How to Find Love in a Bookshop

by Veronica Henry

“It’s good debt. It’s debt you’re investing in the business. It’s not Louboutin debt.”

  Emilia looked down at her battered old sneakers. “No,” she said ruefully. She eyed Andrea’s shoes—high and shiny and undeniably expensive.

  Andrea grinned. “I’ve earned them. It’s my one indulgence. And there is some good news. Look—your takings are up, week on week this month. You must be doing something right.”

  Emilia thought about the last couple of weeks’ spreadsheets. Something was working. Dave had turned into a social media guru, tweeting book reviews and special offers, and they’d seen an upturn. They had opened the last few Sundays, and had done rather well. But the in still didn’t cover the out.

  “But the shop isn’t making enough to cover its outgoings now, let alone a monthly payment if I take out a loan.”

  “But you need to do that to grow the business. That’s how it works.”

  Emilia put her hand to her head. “I understand it all in theory—of course I do. But it’s making my head spin. It’s the decisions, the commitment. The responsibility! Maybe I should just walk away.”

  “Are you mad? Don’t give up after all this.” Andrea checked herself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t try to influence you.”

  Emilia looked at her.

  “When I first came in, you said I shouldn’t be sentimental.”

  “I know.” Andrea gave a rueful shrug. “But I was walking along the high street the other day. I went past the shop. I saw you in there and you looked as if you belonged there.” She laughed. “Listen to me! I’m supposed to be Miss Ruthless and Pragmatic. Now I’m being all sentimental!”

  Emilia sighed. “I’ve just booked Mick Gillespie to come and do a book signing.”

  Andrea’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. “Mick Gillespie? Wow!”

  “If I sell a hundred copies of his book, it still won’t pay the electricity bill.”

  “Emilia—it’s a long game. You’re not going to turn it round overnight. You have to be patient.” Andrea gave her a kind smile. “We can play for time. Let me see what I can do with the figures. I can find ways of offsetting some of the debt.”

  “Bloody money,” said Emilia.

  “Yes. Well. It makes the world go round. Don’t worry. Nightingale Books isn’t on the scrap heap yet.”

  Andrea hooked her arm in Emilia’s. “Come on. Let’s forget about it all for a moment and go on a shopping spree.”

  “What? Where?”

  “We’re going into Oxford. We’re going to get you some new clothes. Something to wear when Mick Gillespie comes. And some new outfits to wear in the shop. You can’t wander around in your dad’s castoffs forever.”

  Emilia pulled the jumper she was wearing round her. “I know I’m a bit scruffy, but I’m comfy.”

  “It’s psychological. If you dress for success, you’ll be a success. Right now you are giving yourself and everyone else the message ‘I’m not worth it.’ That trickles down.”

  “But I haven’t got any money. We did just have that conversation, right?”

  Andrea pointed a finger at her. “It’s my treat; no arguing.” Emilia opened her mouth to protest, but Andrea cut her off. “Remember when I came to see you in Hong Kong? And you gave me your bed and wouldn’t let me pay for anything?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Well, it’s payback time. Let’s go.”

  —

  Later that evening, Emilia spread her purchases out on the bed and smiled. Andrea was right. Having nice clothes did alter your mind-set. She’d got so used to her scruffy traveling gear, and the anodyne outfits she wore to teach, that she’d forgotten what a pleasure pretty things were. And she knew her dad would want her to have them. Wearing his clothes had been a comfort, but maybe it was getting a bit maudlin . . . She stroked the jumpers and skirts and dresses and couldn’t wait to wear them. She tried on the denim shirtdress, and the suede ankle boots with a slight heel that she and Andrea had agreed would go with everything. She grinned at her reflection: she was taller, but she felt it, too.

  Uplifted by her new persona, she called Bea with the news about Mick Gillespie. “You’ll never guess who I’ve got coming to the shop.”

  Bea squealed when she heard the news. “Oh my God—he’s my favorite actor of all time. That Aran jumper he wears in The Silver Moon—I bought Bill one just like it.”

  “Do you think people will come?”

  “Of course! And we’ll dress the shop.”

  “Not leprechauns and shamrocks?”

  Bea laughed. “No. I’ll think of something clever.”

  “I’m booking him a room at the Peasebrook Arms—do you think he’ll be okay there? It’s not very grand.”

  “No, but it’s cozy. He’ll love it. You’ll have to give me his room number and I’ll go and make sure he’s all right.”

  “Bea—he’s an old man!”

  “I know. I’m only kidding. But that’s great. You’ll have them queuing round the block. We’ll make it a night to remember.”

  —

  Sarah managed to find a rare parking space on the high street in Peasebrook. She was en route to the hospital for her daily visit, but there was something she really needed to do. She locked her car and took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she was ready, but if she waited until she was, she would never go.

  She could feel him as soon as she walked into Nightingale Books. The very essence of Julius. The shop was him. She looked around, expecting to see him bent over a table of books, looking up to meet her gaze, smiling at her over his spectacles.

  The memory, the longing, and the sadness were overwhelming. No one had ever made her feel like Julius. That meeting of the mind and the soul. And the body . . . She chastised herself. That wasn’t why she was here—to wallow in her memories of what would never be again.

  Emilia was hanging up the phone as she walked over to the counter.

  Sarah wasn’t sure Emilia would recognize her, necessarily. Sarah was modest. She never assumed people knew who she was, even though they usually did. And of course Emilia did. Her face lit up.

  “Sarah. How lovely to see you. Hello.”

  “Emilia . . . how are you?”

  “Oh . . . you know. It’s been tough, but I’m getting there.” She made a face.

  “You must miss your father dreadfully. We all do.”

  “Oh God, yes.” Then Emilia remembered Marlowe had told them about Alice’s accident at the last rehearsal. She’d completely forgotten to send her condolences. How rude, especially when Sarah had taken the time to come to Julius’s memorial. “But how’s Alice? I heard about the accident. I’m so sorry.”

  “Well,” said Sarah. “The great thing is she will be all right. Her leg was very badly injured. But she’s in very good hands. We’re hoping she’ll be back on her feet for the wedding. Literally! Otherwise she’ll be going up the aisle on crutches.” Sarah tried to laugh. It was obvious she was being brave.

  “Would you give her my love?”

  Sarah nodded. “She’s why I’m here, actually. I want a copy of Riders. It’s her favorite book—I can’t find it anywhere at home. But I thought it would be nice for her to have something to read. Do you have it in stock?”

  “Of course! A bookshop’s not a bookshop without Jilly Cooper. Especially round here.” Emilia walked over to the fiction shelves. She could see a range of fat paperbacks in the C section. She’d read them all herself: it was always a celebration when a new Jilly came out. “Here we are.”

  “That’s wonderful—she’ll love that. I remember when she first read it. I didn’t get a word out of her for about a week.”

  Sarah handed over a ten-pound note. As Emilia wrapped the book in a bag, she hesitated, as if she wanted to say something. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

  “Emilia, I wondered if you
would come and have tea with me? There’s something I’d love to talk to you about. In confidence. Something your father and I had been discussing.”

  “Oh!” Emilia wondered what it could be. Her father hadn’t ever mentioned talking to Sarah Basildon about anything. Well, not specifically. The Basildons were great customers. They were very good at supporting local businesses in general, and they always bought a lot of books, especially at Christmas. They were very popular in the area. They didn’t think they were better than everyone else because they lived at the Big House. “Of course. When would you like me to come?”

  “What about Thursday? About three? That gives me time to nip to the hospital in the morning—I like to go and see her every day.”

  Emilia had a quick look at the calendar and the staff rota. There’d be one person in the shop, which was fine at the moment.

  “Of course. That’s perfect.”

  Emilia watched Sarah go, intrigued. It would be good to get out of the shop and go to Peasebrook Manor. She’d had enough of uncovering nasty bills. After her meeting with Andrea, she actually felt a bit cross with her father. It was no way to run a business, leaving accounts undealt with. But she was starting to realize Julius hadn’t really seen Nightingale Books as a business, more a way of life.

  —

  Sarah left Nightingale Books with a sense of relief and headed off to the hospital. She had been putting off going in because of the memories, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life avoiding the bookshop. And she wanted to see how Emilia was. She felt she owed it to Julius to keep an eye on her. After all, Emilia was on her own, with no mother.

  Sarah remembered the day Julius had told her about Rebecca, and the terrible start he’d had to fatherhood.

  “It was an awful shock,” he admitted. “But I was very young. I suppose at the time I thought Rebecca was the love of my life. Things happened very quickly: her deciding to stay in England, then getting pregnant, so we hadn’t really had time to fall out of love. I don’t know how long we would have lasted in the real world, a young couple with the pressure of a baby. It’s very easy to romanticize it.”

  “You must have been very lonely, after she died.”

  Julius gave her a cheeky grin. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s nothing women find more attractive than a single man in charge of a baby. I coped.”

  Sarah had pretended to be outraged. “And I thought I was the first person to melt your frozen heart.”

  He looked at her seriously. “You’re the first person I’ve really cared about.”

  She remembered the woozy sensation of realizing how much she meant to him. Though, despite his declaration, she knew she would only ever come second to Emilia, and rightly so. Sarah had a strong maternal instinct. No other children had come along after Alice, and she and Ralph had never discussed it, or done anything about it. And while Alice was their world, their universe, Sarah knew there was room in her heart for Emilia.

  It was an awkward situation, but she wanted to make it clear to Emilia that she was there if she needed her. That if she ever wanted to talk about her father, or just to come up to the house for supper because she wanted to get out, then Sarah’s door was wide open.

  It was the least she could do for her lover.

  It was delicate, though. She could tell by the way Emilia greeted her—polite but warm, with definitely no hint of knowing in her eyes—that she had no inkling of their relationship. And she couldn’t just say, By the way, your father and I were long-term lovers, so please do consider me your surrogate mum . . .

  She thought she had found the ideal way for them to start a conversation and possibly develop a relationship. She smiled when she thought of her brain wave: it really was a brilliant idea. She’d spent a lot of time in the car lately, driving back and forth to the hospital, and car journeys were the perfect catalyst for lightbulb moments. And here she was again, driving out onto the Oxford road. She looked at the book on the passenger seat. Goodness knows where the original copy had gone—she’d given it to Alice for her fourteenth birthday—but it might cheer her up.

  —

  “That is the best present ever,” Alice told her as she took it out of the bag. “Thank you. But what I really want you to do is bring me my laptop.”

  “No way,” Sarah said firmly. “You need to rest, Alice. You’ve got enough to deal with just getting better. Everything’s under control. Your dad’s taking charge and being really helpful.”

  She didn’t add for once. Ralph really had stepped up to the plate. Usually no one was quite sure where he was or what he was up to, and unless he was given a really specific task, he did his own thing, but he had been magnificent.

  Alice giggled. “I bet he’s driving everyone mad. But honestly, Mum—the thing is I just lie here and worry. If I’ve got my laptop I can keep up to speed on everything. Otherwise Christmas is going to be a nightmare. It’s all in the planning.”

  “Darling, we’ve done it often enough. The girls in the office have all your lists and timetables—”

  “But it’s the small things. And there were lots of new things I wanted to do this year—”

  “It’s out of the question.” Sarah cut her off. “And if things aren’t perfect this year, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, we need you better for the wedding. That’s your big day.”

  Alice gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “The wedding will organize itself. I’m not worried about that.”

  “But I want you to enjoy it.”

  Alice looked stubborn. “I won’t enjoy it if I’m worried about work, will I?”

  Sarah laughed. “Look—I’ll get one of the girls from the office to come in and talk everything through with you. Then you can see how well they are managing.”

  “Are you saying I’m replaceable?” Alice looked indignant.

  “No. I’m saying you need to look after yourself, otherwise you’ll end up in a worse state.”

  The thing with Alice was that she never stopped. And now that she’d been forced to, she didn’t like it.

  “Who’s organizing the flyers to hand out at the farmers’ market? Who’s doing our tweets? Who’s ordering the presents for the Father Christmas visits? Who’s talked to the reindeer man about the reindeer?”

  “It’s all under control,” repeated Sarah, who had no idea of the answers to any of Alice’s questions. But she wasn’t going to let her know that. All that really mattered was that Alice got better. If no one tweeted for a few weeks, or the reindeer didn’t turn up, it wasn’t the end of the world.

  —

  After visiting Alice, Sarah drove back home, observing how the first of the leaves were now falling from the trees. Of course Peasebrook Manor was glorious in summer, an abundance of color and greenery, but she rather liked being able to see the structure underneath, the bare branches, the absence of color, the golden stone of the walls and balustrades and terraces dulling to a more subdued gray in the late afternoon light. The starkness certainly suited her mood as she watched a flock of starlings scatter themselves across the sky, swirling upward in perfect synchronization. A murmuration, she thought it was called.

  She got out of the car. She could see Dillon moving some of the lead planters on the terrace. She’d been rather avoiding him since Alice’s accident, because she wasn’t sure what to think about what Hugh had told them about the events leading up to it. She didn’t want to believe that Dillon could have been instrumental in the accident, yet she felt awkward asking him for his side of the story, and now it was too late. So it was easier not to think about it. There was too much going on in her head already.

  She walked along the terrace to the French windows that led into the morning room. A light autumn breeze caressed her. It lifted her heart just a little. To the right and left of her, the velvety lawns of Peasebrook had just had their last cut before the winter, and she breathed in the grassy sce
nt. Clusters of great oak trees lined the horizon. The gray ribbon of the drive stretched out into the distance: she could just see the gates.

  Dillon looked up as she approached. He stood up, his hands smothered in rich peat. He was planting the bulbs for her favorite tulips: dark purple, almost black.

  “How is she today?” he asked.

  “She’s not too bad,” Sarah told him.

  “Will you tell her I said hello? Next time you go in.”

  “Of course.”

  “When will she be back home?”

  “It depends on her leg. She’s just waiting for one more operation. We’re hoping not too long. But at the moment she’s best off in the hospital.”

  Dillon looked away for a moment. He seemed troubled. As if he was about to say something.

  “Is there something the matter, Dillon?” Sarah wondered if he wanted to confess. She would prefer everything to be out in the open.

  “No. No, it’s fine. I was just wondering—would—would it be all right if I went to see her?”

  Sarah thought for a moment. If what Hugh had said was true, maybe Alice wouldn’t want to see him. On the other hand, Dillon and Alice had always been friends. Who was she to stop him seeing her?

  Alice’s mother, that’s who. It was her duty to make sure her daughter wasn’t put into any more discomfort than she already was.

  “I think perhaps not, at the moment, if you don’t mind.”

  She turned and stepped into the morning room. She felt awful. Dillon had looked crestfallen. But she couldn’t deal with what Hugh had told her at the moment, because there would be too many consequences. She couldn’t manage without Dillon; therefore, she didn’t want to investigate any further. But in case it was true, she needed to keep him away from Alice. For the time being, anyway.

  —

  Dillon was furious with himself. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he just come out with it and tell Sarah what he suspected about Hugh? It wasn’t as if they weren’t close. Or as close as they could be. Dillon didn’t fool himself that Sarah thought of him as an equal. Of course she didn’t.