‘Do you have a History section?’
He was in his fifties with wavy grey hair, handsome in a fleshy, full-lipped way. He looked slightly familiar.
‘Far wall, in the middle, but Local History is by the door.’
He smiled. ‘Not my cup of tea.’
Fifteen minutes and he was still browsing. He had also brought a pile of books to the counter.
‘I wanted Antony Beevor’s D-Day too.’
‘That’s out of stock again but it will be in tomorrow. I can keep one for you.’
‘Would you? That’s very kind. Yes please.’
The shop had been busy the day before, mainly with children coming to spend tokens they’d won as school prizes, but Rachel had sold a respectable number of other books, including a couple of expensive illustrated ones. She was pleased. Emma would be pleased. She had discovered that she was very much enjoying being a bookseller. But so far this morning the shop had been dead – two greetings cards and a map, at least until the man in the History section. He brought two more hardbacks to the counter and moved to biographies. Four there. Three children’s picture books, which he seemed to pick up at random.
‘Would these be suitable for a three-year-old?’
‘Well – not really, at three, though I confess I’m not the children’s book expert.’
‘I’ll take your word. This lot then please.’
He wandered around, brushing his hand against other books, spinning the greetings cards round, but it was obvious his shopping was done.
‘I’m afraid that’s three hundred and ten pounds. I’ll spread them across three carrier bags – they’re pretty strong. Can you manage?’
‘You don’t deliver?’
‘I’m afraid not. The boss is away and I don’t have anyone else.’
‘Right. Three carrier bags then.’
The name on the card was the Hon. Rupert P. Barr and the payment went straight through.
‘If you leave a phone number I’ll let you know when the D-Day book has come in.’
‘Don’t bother. If I don’t drop by someone will.’ He smiled again. It was an engaging smile.
After he had sauntered out, and two people had come in to collect orders, she tidied the shelves, replaced one or two books that had been put back in the wrong sections and tried to remember why the Hon. Rupert Barr seemed familiar.
It was halfway through an afternoon devoted to Lafferton’s most irritating customers – one who wanted a book they had seen somewhere and had ‘Summer’ in the title, another looking for one with a horse on the cover – when she remembered. The former Lord Lieutenant, at whose banquet she had first met Simon, was Sir Hugh Barr. Rupert P. could be a brother.
The banquet was a lifetime ago. It was also yesterday. She remembered every tiny detail about the evening. She had driven home happy. Was she still happy? No, she thought. Not happy, desperate. She had no idea where he was. She also had no idea what he felt and thought, how he saw her and her place in his life, if he had any idea about their future. Did he want her to be in his flat when he got back? Did he want her in his life at all? She had no idea. If he did not, she was certain that she could not bear to stay in Lafferton. There was little else to keep her. But where should she go? She had no ties elsewhere, friends were scattered, family small and distant. She had come here because of Kenneth, stayed because of him and then Simon.
The only thing she might want was to take an interest in this bookshop. It needed some financial input from outside. Why not hers? She loved working in it and she could do that whatever Simon wanted. Was it enough?
The rest of the afternoon was quiet and she spent it working out whether they could fit in a coffee machine, another counter, and a few tables, maybe one outside. Emma was against coffee in bookshops, Rachel knew that it brought people in who might eventually buy a book, and that it also made a good profit in itself, which helped through the quiet times. Emma said that the other coffee-shop owners would resent it, Rachel felt that you could never have too many and that their coffee would be superior, their cakes always home-made and fresh daily. Emma did not bother to respond, but then Emma seemed so despondent these days, so far as the bookshop was concerned.
When Emma came back from holiday, perhaps they could ratchet up the conversation a notch.