Summer of Love (6 page)

‘Oh.’ Melissa seemed a bit surprised to find herself refused. ‘Another time perhaps?’

Sian smiled and shrugged, hoping there wouldn’t be another time and wondering how she could stop Melissa buying what she now considered her home. She couldn’t imagine that Melissa had been denied many things in her life. She wondered if she should call Fiona and ask if she thought Luella might be tempted by a sensible offer from a cash buyer. But she thought better of it. Fiona’s date was tomorrow and she didn’t want to distract her.

After Sian had seen Melissa off the premises, she went to join Rory in the garden, suddenly wondering if they’d be there to see their strawberries ripen and their plants mature. She gave a wistful sigh and, putting her hand out for Rory to take, she said, ‘Come on, Rory, we’ll just water the strawberries and then it’ll be time for supper.’ And they went inside.

Once she’d fed Rory, Sian had a quick shower and got into a summer dress. It was old and faded but one of her favourites. With some jewellery and make-up and out of her gardening clothes she scrubbed up quite well. She wanted to cook something nice for Richard. He said he got fed up with hotel fare and liked more homely meals, therefore she set about making a shepherd’s pie while Rory watched television. As she peeled onions and chopped celery and carrots she thought about Richard. She was looking forward to seeing him again – he’d been away on business for nearly three weeks now. That was another thing about Richard that she liked, he was away a lot, which meant she was able to get on with her life and look forward to the times when she did see him. Neither of them got under each other’s feet and had plenty to talk about when they did meet up. He would want to hear about all her doings as she would want to hear about his. He could be very funny about the people he met on his travels.

She decided not to mention Melissa saying she wanted to buy the cottage. Richard would want to sort it out for her and she wanted to cope with the problem herself. Sian was not at all reluctant to accept help but Richard had already done a lot for her. She knew he wanted to ease her path through life – he would quite happily whisk her into his own house if she said the word. But she didn’t want to exploit his good nature or do anything she didn’t feel comfortable with, just for an easy life.

Suddenly she remembered him saying that every now and again he craved the butterscotch tart they had at school. She didn’t have a recipe but a quick trawl through her larder made her think she could make it up without too much difficulty. Rory would love the leftovers the following day.

‘Hello, Richard!’ Sian let him put his arms around her and give her a big hug. She liked his hugs. They were solid and dependable, like he was, and afterwards you knew you’d been hugged. She hugged him back, just as firmly.

‘Sian, girl,’ he said. ‘You look as gorgeous as ever. No one would think you’d moved house since I last saw you.’ He put the bottle of wine he had brought down on the table.

‘The cottage looks as if I only moved in a few hours ago. I still haven’t sorted everything out. Come in. Do you want to sit in the kitchen and watch me make a salad, or sit in state in the sitting room?’

‘You know the answer to that,’ he said, looking at her with a warmth in his eyes that made her feel guilty.

‘I’ll just run up and tuck Rory in.’

‘I’ll do that. I’d like to know how the little chap is getting on with my sis.’

‘First day today but he loved it! There’s a “boy” helping out and as you know he loves boys. Go up and see.’

Richard came back down a little while later. ‘Although I’m a boy, obviously, he wants you to tuck him in. I did read a story but I don’t think I did the voices in quite the right way.’

More guilt. He was so kind, why didn’t Rory want to be tucked in by him? She ran up the stairs, having made sure Richard had a glass of wine.

When she came down she found he had finished making the salad and had tidied up the kitchen and set the table.

‘You’re such a star, Richard,’ she said, smiling at him over her wine.

‘Does that mean you’ll change your mind and marry me?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t look so distressed. You’ve given me your answer. I just hope one day you’ll change your mind.’

Sian raised her glass to him. I sort of hope that myself, she thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

Chapter Four

‘You only have one chance to make a first impression,’ Luella had helpfully reminded Fiona by email that morning. Fiona, dressed in carefully casual loose linen trousers, a non-matching longish jacket (to cover the tricky thigh area)and chunky jewellery, felt if not at her best, at least OK. Sian, who had sympathised with her nerves and come round to help her with her outfit after a panicked phone call, had eventually said, ‘I think I’m jealous! It’s all so exciting.’

‘Too exciting,’ said Fiona wryly, but as she drove off, having got Sian’s promise to send the pre-planned text for the hundredth time, she realised she relished the feeling. Her life as a ‘good woman’ was fine but latterly she had felt there was part of her that was unaddressed. She well remembered the stage Sian was at, but much as she had enjoyed it, it was good to be free of all that, even if she did still worry about her ‘boys’. Maybe it was time she kicked over the traces a bit. She found herself a spot in the main town car park and checked the bookshop address in her hand. Making herself do something useful on the way to her assignation at the antiques fair was a good way to make herself feel less guilty about the whole thing. Although there was no reason in the world why she shouldn’t arrange to meet a man she’d met on a dating site she couldn’t help feeling it was somehow wrong. Now, she picked up the box of books she’d sorted the night before and set off, hoping the shop wasn’t too far away.

The bookshop sign caught her eye immediately she hit the main shopping street. I just hope the man wants some of these books and I don’t have to drag them all back again, she thought as she opened the door with her hip and reversed into the shop.

‘Can I help you with that?’

A man’s voice, low and pleasant, came from the darkness and Fiona found the box being taken gently from her arms. She looked up and saw a slightly built man with thick greying hair and kind eyes.

‘Oh, thank you. They were getting heavy. Are you Mr Langley?’

‘Yes, James Langley. And you must be Mrs Matcham. Do come on through and we’ll have a look.’

Fiona followed the man into the back of the shop, taking in the smell and the atmosphere and realising she liked it.

‘There’s something about bookshops, isn’t there?’ she said as they reached what was obviously the office. ‘You feel something magical might come out from between the covers of one of the books at any moment.’

The man paused in the task of finding room for the box of books on the already crowded desk and looked at Fiona. ‘You think so? How nice! That’s how I always feel too. One doesn’t expect non-book people to feel the same.’

‘Oh, I am a book person!’ Fiona hurried to reassure him. ‘I just have far, far too many to read in my lifetime.’

‘Well, let’s have a look. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?’

‘A glass of water would be wonderful.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t anything to put in it to make it more interesting.’

‘Water is quite interesting enough, I assure you.’

‘Do make yourself at home. I won’t be a moment.’

Fiona sat down and looked about her. The room was small and full of bookshelves. An old wooden card index system commanded quite a lot of space but the rest of it was taken up with boxes of books very like the one she had brought with her. He obviously couldn’t say no when asked to look at books, just in case there was a hidden jewel. She sympathised with this presumed sentiment but she accepted it probably wasn’t a brilliant business model. She hoped there was at least one ‘jewel’ in her own box.

He came back with two glasses of water and found space for hers on the back of a view of a floral clock on a postcard. Taking a quick look at the card before it was obscured by the glass, Fiona guessed it dated from the 1950s and had probably been used as a bookmark, which was why it was now on James Langley’s desk.

‘Now, Mrs Matcham, let’s have a look,’ he said, putting his hand into the box and bringing out a book. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Very nice.’ He put the book to one side and put his hand in again. ‘This is like a lucky dip where all the prizes are good ones,’ he said. ‘Where do they come from?’

‘They’re a selection from my husband’s library. Deceased first husband, I should say, rather than divorced second husband.’ Fiona suddenly realised she was giving far more information than was strictly necessary and explained, in a hurry, ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I was selling off my husband’s books if he still wanted them.’

‘So are there many more?’

Fiona nodded. ‘A whole room. And bookcases and bookcases full. He inherited most of the library but he was also a compulsive book-buyer. The house is coming down with books, and I need to clear it really. If I had to sell the house it would take me years.’

James Langley had been going through the books as Fiona explained, grunting with pleasure at intervals. ‘There are some good books here I’d be interested in buying, but I’m worrying about the rest of the library. What are you planning to do?’

‘Well, if the books are worth anything, I’d like to sell them. Neither of my sons is interested in any of those that are left. They’ve had all the ones they do want already.’

‘Had you planned how to do that?’

‘Not really. I have no idea which ones, if any, are valuable. I just thought I’d put them into boxes, shelf by shelf, and find people like you.’ She smiled and decided James Langley was rather nice. Appropriately for a bookseller, he wasn’t smartly dressed but his clothes had once been of good quality. They could possibly have been handed down from his father, Fiona decided, but he looked right in them.

‘Would you like me to come and have a look? It would save you having to bring box after box in here.’ He smiled. He had a lovely smile: it lit up his whole face. It was a nice face too. Part of her wondered why she was checking him out and decided it was because soon she’d be off on her first date, when, inevitably, a great deal of checking out would be going on.

‘Can you be bothered? Would it be worth your while? Obviously I’d want you to sell them for me. Or buy them from me – however it works. But still, there’re an awful lot of books.’

‘Going on the quality of these you’ve brought in I’m sure it would be worth my while.’

‘Well, I would be extremely grateful. Although I do love books those ones have been a dreadful responsibility. I couldn’t just chuck them out if they might be valuable and add to my sons’ inheritance. And leaving them
in situ
isn’t really an option. As I said, I’m thinking I may have to move.’

‘It would be my pleasure to come and tell you which ones are valuable and how to dispose of the others.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. Here, let me give you a card. Why don’t you ring me and we’ll find a good time?’

‘Do you email?’

‘Of course. Couldn’t manage without the internet these days. Apparently some people even find their partners through it.’

The way he twinkled at her was a bit unsettling. He couldn’t possibly know what she was up to, could he? ‘Really?’ she said again, hoping she sounded sufficiently incredulous. ‘Well, whatever, I’d better get on. Do you want me to leave the books?’

‘If you don’t mind? I can value them individually and those I want to buy, I’ll buy. Those I don’t want but have a value, I’ll track down someone who would want them. Is that all right? You trust me with them?’

Fiona smiled into his eyes, which still seemed a bit twinkly, and decided she did trust him. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said firmly, knowing everyone who knew her thought she was on the naïve side. But she trusted her instincts and had only once gone horribly wrong.

Feeling lighthearted and optimistic, Fiona made her way to the antiques fair. Having hit the jackpot with her box of books had to be a sign that the rest of the day would go well too. The fact that she found somewhere to park that wasn’t in a muddy field was positive too.

However, once she got to the entrance to the stately home that was the venue for the fair she started to feel anxious. They’d agreed to meet ‘at the fair’ but now she was at the door she realised how unhelpful the word ‘at’ was in these circumstances. It should have been ‘inside’ or ‘outside’, ‘by the lion at the gate’ or ‘the third pillar on the left’.

But as she approached the entrance, which had a queue of people filing their way in, she saw a pleasant-looking man who did look like the picture on the website.

Luella had warned her to expect people to be quite a bit older than their photograph suggested. Her own photo was a couple of years old, but this man seemed spot on.

Perhaps it wasn’t him though. Perhaps it was someone else ‘about six feet tall, greying at the edges, I’ll be wearing a cream linen suit’.

Then she got a grip. What sort of parallel universe did she live in whereby someone who looked like their photograph seemed like an uncanny coincidence instead of exactly what you’d expect? It must be him.