Heidi would be delighted, Callie thought, only she hadn’t actually told her friend that she’d been seeing Leo. She’d been putting the moment off because it was a wonderful little secret and, up until now, it had all been fairly casual. Callie was happy with that, but telling her friend about Leo would make it all so real and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. Not so soon after leaving Piers.
At the moment, everything was nice and light. She looked forward to seeing Leo because there was no pressure. It was fun. But Heidi’s advice about having a fling kept haunting Callie and she couldn’t help wondering when the actual fling part of a fling was meant to happen, and did she really want it to happen?
She really liked Leo: he was handsome, easy to talk to, and he was certainly a lot of fun to be with. But something inside Callie was holding her back. It wasn’t just the fact that she didn’t want to get involved with another man – not seriously anyway – there was something about Leo that... what? She really couldn’t work out what it was. Heidi would tell her she was crazy – that this wasn’t the time to be picky, and perhaps that was right. And yet Callie couldn’t help thinking that she might be making a huge mistake if she took things any further with Leo Wildman than a kiss on a windswept hilltop.
Chapter 13
It was a dreary afternoon at the beginning of November when Callie’s phone rang.
‘Callie? It’s Sam.’
‘Hi, Sam,’ she said, surprised at how thrilled she was to hear from him.
‘I was just wondering if you’re still interested in joining our new book club.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Great. We’ve got our first meeting tomorrow night. It’ll just be an informal get-together. We won’t actually be reading anything. It’ll be more of a discussion as to what everyone wants from the club.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m up for that.’
‘If you drop by the shop for seven thirty, then?’
‘I’ll be there,’ she said.
‘I look forward to seeing you,’ he said, and she could tell he was smiling from the tone of his voice.
As she put the phone down, Callie found that she was smiling too.
Callie arrived promptly the next evening and she had to admit to being a little nervous. The trouble with being a writer was that everybody automatically thought that you had read everything that had ever been written and that you were terribly knowledgeable about it all too. Of course, Callie was well read, but she wasn’t the most confident when it came to talking about books. Writing books was her thing. Reading them too. But talking about them? It was fine talking about books one to one as she had with Sam in the shop, but what would it be like talking about them to a room full of strangers? And that’s what she was here – a stranger. Surely everybody else would know each other. The thought made her slightly apprehensive.
She’d allowed herself plenty of time to get there, driving through the deeply dark countryside that still fascinated her with its lack of street lights, enabling one to appreciate the star-studded heavens. She parked in the market square in the centre of Castle Clare. The little supermarket was still open and the fish and chip shop looked busy. The row of shops in the street just off the square were all in darkness. All except one – Sam’s.
Taking a deep breath, Callie opened the green door of the bookshop. The bell tinkled as she walked in and she was quite surprised not to see the room full of people.
‘Hello?’ she called into the empty shop. There was no answer but she was pretty sure that she could hear voices coming from the back room. She took a moment to savour the magic of being in a bookshop at night. There was something intensely special about being allowed to wander amongst the books after the shop had officially closed for the day. The main lights had been switched off, but Sam had left a single lamp lit on a stool and the little pool of golden light turned the shop into a place of enticement and enchantment.
Callie’s hand reached out to touch an old hardback spine whose gold letters gleamed in the dim light, but she resisted actually pulling it out. Instead, she let her fingers briefly linger on it, feeling its cool smoothness. She looked around the room, thinking that this must be the same wondrous feeling one would experience in a museum after hours. There was temptation everywhere and she couldn’t help feeling slightly naughty being there.
The sound of a scraping chair from the back room, brought Callie to her senses and she thought it best to let her presence be known.
‘Anyone here?’ she called.
‘Through here,’ Sam’s voice called back and Callie walked through the book-lined corridor into the back room.
‘Hello, Sam,’ she said.
Sam got up from the wooden chair he was sitting on. ‘Callie!’ he said. ‘So good to see you.’
‘Oh,’ she said as she looked around the room, noticing a gentleman who appeared to have fallen asleep on the sofa, ‘are we the only ones?’ Callie asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Sam said, ‘and I think Winston’s only here because his boiler’s packed in.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘I think he was hoping for some of Antonia Jessop’s cake too, but she couldn’t make it tonight.’
Callie looked at the elderly gentleman who was slumped on the sofa snoring sonorously. He was wearing a felt hat and a little purple scarf. An old chocolate Labrador was sleeping by his feet. The scene made her smile.
‘Let’s give it a few minutes, eh?’ Sam said. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Thanks.’
They walked through to the kitchen together.
‘I’ve had several apologies from various people,’ Sam said as he switched the kettle on. ‘Antonia Jessop, who suggested the club, twisted her ankle in her vegetable patch, and Polly was going to be here, but she couldn’t get a babysitter for her son. Several other people showed an interest, but perhaps it was a bit ambitious for Castle Clare.’
‘I don’t think it is,’ Callie said gently. ‘I think these things just need a bit of time to get up and running.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said as he made the tea. ‘I’d really like to see it take off. I think it could be great not only for the bookshop but for the community too. Winston,’ he said, nodding to the sleeping man, ‘he’s a widower. Lives on his own on the edge of town. I don’t think he gets out much, but he loves books and he’s always got so much to say about them whenever he comes here.’
Callie nodded. ‘Books have a way of opening you up, don’t they? That’s what I used to enjoy about the book club I was part of for a while.’
‘The one with the expensive canapés and butlers?’
Callie smiled. ‘That’s the one. Well, before it all got so ridiculous with the petty rivalries, we’d have really great conversations – not only about the books themselves, but the subjects and issues that they brought up. We learned so much about each other. It was a real eye-opener.’
‘I’d love that to happen here,’ Sam said as they sat down with their tea.
The shop bell sounded.
‘It might be about to,’ Callie said as a lady in her late-sixties came into the room.
‘Flo, how lovely to see you,’ Sam said, greeting the smiling woman with a kiss on each cheek.’
‘Hello, Sam dear,’ she said.
‘Let me introduce you to Callie. She recently moved to our little corner of the country.’
‘My dear!’ she said. ‘How lovely to meet you.’
‘This is Flo Lohman,’ Sam told Callie. ‘She lives just off the Great Tallington Road.’
‘Born and bred there,’ she said. ‘Never known anywhere else, and let me tell you, you’ve chosen exactly the right place to live!’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Callie said, liking Flo Lohman immediately with her bright green eyes full of light, and her slightly wild white curls that shook around her shoulders when she talked.
‘Now, I can’t stop I’m afraid, Sam dear. I’ve got a big pot of jam
on the go at home. My fruit trees have been groaning with produce this year. I can’t move in my garden without squishing something. I’ll pop some jars round to you when they’re done.’
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ Sam said.
‘I just wanted you to know that I’m all for this book club thing, but I have to say that I’m not a fast reader these days and – if I’m honest – I only really like a nice romance. But I’m open-minded,’ she said, ‘and willing to give anything a go.’
‘Good to know,’ Sam said.
‘What do you think we’ll be reading?’
‘Well, a few classics, I imagine,’ Sam said, stroking his chin.
‘Classic love stories?’ Flo asked.
‘I would be very surprised if there wasn’t the occasional Austen or Brontë title in there,’ Sam said.
‘Good good,’ Flo said, clapping her hands together. ‘And will Winston be joining in or is he just part of the furniture?’
‘He’ll be joining in,’ Sam said with a grin.
‘Glad to hear it,’ Flo said. ‘Well, if he ever wakes up, tell him to expect some jam and a couple of squashes from me later in the week.’
‘I will,’ Sam said.
‘And some eggs too. He doesn’t get enough to eat by half,’ she said.
‘Flo?’ Sam said, his head cocked to one side. ‘Erm – you’ve got something in your hair.’
‘Have I?’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Sam squinted. ‘Something blue.’
‘Blue you say?’ Flo said in horror. ‘Oh, dearie me! It’ll be a curler.’ Her hands flew to the nape of her neck to find the errant curler, and a perfect snow-white curl bounced up as she removed it. ‘I thought there was something odd going on back there when I dozed off in my chair this afternoon. I kept feeling something scratchy.’
Callie bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.
‘Well, I must get going. I promised to drop some of my bread rolls round to the vicarage and then I’ve got to get back to that jam before the cats find it. Filey completely ruined a pan of blackcurrant last year by sticking a mucky paw in it.’ She waved a hand in the air as she turned to go. ‘Toodle pip!’
‘Toodle pip, Flo. Thanks for stopping by.’
‘What a sweetheart she is,’ Callie said after the shop bell had tinkled on her departure.
‘They don’t come much sweeter than Flo Lohman,’ Sam said.
‘It’s a shame she couldn’t stay. I’d like to have got to know her.’
‘Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for that,’ Sam said.
‘And a shame nobody else could make it.’
Sam looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe my poster wasn’t exciting enough,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should have made it a book and beer club.’ His dark eyes sparkled.
‘How many do you need for it to run?’
‘Half a dozen at least,’ he said, ‘otherwise the conversation might dry up, don’t you think? Something like this needs plenty of input.’
The two of them sat down on a pair of wooden chairs and resumed drinking their tea.
‘So, how’s the writing going?’ Sam asked.
‘Very well, actually,’ Callie said.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am,’ Callie said honestly. ‘When I first moved here, everything went rotten in fiction land for a while. I couldn’t seem to write anything.’
‘Well, a move’s a big upheaval,’ Sam said. ‘Perhaps you needed time to settle.’
She nodded. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.
‘Can I ask what you’re working on?’
She bit her lip. ‘If I told you, I’d have to shoot you.’
‘Ah, I see,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’m joking!’ she said with a laugh. ‘It’s – well – the truth is, I’m not sure what it is. It’s not my usual sort of thing. You know – series writing for middle-grade girls.’
‘No? Maybe that’s a good thing.’
‘It is,’ she said. ‘It feels right, somehow. Like I’ve turned a corner. My agent likes it too which is such a relief.’
Sam frowned. ‘I’ve never understood exactly what an agent does.’
‘You’re not the only one,’ Callie said. ‘Let me see. An agent. They read your manuscript and tell you to write exactly the opposite of what you’ve written, then they make you write it all over again and then take fifteen per cent of any money you make from it.’
‘Sounds like a fantastic relationship,’ Sam said with a grin.
‘Well, I mustn’t grumble really. My agent’s got me some pretty good deals in the past.’
‘I’m sure you worked hard for them and deserved them.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘At least she’s letting me get on with this new idea. For a while, she was trying to push me into ghostwriting and I really didn’t want to do that.’
‘What would that have involved?’ Sam asked.
‘Oh, there was some celebrity who’d been offered a book deal and her publisher was looking for a writer.’
‘You mean the celebrity was offered a book deal without her having written anything?’ Sam said.
‘It happens all the time,’ Callie said.
Sam’s face took on a baffled look. ‘That’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, I know it goes on but it’s just crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Like artists who have teams of people to make the art for them?’ Callie said. ‘I don’t want to be one of those people who make art with somebody else’s name on it.’
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘There’s no joy in that. Not for me, anyway. Writing is about creating your own world and getting every little thought and feeling down. It’s a very personal journey, a kind of exploration of your own soul.’ She smiled. ‘Does that sound pretentious?’
‘No, not at all,’ Sam said. ‘It sounds about right to me. I’m fascinated by the writing process.’
‘Have you ever written?’
‘Good lord, no! But I’m a great appreciator of the works of others.’
‘Oh, writers love their readers,’ Callie said. ‘When your agent is telling you one thing and your editor another, your readers can be your best friends.’
‘Do you get fan mail?’ Sam asked.
Callie nodded. ‘It’s so lovely to think of my young fans taking time out to get in touch with me. It’s one of the best things about the job.’
‘I don’t get fan mail,’ Sam said, making Callie laughed. ‘Actually, I do get a bit. Usually after the book festival. I’ve got a few nice letters from visitors who’ve come to events here – you know, author talks and things. That’s always nice.’
‘I think my mum still disapproves of me being a writer. She doesn’t see it as real somehow.’
‘But that’s crazy!’ Sam said. ‘You’re about as real as they come with your bestselling books and TV series.’
‘But it’s all so ephemeral,’ Callie said. ‘It could all end at any moment.’
‘So could anything,’ Sam said. ‘Nobody’s job is safe these days. Gone are the days of joining a firm when you’re sixteen and staying the course until you’re pensioned off.’
‘I know,’ Callie said. ‘And I’ve tried to explain how much I’d hate a normal job and how much I love writing, but she doesn’t understand it.’
‘Is she not a big reader?’
Callie shook her head. ‘A few magazines and maybe a paperback novel on holiday, but we never had many books in the house growing up.’
‘So how did you end up loving books so much?’
Callie looked thoughtful. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said honestly, ‘but I remember one day in the school library. It was one of those quiet lessons where you’re meant to be reading in silence, and I was sitting there looking at all the books on the shelves, thinking that it was the greatest gift in the world to be able to walk up to any of them and choose one, open it up and dive into a brand new world. That seemed like the most amazing privilege to me.�
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‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sam said. ‘And it’s a thrill that never dies. Once you’ve discovered the great joy of books, it’s a journey that will last as long as you live.’
Callie watched as Sam spoke about books. She adored his passion for the written word and felt that she could talk to him for hours.
‘You know, I’ve never really been able to talk to anyone about all this before,’ Callie said at last. ‘Except my ex-husband, that is, and that was always more about the business side of books. He was my publisher.’
‘He was in publishing but never talked to you about books?’ Sam said, a quizzical expression on his face.
‘Only in terms of work,’ she said. ‘He had this tunnel vision and very little got in between him and that vision.’
‘When I read a good book, I need to tell everyone,’ he said.
‘Me too!’ Callie agreed.
‘I guess I’m lucky that my family is as crazy about books as I am. We can talk for hours about what we’re reading or what we want to read.’
‘That must be nice,’ Callie said. ‘That’s why I joined a book club. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about my obsession with reading and writing. But that didn’t work out either.’
‘Well, let’s hope this one gets off the ground for you,’ Sam said and Callie smiled.
There was something wonderfully warm and cosy about sitting there with Sam in the bookshop. Even Winston and his dog snoring gently beside them seemed to add something to the ambience. At least, they did until...
‘What on earth?’ Sam suddenly said.
Callie’s eyes widened as an appalling smell assaulted her nostrils. She looked at Sam and he looked at her, each wondering where the smell had come from. The answer came a moment later when a gentle rippling sound came from the sleeping dog on the floor.
‘Blimey,’ Sam said. ‘That’s actually quite bad, isn’t it?’
‘I think I need some fresh air!’ Callie said and the two of them got up abruptly and left the room, charging through the shop and hurrying out on to the pavement, trying desperately to hold themselves together as the laughter began.
‘Oh, god!’ Sam cried as soon as the door was closed behind him.
The Book Lovers Page 14