Philomena Bloom burst into the bookshop at exactly three o’clock the next afternoon, leaving a wave of expensive perfume in her wake. The handful of customers browsing the shelves all looked up at the same time like meerkats.
“Darlings,” she boomed at Mum and me as we stood behind the counter. “Delighted to be here at last. Bloody trains take forever and leave one feeling positively unclean.” She screwed up her nose. “Megan darling, how are you?”
“Um, hi…” I began before I was drawn into an effusive embrace and my words were muffled against Philomena’s ample bosom. “I don’t mean to be rude,” I went on when I’d been released. “But have we met before?” From Xander’s agent’s overly familiar welcome it felt as though we must have done, but if we had I couldn’t remember.
“You know I don’t think we have, but I know all about you!” Philomena wagged a bejewelled finger in my direction before turning to Mum.
“And you must be Martha Taylor,” she said. “Wife of Walter.”
Mum opened her mouth to say something but Philomena was talking to me again. “I was so sorry to hear of your husband’s passing and that you decided to leave publishing. Such a loss.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, really rather perturbed now by Philomena’s attitude – she was as rude as Xander in her own way. “But if we’ve never met, I don’t understand how you know…”
“Well I did my research, of course,” Philomena said, waving her hands in the air and causing a collection of bracelets to jangle noisily. “I had to know who I was up against, and what do I find? That the bookshop is owned by the poet Walter Taylor and run by his daughter – who used to be one of the commissioning editors for Rogers & Hudson. I knew Xander was in good hands as soon as I found that out.” She began to walk around the shop, running her fingers along the shelves and not letting me get a word in edgewise. “A tragedy about your husband though, my dear, a tragedy. Do you think you’ll come back to London, back to publishing?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “And I don’t really understand how you know about my husband.” Mum and I began to follow Philomena as she moved slowly up and down the shelves until she stopped abruptly in the cookery section and turned around.
“Do you see your father often?” she asked.
I felt that pang of guilt again when I remembered all my excuses about why I couldn’t go to Paris and how I hadn’t seen him since Joe’s funeral. “Not for a while,” I replied. “But…”
“Is he still in Paris?”
“Thinks he’s bloody Hemingway,” Mum muttered under her breath.
Luckily for Mum a customer needed some help and she scuttled off with him, leaving me to cope with Philomena.
“Let’s talk about the book launch, shall we?” I said as decisively as I could manage before Philomena could reveal any more of the personal information she seemed to have dug up on me. I’d always known publishing was a small world but this was ridiculous. I’d been gone for over three years.
It had been Joe who’d encouraged me to apply for the internship. We’d married in York in the August after we graduated and moved almost immediately to London so he could start law school in the autumn. We’d rented a tiny flat near the Thames between Kingston and Surbiton, and I’d spent the first six months working as a bookseller in the Kingston branch of Waterstones. I wanted something more, though – I didn’t just want to sell books, I wanted to help make them.
“It’s an internship with one of the big publishers,” Joe had said, showing me the advertisement. “You should apply.”
I’d made up all sorts of excuses as to why I shouldn’t – the pay was terrible, there would be thousands of other people applying – but Joe wouldn’t listen to excuses.
“You’re scared to rock the boat,” he said. “And I get that. But this could be your dream job.”
“And what if it isn’t?” I’d replied.
“Then you quit and go back to bookselling and you’ve lost nothing.” Joe, like most lawyers, had an answer for everything.
Somehow I’d got the internship – the woman who’d interviewed me spent more time asking me about growing up in a bookshop than telling me about the job – and Joe and I had celebrated with a bottle of cheap fizz on a bench by the river.
“It’s not our bench,” he’d said. “But it’ll do.” He’d been so happy for me and a few days later we had cause to celebrate again when he found out he’d been accepted on a training contract at one of the big City law firms.
Two years later he’d been offered a permanent job in the litigation department and I’d commissioned my first novel – a historical romance that had gone on to be a huge best-seller in America. I’d felt as though between us we could take on the world. We moved out of our tiny rented flat and bought a bigger flat just down the road. Our life had felt as though it was perfect… but Joe’s white blood cells had probably already started to misbehave by then, even though we didn’t know it at the time.
Philomena Bloom was waving a thick wodge of papers in my face, which snapped me out of my memories. She plucked a glasses case out of her huge Liberty tote bag and perched a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of her nose. “Xander tells me you have an area where launches take place,” she said, peering at me over the top of the glasses. “Where is that?”
“This way,” I replied, leading her out of the cookery section and towards the area that I’d had Colin set up that morning in preparation.
“Hmmm…” Philomena pondered. “This will have to do, I suppose.” She looked around. “It’s not very big in here, is it?”
“No, well, I did tell you that…” The bookshop was plenty big enough and she must have known it wasn’t going to be the size of some of the big London chains.
“And Xander has OK’d all of this?” she checked.
“Yes, he said it would be fine.”
“He hates this sort of thing, you know,” Philomena said quietly.
“Really?” I replied, thinking again of that fleeting look of nervousness on Xander’s face the week before.
She nodded, earrings jangling. “Oh yes. I know he comes across as terribly brash and forthright but deep down he’s a kitten.” She grinned at me, showing a lot of very white teeth.
“Brash and forthright is one way of putting it,” I said. It was also a good way of describing Philomena herself, but I didn’t say that out loud.
She laughed then, a strange braying noise that sounded a little bit like a donkey. “Ah, I see he’s left an impression,” she said. “But like I say, he’s such a softie underneath all that bravado.”
“So it is bravado, then?” I wasn’t sure if Xander would thank Philomena for telling me this.
“Oh yes, he’s quite shy really and terribly sensitive. He gets quite het up before these things.” She waved her hand towards the rows of chairs.
“Is there anything we can do to make tonight easier for him?” I asked. I hated the thought of any writer not feeling at home in Taylor’s Bookshop. It was meant to be a haven for everybody who loved books – even though Xander was quite derogatory about some of them!
“Make sure he gets a glass of champagne before he does his reading,” Philomena said. “Try to stop the fans swarming around him asking questions – we’ll have a Q&A session afterwards – and make sure you’re very complimentary about him when you introduce him.”
“Noted,” I replied. “That shouldn’t be a problem, although I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to read the new book yet.” I picked up a copy of Mists of Our Waters from the pile I’d set up in preparation for selling signed copies tonight. “I hear it’s very good.” Most of the early reviews had been glowing. “Seeing as I haven’t read it though, what’s the best way to introduce him?” It suddenly felt very important that I get this right, and not just because of the publicity for the bookshop.
“It is a very good book,” Philomena replied, tapping a navy blue fingernail on top of one of the piles of Xander’s books. “It’s about an academic who is writing a history of British waterways when he comes across the disappearance of a woman in the nineteenth century and gets obsessed with solving the mystery.”
“So it’s a crime novel?” I asked.
“Not really, it’s an investigation into human beings’ relationship with the world around them. A sort of homage to how oblivious we are to both nature and one another.” I took a breath when she said that, remembering how oblivious I’d been to everyone around me recently, to the point where my friends were barely telling me their news. “It’s a bit…” Philomena paused for a moment as though searching for the right word “…different to his other books but it’s excellent. The best so far, in my opinion.”
She still hadn’t helped me decide how to introduce Xander though. “I’ll just say something general, shall I?” I asked. “Introduce him and the book, quote from a good review, that sort of thing?”
Philomena waved a hand in the air. “Yes, yes,” she said. “That sort of thing. Now surely it’s time for a G&T? The sun will be over the yardarm somewhere.”
*
Somehow Xander’s agent managed to talk me into going for a drink with her, although I only had tonic as I wanted to keep a clear head for the book launch. She talked almost non-stop about her journey to York, how much colder it was here than in London, and name-dropped a few famous authors that she ‘looked after’ – all of which I already knew. Philomena Bloom wasn’t the only one who’d done her research. I still couldn’t work out if she’d known me when I was a commissioning editor though, or if everything she knew about me and Joe was just general publishing gossip she’d picked up.
I managed to stop her from ordering a fourth double gin and steer her back to the bookshop before seven o’clock. People were already starting to arrive when we got back and I left Philomena to introduce herself while I nipped upstairs to change into a dress and brush my hair.
When I came back downstairs Mum was manning the champagne table.
“Ben from the tearoom has been and gone,” she said, nodding at the buffet table she’d set up earlier when I’d been trying to stop Philomena Bloom from drinking the pub dry of gin. “The nibbles look amazing but are already going quickly. If you want to try any of them you’ll need to get in quick.”
“Any sign of Xander?” I asked.
“Not that I’ve seen. Maybe his agent is taking over.” She pointed to where Philomena Bloom was holding forth to a small crowd that had gathered around her – champagne glass in one hand, cheese-and-onion tartlet in the other.
I checked my watch. “There’s still plenty of time,” I said. “I’ll go and see if our Ms Bloom has heard from him.”
“You’ve got his number, haven’t you?” Mum replied. “Why don’t you call him and see where he is?”
“Because I don’t want to hassle him. He’s not actually late yet.”
“Why did he give you his number then I wonder?” Mum asked with a gleam in her eye. “Maybe it was because…”
“He’s here,” I said, interrupting her before she started telling me all about how it was time I started dating again.
“Here he is!” Philomena boomed, arms aloft, as she greeted Xander. “The man of the hour.”
I watched as Xander ducked his head away from everybody’s inquisitive gaze and made his way towards the back of the bookshop and Philomena picked up whatever thread of conversation she had dropped to welcome Xander.
Remembering what she had said earlier about making sure he had a drink before he did his reading, I picked a glass of champagne up off the table and took it over to him.
“I thought you might like this,” I said, handing it to him.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass from me and downing half of it in one gulp.
“Your agent mentioned that you might need a drink before you started.”
He smiled his disarming smile and I felt my stomach flip. Pull yourself together, Megan, I thought, reminding myself that at least Xander and his formidable agent would be gone by the end of the evening – never to be seen again.
And then I remembered Dot’s relationship with Xander. Perhaps he wouldn’t just disappear into the ether after all. I couldn’t work out if that was a good thing or not.
“You’ve still got a bit of time before we begin,” I went on. “Do you want to sit in the back office for a few minutes, just to be on your own for a while?”
“That would be great, actually,” he replied.
“No problem.” I led him through to the little room that Missy and I had turned into an office space. He put his champagne glass down on the table and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I really hate these things,” he said.
“So your agent was telling me,” I replied. He looked different to usual – not quite the shy, sensitive kitten that Philomena had described – but worried, vulnerable.
“Was she now?” he said, his brow furrowing. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about Philomena blabbing away to me.
“I’d sort of guessed though. You didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic last week.”
I watched him take a breath. “You’ve gone to all this trouble and all I’ve done is be rude to you.”
“So you aren’t rude to everybody?” I asked. “Just me.”
He shook his head, not meeting my eye. “When I have a new book coming out everything feels a little out of my control and I can end up coming across a bit…”
“Brash and forthright?” I asked, using Philomena’s words.
“Hmmm… I guess.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Why do you do launches if you hate them so much? I mean, it’s great for the shop that you’re here but surely your books will fly off the shelves regardless?”
“Maybe, but I’m told this sort of thing helps – it makes me seem more human or something. Plus, like you say, it helps bookshops and that’s important to me.” He cocked his head on one side and smiled at me. “But don’t worry, Ms Taylor, I won’t show you or your bookshop up.” A look passed over his face then as though he was putting on a mask and I realised that the rude, arrogant persona was a cover for something else, as I’d suspected, and for some reason tonight he’d briefly let me see the vulnerable part of him that lay underneath.
As I was leaving him alone he called me back. “Megan,” he said. “Can I ask a favour?”
“Sure.”
“Keep Philomena away from me for a few minutes, will you. I just need to practise the section I’m reading one more time.”
“She is quite overwhelming, isn’t she?”
He nodded. “She’s a brilliant agent, exactly what I need to get me off my arse a lot of the time, but…” He trailed off and held his hands up.
“Leave Philomena to me,” I said as I walked back into the bookshop, shutting the office door behind me.
Philomena accosted me as soon as I came back into view.
“What have you done with him?” she asked with a chuckle.
“He’s just having five minutes before we start.”
“Ah yes, he does love his quiet time does Xander,” she said loudly, broadcasting Xander’s personal preferences across the shop. “It’s very frustrating. I could get him on TV panel shows, on the radio, so much more publicity if he didn’t need so much quiet time.” She made air quotes around the last two words and I smiled foolishly at her, not really knowing what to say. I needed ‘quiet time’ from Philomena and I’d only known her for a few hours.
We were thankfully distracted by the arrival of Missy, Bella, Dot and Colin, who bustled into the bookshop together removing hats, scarves and coats and greeting people they knew. I could see Colin looking around for Xander and was glad that I’d thought to let him use the office. He didn’t need to be bothered by Colin’s overenthusiastic questions before the event had even begun. I saw Mum beckoning me from the champagne table.
“Excuse me, Philomena,” I said, but she had already started talking to a tall man in glasses. I left her to it and went over to see Mum.
“I think everyone’s here,” she said. “I’m going to wander around and see if anyone needs a top-up of fizz and then we’ll start, shall we?”
“I’ll go and see if Xander’s ready,” I replied.
*
I had never seen the bookshop so full or so quiet as it was while Xander read the opening paragraphs from Mists of Our Waters. The words – about rivers meandering through the countryside to converge at the ocean’s edge, taking their stories with them – were so beautiful that they gave me goose bumps and made me desperate to keep reading, to find out what happened next. When Xander’s eyes met mine just before he sat down to be interviewed by Philomena the goose bumps turned to a shiver and I had to look away. I’d known he had been feeling nervous beforehand and probably still was, but none of it showed and he had nothing to be worried about – his writing was beautiful, breath-taking, and I knew Mists of Our Waters was going to be just as successful as Boxed and Interim.
I watched quietly from the back of the room as Xander and Philomena chatted about the initial ideas for his new book, which he said came to him while walking his dog along the River Thames. I found it hard to imagine him with a dog and wondered what breed it was. Then, as he answered a plethora of questions from the audience (not all of them from Colin), I set up the table for him to sign people’s books. He’d already requested a black Sharpie for the signing, and I made sure there was a spare just in case, before going to help Missy at the till.
She rubbed her hands together as people started to queue up to pay for their books before taking them over to Xander to be signed. “It’s going to be a good night,” she said with a grin. She was talking about the money, but in my mind it had already been a great night – the best launch Taylor’s had ever hosted.
Lots of people seemed to be doing a bit of Christmas shopping – buying other books besides Xander’s as well as mugs and candles – while one woman bought four copies of Mists of Our Waters.
“For my friends,” she said to me as she took the pile of books over to Xander to get them signed. “They couldn’t get tickets for tonight.”
“We did sell out really quickly,” I said apologetically.
“I promised them a signed copy,” she went on. “But it’s not the same as being here, is it?” She cast a dreamy look in Xander’s direction. “He is ever so good-looking, isn’t he? What a coup for your bookshop to get Xander Stone to launch here!”
I smiled and nodded politely as she went to join the queue of people waiting to have their books signed. I watched Xander as he carefully signed each book. That lock of hair fell into his face every time he bent over a book to sign his name. The customer was right – he was very good-looking. I felt my cheeks burn again and turned away, walking around the shop collecting the empty champagne glasses and clearing the empty plates from the buffet table. I never did get a chance to try any of the delicious-looking nibbles.
Over the course of the next hour people started to leave, clutching their bags of purchases, and Missy cashed up.
“We’ve done brilliantly,” she said, telling me how much we’d taken. “We need to do this more often.”
While I was delighted with how well the launch had gone and hoped that it would bring new customers to the shop, we’d need to host a lot more launches than this with writers even more famous than Xander to make any real difference. I wasn’t sure how much longer we could keep paying Colin’s wages.
“I admire your positivity,” I said quietly to Missy. “But we both know…”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “Yeah,” she said. “We both know, but it’s Christmas so let’s pray for a miracle, OK?”
“Megan darling,” Philomena interrupted then. “I sadly must away.” She pressed me to her bosom once again before pushing me away so that she could hunt something out from her tote bag. “Here’s my card,” she said, thrusting a brightly printed and larger-than-normal business card into my hand. “I want you to have a long hard think over the next few weeks about your future. And if that future lies in publishing, which I suspect it will, I want you to call me.”
“OK,” I said, smiling nervously and wondering where all this was coming from.
“Life goes on,” she said. “The living are left behind to forge their own way.”
“OK,” I said again as Missy suppressed a giggle behind me. “You have to go, you said,” I hinted, guiding Philomena towards the door.
“Yes, I have to get back to London tonight. I’ve another launch in Piccadilly tomorrow.”
“Your taxi’s here, Ms Bloom,” Mum called from the doorway and I’d never been so pleased to hear five words in my life.
“Call me,” Philomena repeated as she left.
I leaned against the shop counter in relief.
“Sorry about that. She can be a bit much.” Xander was standing next to me.
“She’s exhausting.” I laughed. “How do you put up with her?”
“By hiding from her most of the time. As I said, she’s a very good agent. I’d never have got as far as I have without her and, surprisingly, she can be very discreet.”
“Does that mean you have secrets that you need keeping?” I asked. It was meant to be a joke but I watched as his brow furrowed and he looked away.
“Everybody wants to keep a modicum of privacy,” he said.
“Well, thank you so much for doing this launch here. It was a really wonderful night and I can’t wait to read the new book.”
“I hope it helped,” he said quietly.
“It really did,” Missy said as she finished cashing up.
When Missy had gone, practically skipping with the takings towards the safe in the office, Xander turned to me again. “Megan,” he said in a voice that sent a shiver up my spine. “I still owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For last week, for the supermarket and for barging in here late at night. I…”
“Oh all’s forgiven after tonight,” I said.
“Still, I’d like to make it up to you. Will you at least have coffee with me tomorrow before I go back to London?”
So he was going back to London after all? I ignored the sense of sinking disappointment I felt.
“Saturday is our busiest day in the bookshop,” I said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get away.”
“She’ll be free in the afternoon,” Mum said, popping up suddenly from behind the counter. How long had she been hiding there? The last I’d seen of her she’d been ushering Philomena towards her taxi. “Pick her up about three o’clock?”
Xander smiled at my mother and then turned back to me.
“Until tomorrow,” he said, as he shrugged on his coat.
“I told you he liked you.” Mum grinned at me as Xander left. “And judging by the colour of your cheeks, I was right about you liking him too. It’s about time.”