‘Well, made you something. Call it a prototype for the art prints I’m going to sell here. I thought I could do them about favourite books, with an image and a relevant line, and I could offer bespoke ones that people could order if they wanted a really individual gift for someone special …’
I’m unable to stop myself smiling as I pile more books onto the counter from the window display I’m in the middle of emptying. I love how much he’s getting into this. I thought someone of his talent and a soon-to-be published author would be above handmade prints for a little bookshop.
He pulls an A4-sized canvas frame out of his bag, puts it on the counter and unwraps the cloth protecting it, keeping the reverse side turned towards me. I reach out to turn it around and he pulls away like a jolt of static electricity has sparked as our fingers brush.
And I can’t hide the intake of breath. It’s the most beautiful drawing I’ve ever seen. A mix of watercolours and charcoal depicting a scene from Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume, my favourite book. There’s the silhouette of a girl sitting on a rock overlooking a canyon, and the words ‘Cuando los lagartijos corren’ written across the orange-to-mulberry ombré sky above her.
I burst into tears.
They’re the words that Wolf says to Davey in the book to give her hope to hold on to, something to look forward to when he goes away. It means that he’ll see her again in the springtime ‘when the lizards run’. They’re words I repeated to myself in my head many times in the difficult years after my father died, despite the fact we lived in the Cotswolds and there were no canyons and certainly no lizards.
And he has no way of knowing that and yet somehow, he knows that.
Horror floods his face. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have. I knew I was overstepping the mark because you said it was personal to you and you didn’t share it with anyone and I had no business—’
I jump out from behind the counter and throw my arms around his neck, pulling him down for an enforced hug while I try to furtively swipe my hands across my cheeks and not snivel in his ear. ‘You are the kindest, loveliest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever met in my life. That’s the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen.’
‘I’ve never wanted anyone to like something as much as I wanted you to like that.’ His whole body sags with relief and we both stumble, glad there’s a bookshelf there to stop us hitting the deck.
‘It’s not just that. It’s you, Dimitri. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You read the book just for that?’
‘Are you kidding? I read the book the second you mentioned it. Do you honestly think you could mention your favourite book and I wouldn’t read it?’
Every part of my body is shaking with the effort of trying to hold back yet more tears, and I force myself to reluctantly pull away from the hug. There’s something about this man that makes it impossible not to hug him.
‘Thank you.’ It doesn’t seem sufficient for everything I want to say. The fact that he’s read my favourite book and somehow managed to take from it the most beautiful image and the most significant words that meant so much to my younger self … A simple thank-you is nowhere near significant enough. ‘You’re so incredibly talented. You pick out simple things that invoke emotions – love, hate, fear, horror. Every time you show me something, I can never find the right words to tell you how special your work is.’
It would be so easy to lean up and kiss him. My hand reaches out and I nearly touch his face, slide my fingers along his smooth jaw. My eyes are glued to his mouth, the way his tongue wets his lips and he swallows, and—
There’s a hammering on the door that makes us both jump so hard that it’s like someone’s installed a trampoline in the floor.
I spin around to see an unwelcome figure standing outside.
‘It’s ten to nine. We’re not open yet,’ I call just to be awkward.
Drake Farrer moves from the door to the window, looking in as he taps the glass and then taps his wrist. Talk about impatient.
I have every right to be petty and not open the door until nine, but I don’t want him coming in and making a scene if there are customers about, and I feel safer with Dimitri here than I did on my own.
I sigh as I go to open the door. I intend to hold it ajar and refuse him entry, but the second the key has turned, he’s got hold of the handle and shoved it, making me jump out of the way as the door swings open.
He stops to wipe his feet on an invisible doormat – a gesture that feels like an insult, like he’s trying to imply the shop is far below his usual standards.
‘Miss Winstone,’ he leers, inviting himself in and striding across to the counter. ‘And Dimitri. What a surprise.’
The smarmball adjusts the buttons on his wool-silk suit as he casts his eyes up and down Dimitri like he’s something he’s found stuck on the underside of a school desk. He sounds like he’d be more surprised to find milk in a milk bottle, and about as impressed if there was an angry hornet swimming around in said milk. A swarm of angry hornets, even.
‘Farrer,’ Dimitri says in a voice that’s not his own. ‘Hallie said she’d been having trouble with vultures. Now I see what she meant.’
Drake laughs a horrible, false laugh. ‘Oh, I think birds of prey are the least of Hallie’s troubles, don’t you? What with you hanging around like the stench of a blocked drain and the dreadful state of this place.’ His eyes fall on my empty window display. ‘At least she saw fit to take that mermaid trash out of the window. I bet that didn’t bring in any customers. No one likes mermaids anymore, do they?’
‘What do you want?’ I snap before he has a chance to insult my shop any further. Of all things you can insult, mermaids are not one of them.
‘Merely a follow-up, Miss Winstone, to see if you’ve decided to come to your senses yet.’ His snake-like eyes leave Dimitri and swivel to me as he steps up to the counter and puts his briefcase down on it. I don’t know why I’m so offended by the gesture. Dimitri puts his bag on the counter all the time. I dump stuff there all the time. It’s the only surface in the shop that’s not stacked with books – things get put on it. But everything Drake Farrer does seems like it’s carefully chosen to undermine me. ‘I must admit I’m surprised to see you’re still open. I didn’t expect you to last more than a week. Still as old and stuffy as ever though. I thought you’d have tried to clean the place up a bit by now. What’s that I can smell? Is it mould?’
‘No, it’s not. It’s—’
‘It’s the books. The paper, ink, and glue break down over the years to release chemical compounds that produce a sweet, almost vanilla scent.’ Dimitri sounds calm and collected, whereas I feel bristly and uneasy in Drake Farrer’s presence.
‘My, how interesting.’ Drake does a fake yawn and slides a business card from his open briefcase. He holds it out but I refuse to take it. Unperturbed, he lays it on the counter and pats it instead. ‘Thought you might need another one. I’m sure you lost the last one I gave you.’
I like the way Dimitri stands to his full height and folds his arms across his chest. He’s hovering, like he’s not sure whether this is anything to do with him but also like he can tell that I feel better with the moral support.
‘You can tell your guard dog to stand down.’ He glances at Dimitri. ‘I’m actually here to apologise. I realise I may have been a bit hasty before in coming on your first day before you’d had a chance to examine the shop’s accounts. My intention wasn’t to put you on the spot, but merely to let you know that when you did have a chance to see how spectacularly your business was failing, you would know there were options. May I enquire just how spectacularly it is failing?’
‘It’s not fail—’
He lets out a low whistle as his eyes roam the shop. ‘I see you’ve not yet ordered in any new stock, presumably because you can’t afford to.’
His eyes fall on the canvas Dimitri’s just given me that’s propped up against the till until I decide where to hang it and he raises a cruel eyebrow
. ‘If you’ve been reduced to selling such items, business must be even more dire than I imagined.’
‘How dare you—’
Dimitri places a hand on the counter and speaks without taking his eyes off Drake Farrer. ‘Don’t let him wind you up, Hal. He’s doing everything he can to get a rise out of us. It’s what he does, and he hates it when people see through that.’ He gives him a sleek, completely false smile.
Drake Farrer ignores him. ‘On the contrary, Miss Winstone, I’m trying to help you. I’m even prepared to up my offer. Here we go.’ He pulls a sheet of paper from the briefcase and dangles it unnervingly close to my face. ‘Five grand up from last time. And as before, you can keep your contents and your staff.’ He gives Dimitri another obnoxious look. ‘I merely want your building. But I must impress upon you that this offer expires with my patience. If you leave it until things are falling apart and then you come to me and beg me to take it off your hands, the offer will be much lower, and by that point, it will be easier and cheaper to have a nice bonfire for stock removal.’
His eyes slide to the sale table. ‘I see you’re already having to offer discounts. Oh dear, it doesn’t bode well, does it? You are simply unable to compete with chain stores who sell their books for a pound or two.’
‘We don’t have any of them in Buntingorden. This is the only bookshop.’
‘Well, there’s the Internet, isn’t there? When I build my leisure complex, I’ll offer free Internet access so no one will ever need stuffy old shops like this again.’
‘You’ve found a new site for it, have you?’ I try to match the saccharine tone in his oily voice. ‘You certainly won’t be having this one.’
‘I thought you liked Buntingorden, Miss Winstone. Don’t you want to see this street be the best that it can be? Don’t you want our little village to thrive with all the extra tourism?’
‘Soulless leisure centres won’t help with that. Quirky independent shops full of oddities and charm are what people come here for, and the walks and the scenery. Our little higgledy-piggledy buildings are part of that. Sticking a big shiny new building in will take away from the charm, not add to it.’
‘Well, it’s certainly full of oddities.’ He casts his eyes towards Dimitri again.
‘At least it’s not full of snakes,’ I snap. Forget staying calm. How dare he come in here and be so horrible? And what the hell has he got against Dimitri?
With the amount of gel holding down his abnormally shiny hair, it’s no surprise that insults slide off him like water on wax, and he continues like I haven’t spoken. ‘I told you that my father and I are in the process of acquiring other shops on the street. If you were that one person to be brave and go against stuffy old tradition, the other shop owners would take your cue and follow your lead. If you make the first move and sell your ridiculously outdated building and unsafe roof terrace.’
‘If they haven’t already, they’re doing something right,’ I snap. He’s like a slippery politician, but worse. ‘What I don’t understand is why you think marching around insulting people and the things everyone loves about this street is going to help your cause. No one is going to sell to someone with such disregard for everything that’s good about Buntingorden.’
In my head, I’m crossing every possible crossable body part that I’m right. He already owns the empty place next door – if more shop owners give in and sell their businesses to him, surely it’s only a matter of time until he gets everything he wants?
‘In my opinion, business owners such as yourself deserve and respect honesty. Buntingorden’s quieter than it has been in years, and you’re not exactly batting customers into a single-file line as they swarm outside the door, are you?’
‘We’re not open yet.’
‘Exactly why you’d expect them to be queuing outside.’ He looks over his shoulder to the empty doorway, open because he didn’t close it behind himself. ‘Oh dear, what a pity.’
I glare at him.
‘I’m merely stating fact, Miss Winstone. No matter how many packets of biscuits your book club consumes, you’re still only selling a very limited number of books.’
How on earth does he know about that?
‘And the fewer books you sell, the fewer new books you can afford to buy, so your stock remains as stale as it currently is and you get fewer and fewer buyers because there’s nothing new for your few loyal customers to buy, and you end up going into your personal savings account to fund new stock, but you have to sell it at a discount because it’s cheaper to buy online, so you don’t break even on what you’ve spent, and you get further and further into debt, both business and personal now, until you’re facing financial ruin and there’s no way out.’ He gives me the sort of smile you’d expect to see on an eel. ‘It’s simple business, but of course, you’re not a businesswoman, are you?’
Well, he’s definitely wrong about me dipping into my savings. Mainly because I don’t have any, but still. He doesn’t need to know that.
‘Or maybe you’d be like Robert, living on his savings and never taking a wage for himself. Dedicating his entire life to a shop that gave him nothing in return. And if you’ve spent years doing a string of minimum-wage jobs that you’ve struggled to hold down, maybe you wouldn’t have any savings, so maybe you’d have to start using credit cards and loans you can’t pay back, and I think we all know the interest rates on those can get astronomical very quickly and debt can spiral out of control before you know it.’
How could he possibly know about that? He seems to know my entire life history and far too much about the shop’s finances and Robert’s accounts. Is he really just guessing? Am I that much of an open book? The only other person I told about Robert not taking his own wages is … I glance up at Dimitri beside me, currently glaring at Drake Farrer like a snarling hellhound who wants to feed him to carnivorous ducks.
Nah. It’s just coincidence. Drake Farrer is used to reading people, and everyone around here knows my name from the write-up in the local newspaper about the prize draw. He must’ve been googling me and putting pieces of info together. I’ll switch my Twitter profile to private later.
‘Or I can offer you thirty-five thousand pounds for this worthless, crumbling building,’ he carries on. ‘You can get on with your life like this never happened. Be brave, Hallie.’
Him using my first name sends a horrible shiver down my spine. ‘I think it’s time for you to leave.’ I put my hand on his business card and slide it back across the counter towards him. ‘And take this with you. I won’t be needing it.’
He smiles that smug condescending smile but doesn’t take the card. ‘I’m sure you won’t. You can simply google Farrer and Sons as and when you need us. Unless your Internet’s been cut off by then because you can’t pay the bill, of course. I would imagine bills get harder and harder to pay when you’re not making any money.’
He finally snaps his briefcase closed and removes it from the counter. As he turns to leave, his eyes fall on the shelf of ‘Free to a good home’ books inside the door, and he strides across to it and picks up a battered old copy of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, holding the corner between thumb and forefinger like he might catch something from it. ‘This is terrible business sense. Giving things away is not going to put any more money in that cranky old till of yours.’
I try not to show how spooked I am that he even knows how cranky my till is. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to check for hidden cameras. ‘And what would your suggestion be, oh wise businessman? They’re damaged. I can’t sell them, but they’re perfectly readable. Someone might still enjoy them.’
‘Put them in the bin like a normal person.’
I can’t hide the shiver at the idea of putting a book in the bin. A book has to be in an absolutely dire state for me to chuck it out. ‘So you think it’s better to toss something out rather than let someone enjoy it for free, do you?’
‘I hope you’re not planning on doing that nonsens
e you see on social media where they’re hiding unwanted books all over the place for other idiots to get all excited about finding some kid’s manky discarded books.’ He puts the copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory down on the front of the shelf, not even bothering to put it back where he got it from. ‘It’s littering. That’s what it is. It could even be termed fly-tipping. If I found any books hidden around here, I’d rip them up and deposit them swiftly in the bin. Save the planet and all that.’
Hidden cameras. There’ve got to be hidden cameras in here somewhere. How else would he know I’ve got a stack of books in the office ready to package up and hide?
I refuse to show how shaken I am by how much he seems to know. ‘Well, aren’t you a lovely human being?’
Dimitri snorts at the sarcasm in my voice, but Drake Farrer smiles. ‘Just remember, Miss Winstone, when you come begging me to buy you out so you can pay off your debtors before the bailiffs come knocking, my offer won’t be nearly so generous. Then we’ll see which one of us is the better person,’ he says as he glides through the open doorway.
‘Be right back.’ Dimitri pats the counter, and yells, ‘Farrer!’ as he rushes out the door after him and lets it bang shut in his wake.
I go over to the window and peer out to see Dimitri’s caught up with him outside the empty building next door, and there’s some sort of heated conversation going on. Drake Farrer’s back is to me, but even his back looks smug and condescending, like it’s somehow better than other people’s backs, but I’ve never seen Dimitri look so serious. He’s got a naturally smiley face, his eyes are bright enough to always have a hint of cheekiness in them, and his mouth is always curved upwards like he’s permanently seconds away from doing something naughty. But now he’s practically snarling. Every hint of his usual smile is gone, his hands are curled into fists, and even at this angle, I can see his teeth are clenched.
I’m pretty sure I catch the words ‘leave her alone’, but I’m not sure if I’m eavesdropping or lip-reading.
Am I touched that he’s so protective or annoyed that he thinks I need him to stand up for me? I appreciated him being there because I didn’t like the way Drake Farrer made me feel when we were alone, but do I need him to chase after the man and fight my battles for me?
The Little Bookshop of Love Stories: A gorgeous feel good romance to escape with this summer! Page 20