How to Find Love in a Book Shop(95)

And she turned the sign to Open.

There were people waiting on the pavement, eager to shop, and they carried on flooding in all day long. There were queues at the till and Emilia was relieved she’d had the foresight to take on three new members of staff to cover the Christmas period.

At the end of the day she had just thanked the staff and said goodbye to them but hadn’t locked the door when the bell tinged. She would tell whoever it was they were closed for the day.

It was Marlowe. He was standing there with a smile and a bottle of Perrier-Jou?t.

‘Are you closed?’

‘I can make an exception. Just for you.’

‘I wanted to buy a book on your first day. To mark the occasion.’

‘Well, come in and have a browse.’

He put the bottle down on the counter and looked around in admiration.

‘It’s wonderful, Emilia.’

She looked around and saw it with his eyes. It was wonderful. And suddenly she felt overwhelmed, because the one person she wanted to see it wasn’t there. She felt tears well up.

‘Hey!’ Marlowe was at her side in a moment.

‘I’m sorry. I just wish he was here to see it.’

‘Of course you do.’ Marlowe took her in his arms. He put up a finger to wipe away her tears. ‘He’d be so proud. You know that.’

Emilia nodded. She should pull herself together. Go and open the champagne or something. But she didn’t want to move out of his embrace. On the contrary, she wanted to move closer. She shut her eyes.

They stood there for a moment, closer than close, their breathing in rhythm.

‘Which book was it you wanted?’ she asked eventually, barely able to speak.

‘Have you got a book about a man who takes ages to realise the person he loves has been right under his nose all along?’

‘There’s loads of those,’ she said. ‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Well,’ said Marlowe. ‘He’s a violinist. And she’s got a book shop.’

She opened her eyes, suddenly realising what he meant.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t think there is.’

‘Someone should write one, then,’ said Marlowe, smiling down at her.

Emilia swallowed, trying to take in exactly what this meant.

‘Is it true?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Ever since I watched you play “The Swan” at your father’s memorial. You were so scared but you were so brave and you did it with so much love … I’d never heard it played like that before.’

‘Oh.’ Emilia didn’t know what to say. She was overwhelmed, both by his confession and his comments about her performance.

‘Delphine knew before I did,’ said Marlowe. ‘That’s why she left. She was pretty good about it. She said she didn’t want to stand in the way.’

Emilia felt overwhelmed. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her.

‘So how’s this book going to end, then?’

‘Oh happily,’ said Marlowe. ‘Like all the best books. And it would be called … How to Find Love in a Book Shop.’

They stood holding each other, tighter than tight.

‘It sounds,’ said Emilia, ‘like the best book ever written. I shall order fifty copies at once.’





Twenty-Six

It was Christmas Eve in Peasebrook.

From early in the morning its streets were thronged. There were queues snaking out of the butcher as people came to collect their turkeys and their geese and Peasebrook Cheese had all hands on deck, handing over wheels of Cheddar and wedges of Stilton and boxes of Vacherin. A choir sang lustily around the Christmas tree in the market place. The air was crisp and cold; the blue sky filled with plump white clouds.

‘There’ll be snow before the day’s out,’ said Jem’s father, gazing up with a knowing look in his eye.

The promise of snow added a sense of urgency to the day. Eyes were bright; noses were pink; smiles were wide as people hurried through the streets to finish their errands and head home.

In Nightingale Books, Emilia hadn’t drawn breath since turning the sign to Open at nine o’clock and she’d been nearly trampled in the stampede. She had no idea how people had the nerve to wait so late to buy their presents, but she didn’t complain. They were buying with gusto. Thomasina had made gallons of mulled wine to hand out to customers as they browsed and the air hung heavy with the scent of cloves and cinnamon. She and Lauren had also made gingerbread men for any stray children to chew on while their parents shopped.

Bea was in charge of the wrapping station. Books were such a pleasure to wrap, with their satisfyingly straight edges and sharp corners, but perfectionist Bea took it to a higher level. The books were covered in the plain brown paper Julius had always used, and tied with red ribbon, then carefully stamped with Merry Christmas from Nightingale Books in one corner.

June and Emilia were kept busy helping customers with recommendations: they were easily identifiable by the red velvet elf hats Bea had made them. Emilia sold The Cat in the Hat and Enid Blyton and Thomas the Tank Engine and Flower Fairies gift books; Sherlock Holmes compendiums and gardening encyclopedias and Agatha Christie box sets; endless cookery books and biographies and atlases.

A dashing man in a navy overcoat came in needing a book recommendation for his wife. Emilia imagined a pretty woman in a beautiful Georgian house and sold him the Cazalet Chronicles, on the basis that no one she had ever met who had read them had ever disliked them.