seams, the queue snaking out of the door. He was a legend. An icon. As cool as Steve McQueen and James Dean and Richard Burton all rolled into one. Handsome and devil-may-care and charismatic.

‘June – that is a genius idea.’

‘I knew him once,’ admitted June, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘No way!’

‘Yeah. I was an extra on one of his films. For my sins.’

‘An extra? I didn’t know you were an extra.’

‘Not for long. I was no good at it.’

‘But you met Mick Gillespie? It must have been in his hey-day.’

June nodded. ‘Yes …’

‘What was he like?’

‘Absolutely out of this world. Unforgettable. Magical.’

‘Do you think you can pull strings?’

June laughed. ‘No. Absolutely definitely not. There’s no way he’d remember me. I played a barmaid. If I’d been an actual barmaid he might have paid me more attention.’

Mick Gillespie’s love for the drink was legendary.

‘Well. Nothing ventured,’ said Emilia. ‘This would bring everybody to the shop. We’d be in the papers and everything.’

She picked up the phone to his publicist. He was probably fully committed already. No book shop in the country was going to pass up this opportunity.

Luck was on her side. Peasebrook would fit neatly in between Mick’s current commitments.

‘It’ll be a chance for him to have a little rest. We’ve given him the next day off, so where better to spend it than in the Cotswolds?’ the publicist said.

Emilia grinned to herself as she hung up the phone.

‘Nightingale Books is added to the tour. Mick Gillespie is coming here, to Peasebrook.’

‘Goodness!’ June looked rather taken aback.

‘I think we should get Thomasina to do the food,’ Emilia went on. ‘An Irish theme. She gave me a card the other day in case I needed any catering. What do you think?’

June was away with the fairies.

‘Stop daydreaming, would you?’ Emilia teased. ‘What drinks should we serve?’

‘I’d keep him well away from the drink if I were you,’ said June darkly.

‘But he must be getting on a bit.’ Emilia looked at his picture. ‘And they wouldn’t let him out on tour if he was trouble.’

‘Careful who you’re calling old,’ teased June. ‘He’s not much older than I am.’

‘Well, we all know you don’t look your age.’ Emilia gave June a hug. She was so grateful for the older woman’s advice and help. She almost felt like a maternal presence, something Emilia had never had, or, to be honest, felt the need for. But with her father gone, June’s presence was comforting, and she thought perhaps she didn’t appreciate her enough.

She was only too aware how important the people in this town had become to her in such a short space of time. Without their support, she’d have thrown in the towel weeks ago.

‘Mick Gillespie,’ she sighed, looking at the press release again.



By four thirty in the afternoon, there was just one man in the shop. It was getting dark outside and he was hovering, looking uncertain. This wasn’t unusual. Emilia found people were either totally at home in a book shop, or felt a little out of place. He had a dog with him, a shaggy lurcher who looked as awkward and out of place as his owner.

Dogs were a good icebreaker.

‘Hi.’ She walked over in a friendly but unobtrusive manner, holding a book in one hand so she looked as if she was on her way to put it somewhere rather than accosting him. ‘Look at you. You’re a lovely boy, aren’t you?’

‘Thanks,’ joked the man, and Emilia laughed, bending down to rough up the dog’s ears.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Wolfie.’

‘Hey, Wolfie.’ She looked up at the bloke. ‘Were you looking for something in particular, or are you just browsing?’

He grinned at her and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. She could tell he was on unfamiliar territory. People unused to book shops had an awkwardness about them. An apologetic awkwardness.

‘It’s a bit …’ He trailed off as she searched for the word. ‘Embarrassing.’

‘Oh.’ She tried to sound reassuring. ‘I’m sure it’s not. I’ll help if I can.’

She watched him move his weight from one foot to the other. He was cute, she thought. Faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a soft red plaid shirt undone over the top. His hair was dark and scruffy and he had a six o’clock shadow, but both of these things were by design rather than neglect: she could smell baby shampoo and something else more manly.

‘Don’t tell me – your girlfriend’s sent you in for Fifty Shades of Grey,’ she grinned. On impulse, because her mind had suddenly gone that way.