‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Simon …’ Rachel said, trying and failing to sound casual.
Cat was setting out the remains of the previous day’s cheese flan, and making a salad, having persuaded Rachel to stay for supper. It had not been difficult.
‘I wish I had.’
‘Does he have no way of leaving messages even just to let you know he’s OK?’
‘He may have but if so he doesn’t use it. He’s disappeared like this before and then simply reappeared like a genie.’
‘Don’t you find it unnerving? The radio silence?’
Cat set the salad bowl on the table, looking at Rachel quickly as she did so. Rachel looked back, her expression hard to read. But her eyes were troubled.
‘I’m used to it and it doesn’t happen often. Don’t fret that he hasn’t been in touch, Rachel … it isn’t you.’
‘But I think it is. I understand what you’re saying about him not being able to contact anyone, only perhaps if he had wanted to as much as I want him to, he’d have found a way.’
‘Perhaps.’
Cat cut the flan and passed Rachel a plate. They had opted not to drink anything other than water. Cat was having every other night wine-free and Rachel was happy without. Fine, Cat thought, but a glass would have relaxed her just enough. If she wanted to talk about Simon, she might have found it less awkward after a drink.
Instead, Rachel asked, ‘Do you know a man called Rupert Barr?’
‘Sir Hugh’s brother? We’ve met a couple of times but I don’t really know him. Why?’
Rachel told her about the possibility of investing in the bookshop.
‘Hmm. That’s a big decision. You seem very fired up about it. Are you sure?’
‘Look, I have money and I need something to do, something to absorb my spare energy and … take my mind off Simon. If I don’t I’ll go mad … I could just waste the time away brooding about him and being depressed, or I could do something, and this is the perfect opportunity. I know what’s wrong with the shop, I know why Emma isn’t making it work, and why she wants out, I know I can turn it around. With someone else backing me – not just financially but with their own enthusiasm and initiative – I could have a really good business and it will make all the difference to me. Whatever your brother chooses to do.’
‘It sounds good – and you’re right, brooding is the worst thing you can let yourself waste your life on. But listen, I’m not prying, and I have no idea what’s in Si’s head, because I haven’t talked to him about it and that is God’s truth. But suppose he comes back next week and asks you to marry him – what would you do then about taking over the bookshop?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. I do both.’
‘I hoped you’d say that. Simon would definitely want you to say that, I do know that much.’
Rachel was looking across the table at her intently. Too intently.
I should not have said any of that, Cat thought. I should have kept my mouth shut.
‘Cat …’
Cat held up her hand. ‘I don’t know anything. If anyone epitomises the “plays his cards close to his chest” metaphor, it’s my brother. I haven’t a clue what he thinks or feels about you or what his plans might be, if he has any. Though knowing him, he almost certainly hasn’t.’
That was a lie. Simon always thought things through in detail, looked at a situation from every angle, and had a plan. She was afraid that his plan regarding Rachel was no plan. No marriage. But no split, no drama, no quarrels either. In his own odd way, he probably loved Rachel more seriously than he had ever loved anyone. It was just that, in Simon’s case, that was never enough.
She wanted to tell Rachel to get out while she could, go and open a bookshop at the other end of the country. Give up on Simon. But she wouldn’t waste her breath.
She merely said, ‘Don’t rely on him, Rachel. I’ve learned not to and I’m only his sister. He’s wedded to the job, he’ll take off without a word, he keeps his life in compartments and not ones which have interconnecting doors.’
‘Are you saying he has several women at the same time?’
‘No, I’m not. But you should count yourself lucky to have got as far as you did – moving in? Good God, Si has never let a mouse move in with him before.’
‘Why are you telling me this, Cat? If he’s said something or if he’s asked you to –’
‘He wouldn’t dare. I’m not doing his dirty work. I’m telling you all this to try and save you a lot of heartache.’
‘I’ve had that already.’
‘I know.’
‘How many others have you made that little speech to?’
‘Enough.’
‘And has it worked? Have any of them taken any notice?’
Cat laughed. ‘I want to know more about the bookshop. Emma really does intend to chuck it in?’
‘Yes. Her heart hasn’t been in it for a while. It’s got so much harder and she isn’t one for a fight. She just likes running a quiet, modestly profitable bookshop – but we need to do a lot more than that to survive, let alone do well.’
‘Has Rupert Barr any experience of bookselling?’
‘No, but he’s got plenty of enthusiasm, he’s been a management consultant, so he’s used to homing in on what’s wrong and turning things round. He’s got plenty of money – not that I need a financial backer, I don’t, but it will be a handy backstop. And it’ll be nice to do it alongside someone, not all on my own.’
‘You think you’ll get on with him well enough?’
‘Yes, I do, and in any case, he’ll leave the day-to-day running to me. But we’ll have plenty of meetings, and I’ll consult him about all the changes I’ve got in mind and get his take on them. I’m excited.’
‘I can see. Will you be in the shop yourself?’
‘Yes, but not full-time. I’ll need some very reliable staff, especially when we open the coffee bar.’
‘I knew it! Great plan too … it works. People come for coffee and stay to browse the books.’
‘Coffee, tea, hot chocolate and home-made cake, no food otherwise. There’s only room for six small tables, but that’s enough. Intimate. Books all around, and beanbags and a toy box. Shop copies of books for the children to look at without it mattering about making fingermarks. Author events – “An Evening with …” you know the sort of thing. Informal. Glass of wine. Someone doing a friendly interview, questions, mingling. Signing copies. Nothing fierce – I’d like people who don’t usually dare come into a bookshop to find they can enjoy it … I know a bookshop is small beer in comparison to some ambitions, but I want to make a mark. I never have. I’ve been married to a wealthy man who was ill for years. I made his life comfortable and as happy as it could be, but I think whoever I was disappeared somehow. And now …’
‘And now … Rachel, listen. You do this. And don’t let Simon make any difference. Whatever happens.’
‘What do you think will happen?’ She was pleading, wanting Cat to tell her that she knew Simon loved her, would surely marry her, and Cat could not. She had learned over a long time not to trust her brother with women’s feelings. He could be charming, attentive, loving. He could also be ruthless and selfish and cowardly. Cat doubted if he would ever change enough to share himself with any woman at all, though she did not doubt that he needed to. But he would stick pins in his eyes before he admitted as much, even to himself.