The next day involved a lot more sugar soap so it was a relief when Pippa dropped by while Posy was up to her elbows in grimy liquid.

‘Did we have a meeting?’ asked Posy when Pippa suddenly appeared in the furthest anteroom to the left, which Verity and Nina had been studiously avoiding in case Posy asked them to pick up a sponge and help.

Pippa sat down on the kick steps. ‘No, no meeting.’

Posy scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot in the corner of one of the bottom shelves where the dust had congealed into thick black gunk. ‘I chased up the tote bag and mug people and they promised that, if they don’t deliver by Monday, they’ll knock ten per cent off.’

‘That’s not why I’m here. God, you lot are obsessed with tote bags.’ Pippa hadn’t pulled out any of her electronic devices but was staring hard at the back of Posy’s head. Posy knew that without turning around because suddenly all her hair follicles were tingling unpleasantly. ‘Can you look at me, Posy? I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me.’

That was no incentive for Posy to put down her sponge and turn to face Pippa. ‘Can’t you just ask me anyway? Without audience participation.’

‘Posy Morland, turn around immediately!’ Pippa snapped and Posy instantly swivelled around because it was a tone of voice that brooked no riposte. (Posy made a mental note to use the phrase ‘brook no riposte’ in her next instalment of Ravished by the Rake – not that she was going to be writing any more, but if she did … ) ‘Pay attention to me!’

‘I’m paying attention,’ Posy said. Pippa had a look on her face like she was all out of inspirational quotes and positive affirmations and was going to start swearing instead. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Obviously you are planning a relaunch, that much I can say for sure. But, honestly, are you rebranding Bookends as The Bloody Dagger, a specialist crime bookshop?’

Now it wasn’t only the follicles on Posy’s head that were tingling. Every hair on her body was standing to full attention. ‘Um, what makes you think we aren’t?’

Answering a question with another question was a textbook evasion tactic. Posy knew that and so did Pippa, because she narrowed her eyes and sucked in a breath. She twirled a lock of impossibly glossy, impossibly bouncy hair around one immaculately manicured finger. ‘Lots of things,’ Pippa said. ‘Whenever anybody asks Sam for the final website artwork, he goes bright red and says that you’ve got it. Then you told Mattie that the name of the shop hadn’t been finalised when it was agreed weeks ago. Whenever I email you links to crime fiction festivals as inspiration for pitching author events, you never reply. And a moment ago, when I asked Nina if we had enough books to stock a whole room dedicated to Scandinavian crime fiction, she said, and I quote, “I’m buggered if I know.”’

‘Oh, you know what Nina’s like,’ Posy said weakly. ‘Always with the jokes.’

‘Nobody in this shop, including you, seems to have the slightest interest in crime. And Sebastian tells me you sold all the crime novels at the sale on Saturday.’

‘Yeah, well, I explained to him then that they were old editions, and anyway he doesn’t know—’

‘Posy, I have a Masters degree in Non-Verbal Communication and you have been blinking rapidly, touching your hair and looking to the side every time you speak to me. Classic tells when someone’s lying. So, yes or no: is this going to be a specialist crime bookshop in three weeks’ time?’

Posy took her hands out of her hair and stared down at her feet. ‘No,’ she admitted. It didn’t feel good to tell the truth. It felt like an industrial-sized can of worms had just been opened. ‘We’re reopening as Happy Ever After, a one-stop shop for all your romantic fiction needs.’

‘I see.’ Pippa knitted her fingers together then rested her chin on them. ‘Actually, I don’t see. Why don’t you hit the headlines for me?’

It all came spilling out then in an ungainly gobbet of words, and now it did feel good to confess all her crimes even though Pippa’s face remained impassive so it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.

‘Sebastian was meant to have got bored of the whole thing by now,’ Posy finished on a petulant note because really this was all Sebastian’s fault. ‘I’m sorry that I’ve lied to you and taken advantage of your project management skills under false pretences, but it all spiralled out of control.’

‘I have to tell Sebastian,’ Pippa said.

‘Oh, please, don’t.’ Posy wasn’t above begging. On the contrary, she felt entirely comfortable with begging. ‘I’ve got so much to deal with without having to deal with him too.’

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.’

‘Um, because … because, er, sisterhood?’

Pippa took a deep breath. ‘Posy, he pays my wages.’

‘Yes, I know that, but somehow you’ve mastered the art of saying no to him so that he listens to you. Whenever anyone else says no to him, he just doesn’t hear it. I did try to tell him …’ Posy thought about it. ‘… several times, although the last time we were in the middle of an argument and he ran away before I got to the important bit.’

Then there was nothing for it but to take Pippa into the office and show her the paint swatches, the calendar with all the author events pencilled in, the designs that Posy had signed off weeks ago, the boxes of stationery, bookmarks and carrier bags that had arrived on Friday. All the while Verity stared at her in horror.

‘Everything all right?’ she finally ventured when she couldn’t stand the tension between Pippa and Posy a moment longer.

‘I don’t know,’ Posy whimpered. ‘Are you very angry with me, Pippa? I didn’t mean to waste your time, but it wasn’t really wasted because your revised schedule has been a godsend and your floor plan made much more sense than mine did. We’re just going to be selling a different genre of book. That’s not so bad, is it? It’s still books and stationery and tote bags, but instead of being all murdery, they’re a celebration of love. That’s a good thing. Love. All we need is love. Love is all around.’

‘You have to tell Sebastian,’ Pippa said firmly, before Posy could rattle off any more song titles. ‘Either you do it or I will.’

Of course Posy had to tell Sebastian what she’d done. Catalogue the sheer depth of her deception. Confess her wrongdoings. Own up to every brazen and barefaced lie. What was the worst that could happen? He might bill her for Pippa’s services and for the web stuff, but that wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. Or, as executor of Lavinia’s estate, could he take the shop away from Posy before her two years were up? Was there a clause on one of the many forms and letters she’d signed that gave Sebastian full control of Bookends in the event that Posy was found guilty of subterfuge? Surely, there couldn’t be.

But Sebastian would be very angry. He’d say hateful things, which Posy could handle because she’d had a lifetime of Sebastian saying hateful things, but if he stopped coming around, then Sam would be dreadfully hurt and Posy wouldn’t be able to handle that quite so easily.

Sam and Sir Walter Scott had been right with their talk of tangled webs.

‘All right, I’ll tell him,’ Posy said. ‘But you have to let me pick the right time.’

‘There is no time.’ Pippa was starting to sound quite stressed about it. ‘As Paulo Coelho says, “One day, you will wake up and there won’t be any more time to do the things you’ve always wanted. Do it now.”’

‘You really do have one of those quotes for every occasion,’ Posy said. ‘How do you remember them all?’

‘Not every occasion, but I do find them a powerful motivational tool,’ Pippa insisted. She then pinned Posy with one of her penetrating looks, another powerful motivational tool. ‘You can’t keep taking advantage of Sebastian’s good nature like this.’

Verity rolled her eyes so furiously that Posy thought she might be having a seizure. ‘Since when does Sebastian have a good nature?’

‘It’s absolutely impossible to tell him something that he doesn’t want to hear,’ Posy added.

‘I find it only too easy,’ Pippa said, without the least bit of sympathy. ‘I don’t think anyone else at the office has a problem with it either. You have to be decisive, that’s all. Give him no wriggle room. You make your point. Let him process it. Move on. Point. Process. Move. PPM.’

‘PPM,’ Posy and Verity repeated.

‘PPM him by next Monday or I’ll tell him, but it would be so much better if it came from you. OK?’

‘Yes, but …’ Pippa was already gone and Posy had to follow her out into the shop. ‘Pippa, hold on!’

‘I can’t. I’ve just PPM’ed you.’ Pippa already had her hand on the door.

‘Please, it’s about your friend Mattie,’ Posy shouted across the shop floor to the consternation of a middle-aged man in an anorak and bobble hat who was scanning what few self-help titles they had left on the shelf. Pippa paused and turned. ‘She’s emailed me a couple of times. Well, actually, she’s emailed me every day for the last two weeks. I haven’t reached a decision about the tearoom …’

‘Posy! Please stop springing all these confessions on me! What do you mean you haven’t decided yet?’ Pippa demanded and she was sounding properly cross now.

‘You have to make a decision very soon,’ Verity chimed in, like a Greek chorus. ‘And the decision needs to be yes. The tearoom is dead space. It’s not earning any money standing there empty. We need to start earning money instead of just spending it.’

It seemed to Posy that no matter how hard she worked, the stress never lessened. With every passing day it seemed to increase until she could feel the weight of it pressing her down, squashing all her vital organs so it was hard to breathe.

‘OK. OK,’ Posy said, holding up her hands to ward off any more criticism. ‘I’ll seriously consider what I’m going to do about the tearoom.’

Pippa sighed heavily as if Posy’s serious considerations weren’t enough. ‘As Walt Disney said, “The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing.”’

When Pippa started with the inspirational quotes, then Posy knew she was beaten. ‘Fine! Yes! I’ll do something with the tearoom. Do you think Mattie might decide that baked goods and romantic fiction would be a better combination than cake and crime, then? Could you sound her out? Please.’

‘I suppose I could,’ Pippa agreed. ‘I’ll set up another face-to-face.’

‘Oooh! Could you ask her to bring cakes?’ Nina chimed in from high up on the rolling ladder.

‘Enough!’ Pippa wrenched open the door. ‘I’m PPM-ing the whole lot of you!’