The Book Lovers

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I really like you too.’

  ‘So, we’re two people who really like each other,’ he said. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ He held her gaze and the intensity of the moment made her breathe all the harder. His hand reached up and stroked her hair. It was a gesture she hadn’t expected and she flinched.

  ‘Leo,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not ready.’

  He continued to stroke her hair gently. ‘It’s okay,’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’

  He nodded. ‘Whatever this is, I’m happy with it.’

  ‘You are?’

  He grinned. ‘You’re such a worrier, aren’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘I have a lot to worry about,’ she said.

  ‘Well, there’s no need to with me,’ he said. ‘I like being with you. I’m not thinking about anything more than what we have right now because it’s good. It’s really good. Isn’t it?’

  She looked into his bright eyes, seeing their joy and warmth. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I don’t know about you, but walking always gives me a good appetite.’

  She loved how he was always hungry – for food and for life. He simply gobbled it all up, living very much in the present and not ever worrying about the future. Callie knew that she would do well to learn by that.

  As they emerged from the woods and headed across the village green back towards Owl Cottage, Leo began to laugh.

  ‘You’ve still got a leaf in your hair,’ he said.

  ‘Have I?’ Callie said, stopping as he removed it and handed it to her. She looked at the bright chestnut colour of the leaf and smiled at its beauty before putting it in her pocket. She would place it in a book and keep it as a memory of this day with Leo.

  He whistled loudly for Truffle and Blewit as they approached the main road through Newton St Clare and the two dogs came nicely to walk by his heels.

  ‘Looks like somebody’s having car problems,’ Leo said as they saw an old Volvo that had broken down outside Callie’s cottage. A dark-haired man in a tweed jacket was getting out and he didn’t look happy.

  ‘Sam?’ Callie said.

  ‘You know him?’ Leo said.

  ‘It’s Sam from the bookshop in Castle Clare,’ she said, her speed picking up. ‘Hey!’

  ‘Callie?’ Sam looked up.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, ‘but I think my car might have finally died.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. Leo joined her. ‘Sam – this is Leo. Leo – Sam.’

  Leo held out a hand and Sam shook it, a guarded look in his eyes.

  ‘Can I help? Do you need a lift somewhere?’ Callie asked Sam.

  ‘I was just on my way to my parents’ house. It’s kind of tradition on Sunday. The whole family gets together for lunch.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Callie said, never having experienced such a thing herself. ‘Can I give you a lift then?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I can ring home. Someone will come and pick me up.’

  ‘It’s no bother. This is my car right here,’ she said, ‘and my home.’ She pointed to Owl Cottage.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure I’m not interrupting anything,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not,’ Callie said. ‘Come on.’ It was then that Callie remembered something. ‘Oh, Leo!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, raising his hands as if in defeat. ‘I’ll catch you later, okay?’

  Callie nodded, wondering for a brief moment if he was about to lean forward to kiss her goodbye and how she’d feel about that in front of Sam. But he didn’t. He merely turned, whistled for his dogs again, and headed off across the green.

  Eleanor Nightingale was watching her husband. It was one of her favourite things to do even after thirty-seven years of marriage, and even though he was doing nothing more interesting than raking up leaves in the garden. Even at this dreary time of year, he’d find a dozen little jobs to do out there whether it was washing out terracotta pots in preparation for planting in the new season, pruning the fruit trees in the orchard or aerating the lawn with his trusty old fork. The last week had been filled with cold mists and bitter winds, but a pair of thick socks, a woolly cap and the scarf Nell had knitted for him at least twenty years ago, and he was ready for anything.

  She loved watching him out there and could never make her mind up if he looked more at home in his favourite armchair with a good book or out in the garden waist deep in plants. But one thing was for sure – it was time for him to come back inside.

  She opened the French windows of the dining room and called across the lawn to him.

  ‘Frank!’

  He looked up, leaning on his rake and waving a hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Time to clean up,’ she called, knowing it would take him at least ten minutes to actually make it indoors because he would spot all sorts of little jobs to do as he headed back.

  Eleanor returned to the kitchen, a long light room at the back of the house, permanently warm from the heat of the shiny red Aga above which hung an old-fashioned clothes wrack. It was a wonderful treat in winter to come downstairs on a cold frosty morning and retrieve a pair of Aga-warmed socks. Now, there was a family-sized roast cooking for the Sunday lunch that Eleanor looked forward to all week. Frank had pulled up a couple of winter cabbages in honour of the occasion and the potatoes had come from the storeroom, dug up from their vegetable plot earlier in the year.

  She looked in the Aga now, a blast of warmth greeting her. Everything looked perfect, she thought, closing the door and busying herself with a heap of linen napkins, folding them and placing them in a neat pile to take through to the dining room.

  She then checked the fridge. There were a couple of bottles of nice white wine for her, Frank, Nell and Joe and anybody else who wasn’t driving. There was elderflower cordial for Polly and a bottle of something fizzy and disgusting for her grandson, Archie. Well, he did only have fizz once a week, Polly had assured her mother.

  At last, Frank made his way to the back door.

  ‘Boots!’ Eleanor cried as he entered the kitchen. ‘I just wiped the floor down this morning.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Boy, it’s cold out there today. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have a good frost tonight.’ He took his thick winter coat and hat off and hung them up in the adjacent cloakroom where he then washed his great gardener’s hands in the butler sink. ‘You okay?’ he asked as he came back into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m worried,’ Eleanor confessed.

  ‘Who are you worried about?’ Frank asked, knowing that it was usually a who and not a what that worried his wife. ‘Which child’s in trouble now?’

  ‘All of them,’ she said.

  ‘All of them are in trouble?’ Frank said, his eyebrows shooting northwards.

  ‘No!’ she said, batting him with the back of her hand. ‘I’m just worried about all of them.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing out of the ordinary in that, is there?’ he said as he took a glass from a cupboard. ‘Too early to crack open the wine?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Grandpa Joe still seems out of sorts, don’t you think?’

  ‘You mean after that business with Aidan?’

  ‘Sam should have called the police.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have solved anything,’ Frank told her.

  ‘You’re so alike, you two,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘If that means we prefer peace to chaos then – yes – we are alike.’

  ‘Well, I think that man should have been arrested,’ Eleanor said. ‘When I think what might have happened to your father.’

  ‘But it didn’t,’ Frank said.

  ‘But it might have!’ Eleanor said.

  ‘You worry too much,’ he said. ‘You always have. I don’t know how we’ve managed to raise five children and keep you sane with the way you worry about them all.’

  ‘I’m their mother – it’s my job to worry about them.
’

  ‘Not when they’re grown up with homes and families of their own.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘But I can’t help it,’ she said. ‘I seem to be worrying about them even more these days.’

  Frank put his glass down and walked across the room towards her, taking her face in his hands.

  ‘My goodness, you’re cold,’ she said.

  ‘And you’re warm,’ he told her. ‘Give me a kiss.’

  ‘Frank! The children could come in at any moment.’

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘They know we kiss. If we didn’t, none of them would exist!’

  That made her smile and she allowed herself to be kissed.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘All better now?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about Polly. She’s so sad and withdrawn these days. I can’t remember the last time I heard her laugh.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ Frank said. ‘I’ve never known anyone who can cope with catastrophe as well as our Polly. She’s a born survivor.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Eleanor said. ‘I keep trying to get her to talk to me, but she always brushes things aside and tells me she’s all right.’

  ‘Then she probably is all right,’ Frank said.

  Eleanor sighed, unconvinced. ‘And Bryony’s been on some awful dating website. You can meet all sorts of loons on those places.’

  ‘Then let her meet them,’ he said. ‘She knows how to deal with loons. She grew up in a house full of them.’

  ‘And as for Sam and the business with Emma and Aidan–’

  ‘Darling,’ Frank said, placing his hands on her shoulders, ‘you simply can’t worry about everyone. There aren’t enough hours in the day.’

  ‘And I don’t even want to start worrying about Nell,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Frank asked.

  ‘You must have noticed, Frank,’ Eleanor said. ‘She’s getting more forgetful by the day.’

  ‘Is she?’

  As if on cue, Frank’s mother walked into the kitchen. ‘What’s for lunch?’ she asked.

  ‘A roast, Mum,’ Frank told her. ‘It’s Sunday.’

  ‘Is it?’ she asked, a pretty smile lighting her face as she turned around and shuffled back out.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Eleanor said.

  ‘It’s easy enough to forget what day of the week it is,’ Frank said. ‘I do it all the time since retiring from the bookshop.’

  ‘Yes but–’

  ‘We’ll keep an eye on her,’ he said. ‘Now stop worrying for one minute and let’s get at least one bottle of wine open.’

  Eleanor smiled. It was impossible to stop worrying about everyone, of course, but wine always had a wonderfully calming effect, didn’t it?

  ‘I’ll just change out of my boots,’ Callie told Sam. ‘Come on in.’ She opened her garden gate, took her key out of her pocket and opened the door.

  ‘Funny you should break down outside my cottage,’ she said. ‘I mean, not funny funny – obviously.’

  ‘It was very lucky that I did,’ he said, walking into her home behind her. ‘I was just collecting some books from a woman over in Monk’s Green.’

  ‘Oh, that’s where Leo lives,’ Callie said, noticing that Sam frowned at this titbit of information.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘it’s very kind of you to help me out.’

  ‘It’s no bother. I’m happy to help,’ she told him as she climbed out of her wellies. ‘Welcome to Owl Cottage by the way.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘Just the sort of place I imagined you in.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘Full of character.’

  ‘And books.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I would expect no less.’ He cast his eyes over the many cases and shelves.

  ‘I’ve got heaps more upstairs,’ she said. ‘I really must have a sort out some time.’

  ‘You mean, throw some away?’

  Callie winced. ‘When you say it like that, I know I’ll just back down and keep absolutely everything.’

  ‘I had to have a bit of a clear out after Emma and I separated and I moved into the flat above the shop.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ Callie said.

  ‘Not really. The books became part of my stock.’

  ‘A definite advantage to owning a bookshop,’ Callie said.

  ‘But the really wonderful thing about parting with books is that it makes room in your life for new books.’

  Callie nodded as she put on a pair of shoes. ‘The collecting of books never really stops, does it? Your collection might change over the years when you swap a few titles here and there, but a real book lover – a person who can’t ever walk by a bookshop without popping in and browsing – can never stop adding new titles to that collection.’

  Sam nodded and their eyes met. ‘I agree.’

  ‘It’s one of the great pleasures in life, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Perhaps the greatest,’ she said.

  He frowned very slightly and looked as if he was about to say something but she beat him to it.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Ready to go?’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Listen,’ Sam said as they left the cottage. ‘I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything. I hate to bother anyone, especially at Sunday lunchtime.’

  ‘You weren’t interrupting anything,’ she said.

  Sam cleared his throat and Callie could tell what was coming. ‘Is he your–’

  ‘Friend,’ Callie interrupted. ‘Leo’s a good friend.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Not that it’s any of my business but I’m glad you’re making friends.’

  They got into her car.

  ‘Right, you’d better tell me where we’re going’

  ‘As if you’re heading into Castle Clare only take a left by the junction at Castle Park.’

  Callie nodded and they started the short journey.

  ‘So, you always have lunch with your family every Sunday?’ Callie asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sam said. ‘It’s a family tradition that Mum insists upon although my youngest sister, Lara, is away at university and she can’t always make it home for Sunday lunch. There have been times in all our lives when we’ve been travelling or had commitments which meant we couldn’t get home but, for the most part, there are ten members of the Nightingale family around that table every Sunday.’

  ‘Ten members?’

  ‘I’m one of five,’ Sam explained. ‘You’ve met Josh and Polly. Then there’s Mum and Dad, Grandpa Joe whom you met in the shop, and his wife, Grandma Nell, and young Archie, Polly’s son. Then Bryony and Lara.’

  ‘That’s a big family,’ Callie said. ‘It must be nice to belong to a big family.’

  ‘It’s noisy,’ Sam said with a grin. ‘Noisy and meddlesome. Everybody knows your business all the time.’

  Callie laughed.

  ‘But there’s a comfort in that too because you know that, no matter what happens to you, no matter what life throws at you, there’ll be a circle of people who care about you around that table every single week.’

  ‘Wow,’ Callie said. ‘That’s really special.’ For a moment, she tried hard to imagine what it must be like. She’d often written about large families in her stories and it was probably a sort of wish fulfilment because, growing up as an only child with parents who seemed constantly baffled by her presence, she’d often longed for siblings or cousins to talk to and play with. And what would it be like now, she wondered, having brothers and sisters she could turn to? Would it have made a huge difference when she was struggling to cope with her miscarriage – when she knew for sure that her marriage to Piers was over? Would picking up the phone to a brother or talking things through with a sister have made the pain ebb away that little bit faster?

  ‘Left here,’ Sam said, breaking into Callie’s thoughts as she realised they’d arrived at the turn off for Castle Clare.
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  She took the unfamiliar road out of the town which soon became a country lane as the neat Victorian terraces were replaced by detached cottages and large country houses.

  ‘Listen,’ Sam said as they took a bend in the road near a pretty flint and brick church. ‘I wanted to apologise for the other evening.’

  ‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ she assured him.

  ‘But there is,’ he said. ‘I was rude. I think I was a bit shaken after seeing Emma.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ she told him.

  ‘Well, that’s kind of you, but I feel really bad about it. I shouldn’t have let her spoil that evening. I was having a great time.’

  ‘Me too,’ Callie said.

  ‘I hope you’ll give it another go sometime,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I will!’ she said. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily. In fact, the only thing that would really put me off would be a room full of Delilahs. I’m not sure my system could cope with that.’

  Sam laughed. ‘Oh, man! Someone will have to tell Winston about that.’

  ‘I think that someone might be you,’ she told him.

  ‘Oh, no!’ he said with a groan.

  ‘Well, you don’t expect me to do it, do you?’

  ‘You were a valuable witness,’ Sam pointed out.

  ‘I’m having nothing to do with it!’ she said with a laugh.

  Sam shook his head. ‘I think it may be something we have to endure. ‘Oh, turn right here.’

  The country lane they turned into was surrounded by the sort of lushly green, undulating fields which made England the envy of the world. Tall hedgerows gave way to panoramic vistas that made Callie want to park the car and just drink it all in.

  ‘Left after the post box,’ Sam said, nodding to a little red post box that was almost completely screened from view by ivy.

  ‘The driveway here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Callie slowed the car down, turning into a neat driveway whose long wooden gate had been left open. There were already several cars parked there.

  ‘Here we are,’ Sam said. ‘Campion House.’

  Callie gasped as she got her first view of the grand Georgian facade of Campion House.

  ‘You grew up here?’ she asked.