This Could Change Everything(34)

‘What?’ Zillah stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You bought the one I told you not to buy?’

The man raised his head. ‘Oh, hello!’

‘Never mind hello.’ In disbelief, Zillah gestured at the paperback. ‘Why would you do that? Why?’

‘Honestly? I prefer this author’s books. I like the way he writes.’

Her voice rose. ‘But you know how it ends. I told you the big twist!’

‘I know you did. But sometimes I quite enjoy being in on the secret. It gives you a different perspective.’

A voice behind Zillah said, ‘Excuse me, I wonder if we could get to our seats . . .’

‘It ruins a book,’ Zillah told the infuriating man. ‘What’s the point of reading a mystery thriller when it isn’t thrilling or remotely mysterious? I can’t believe I recommended a book and you completely ignored my advice!’

‘Actually, I—’

‘That’s just so rude.’

‘No it isn’t,’ the man protested. ‘If I’d asked for your advice, I would have taken it. But I didn’t ask, did I? You volunteered your opinion.’ He shrugged easily. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to do what you say.’

‘Ahem, excuse me again, but there’s quite a queue behind you . . .’

‘You’re welcome to sit beside me if you’d like to.’ Her adversary patted the vacant seat next to him.

‘No thank you.’ Still offended, Zillah said, ‘The book I recommended is fifty times better than that one.’

‘Is it really?’ Bending down, he reached into the bag at his feet and drew out the other book. ‘Then I look forward to reading it next.’

Zillah felt her blood pressure fall. She shook her head and laughed. ‘Touché.’

The man patted the empty seat once more. ‘Will you join me now?’

‘Yes,’ sighed the woman still stuck in the aisle behind her. ‘She’d love to join you now.’

Thirty-three years on from that meeting, Zillah looked at Essie. ‘And that was it, that was how we met. I sat down next to him and we talked about books for the next hour. What we liked and didn’t like about different genres and styles of writing. We argued too, because I didn’t agree with some of his choices and he said I wasn’t allowed to criticise any author whose work I’d never properly read. We had about ten arguments in the space of an hour. But I knew.’ As she said it, she patted her chest. ‘In here, I knew something amazing was happening. Or I was hoping it would. He was wearing Givenchy cologne and a gold signet ring. He was funny and he wasn’t afraid to tell me when I was wrong. And when he laughed . . . oh, he had the best laugh. I just wanted to listen to it forever. He was travelling on to Bristol so I was getting off the train first. As we reached Bath, he asked me if I’d like to see him again.’ Zillah shook her head at the memory, still crystal clear in her mind. ‘I told him I would, and he took my phone number. Then he said he’d give me a call at the weekend and if I could prove that I’d read a book by Jeffrey Archer, he’d come over and take me out to dinner.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d said something rude earlier about Jeffrey Archer’s books without having read any of them. And he thought that was unfair. Of course, I told him there was no way on earth I’d be obeying his petty rules,’ said Zillah. ‘Who did he think he was? It was a ridiculous thing to ask me to do. And then we pulled into Bath station and I jumped off the train.’

‘I love this story,’ Essie declared. ‘What happened next?’

‘Well, I left the station and headed straight for the nearest bookshop. I chose the thinnest of the Jeffrey Archers and took it over to the counter. Then, just as I was about to pay, a voice in my ear said, ‘That one’s good, but Kane and Abel is much better.’

Essie clapped her hands in delight. ‘He got off the train!’

‘He’d got off the train,’ Zillah agreed happily. ‘And followed me. When he saw that I was going into the bookshop, he said that was it, that was the moment he knew he wanted to marry me.’

‘And did you buy Kane and Abel?’

‘I did. I read it, too, from cover to cover. And he was right,’ Zillah said with a fond smile. ‘Annoyingly. It might not be classed as great literature, but that book was a damn good read.’





Chapter 16


At six o’clock on Saturday evening, a howling gale was battering the city of Bath. Rain was sweeping across Percival Square in relentless waves and the trees were swaying like diehard fans at a Michael Bublé concert.

Inside the Red House, even more chaos reigned. Everyone was standing on chairs. Lucas, tempted to whip out his phone and take a photo of the scene, marvelled at the infinite variety his job entailed.

OK, first things first, find the culprit before his eardrums imploded.

‘Right, everyone calm down,’ he yelled. ‘It’s not going to hurt you.’

But he was no match for the hen party, who knew better.

‘I saw it! It’s an actual tarantula! Swear to God, it’s bigger than my foot,’ shrieked one of the girls.

Her friend, squealing with horror, took a leap up from the chair she’d been teetering on and landed on the table next to it. Presumably in case the spider had superpowers and springs in its legs. Her high heel knocked against a half-empty pint glass and Essie, swooping to the rescue, caught it in her left hand before it could crash to the floor.