by Rosa Temple
‘It vill happen for you,’ she said. ‘Ven the time is right. You’ll see. It vill be a magical time and I can’t vait to see your face ven it does.’
I smiled. I kissed Anya’s cheek. We sat for a long time holding hands until I noticed she’d actually fallen asleep this time.
I went back to Anthony who had dropped off, too. None of us had had much sleep the night before.
My rum hangover had gone so I sat back and closed my eyes. At last, I could relax.
***
Anthony and I parted ways with Anya at the airport. Regardless of sleeping on the plane, Anthony and I were still pretty shattered when we finally got home. It was five o’clock in the morning when we stepped in on the mat.
‘Let me carry these upstairs,’ said Anthony grabbing all the bags.
‘No wait,’ I said. ‘There’s something I need to show you. Let’s go.’ My hand was on the latch again.
‘You mean we’re going out?’ Anthony had one foot on the bottom step, cases in hand.
‘Yes, it’s important.’
‘What’s important,’ he said with a cheeky smile, ‘is that we go upstairs and have lots of make-up sex and then pass out.’
‘This won’t take long. Cross my heart,’ I said, opening the front door.
He wrinkled his nose, put down the luggage, and followed me out onto the street, grabbing a couple of warm jackets en route to the chilly outdoors.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘You’ll see.’
We had our arms around each other as we walked down the mews, out onto the adjoining square, and continuing on to the King’s Road. The roads were quiet and the sky dark. Most people would still be in bed, alarm clocks about to alert everyone that it was Monday morning and time to get back to work.
‘Nothing will be open yet,’ said Anthony as we approached the corner of our Saturday café bar, Rhythm ’n’ Brews.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘What I want to show you is closed, anyway. Here.’ I stood him in front of Veronique’s.
The sun was slowly rising but the temperature in London was a pitiful seven degrees compared to the highs we’d been experiencing on the island. I wrapped my arms around myself as I looked at the empty shop.
The chain around the double doors of Veronique’s had gone but the Leasehold For Sale sign was still up. A poetry night poster was stuck at an angle on the side window along with one to advertise the circus coming to Battersea Park in the summer.
The shelves inside Veronique’s had all been cleared and there was dust collecting on them. Swathes of dust and lint had gathered on the wooden floor. The back door from which Veronique would emerge every time the bell over the door sounded was open but the small corridor behind was too dark to see into. The shop space looked enormous now that it was empty. Looking upwards, the building was still majestic despite the lonely, forgotten interior.
‘What is it?’ asked Anthony. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘You remember we talked about me approaching Veronique, if that was her name, with plans to revamp her shop?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s too late now, though. Shame.’
‘For Veronique, yes, but not for me,’ I said.
‘Meaning you found someone else to proposition?’
‘I found this empty shop, Anthony.’ I nodded my head towards the vacant Veronique’s. ‘It’s an ideal location to set up a flagship shop for Shearman Bright. ‘So …’ I drew out the word. ‘I want to buy the leasehold.’
Anthony’s eyes widened.
‘You’re kidding,’ he said. ‘But how? When did you decide this?’
‘I thought a lot about it before the wedding. During the wedding. On the plane back. I wanted to see if it was still available. I just have a feeling it’s the right thing to do.’
‘It’s a big undertaking, Magenta. Can you even afford it?’
‘Judging by the sales figures, yes. So I can invest if I wanted to,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it’s amazing.’ He pulled me to him. ‘Like you.’
‘Do you think I can do it?’ I turned back towards the shop and looked in again.
Behind us Rhythm ’n’ Brews was opening its shutters and we were hit by the smell of fresh bread wafting out onto the street.
‘You can do anything you set your mind on, Magenta.’
I swung around and hugged Anthony. He had complete faith in me.
From inside our Saturday café I saw the owner had started setting up, bringing out some freshly baked pastries and stacking the shelves
‘Do you think they’ll serve us?’ I asked.
We crossed the road, hand in hand. The owner pointed at the closed sign when Anthony and I pressed our noses against the glass. I put my hands in prayer position, hopeful. The owner held up his hand for us to wait and began filling a bag with pastries. He brought them to the door.
‘On the house,’ he said.
‘You’re an angel,’ I said. ‘Thank you. See you next Saturday.’
For a brief moment I thought about eating the pastries outside the window of Veronique’s but I quickly decided against another Breakfast At Tiffany’s moment. I just wanted to get home, be with Anthony, and look forward to the future. There was a lot to look forward to.
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Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Rosa Temple 2017
Rosa Temple asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © August 2017 ISBN: 9780008260576