How to Find Love in a Bookshop

by Veronica Henry

  She tucked the book into her case and zipped it up. She couldn’t wait to get back to Peasebrook. There was so much to do. Not just for the wedding, but to get things ready for Christmas. There was the Christmas garland to make: a sixty-foot rope of flowers from the gardens at Peasebrook. Dillon had been cutting and drying them in one of the potting sheds all year. It was going to be a labor of love to assemble it, but Alice was determined. It was going to be a celebration of everything that had grown at Peasebrook over the year. She was itching to get it done.

  Her door opened, and there were her parents, beaming with excitement. She felt a lurch of love for them. They had been so caring over the past few weeks.

  “Come on, then,” said Ralph, picking up her case. “The car’s waiting.”

  —

  As they drove up the drive to Peasebrook, Alice could see all the staff gathered outside the front door waiting for her return—not just the ones who worked there on a Sunday, but the girls from the office as well.

  “Oh God,” she said. “Everyone’s here.”

  “Of course, darling,” said Sarah. “They’ve all missed you.”

  She got out of the car and made her way up the steps to the front door. Everyone was clapping and cheering. Alice felt a mixture of delight and embarrassment—surely she didn’t deserve this attention?

  In the hall, Ralph opened champagne and everyone was given a glass.

  “To a speedy recovery,” said her father, and everyone echoed his wishes.

  Alice went and stood three steps up on the staircase, so everyone could see her.

  “I just want to thank everyone for holding down the fort while I’ve been away,” she said. “I know all of you have gone the extra mile to keep things together. And I expect you’ve enjoyed not having me breathing down your necks!”

  Everyone laughed. Alice wasn’t a neck breather at all.

  “But now that I’m back, I want to make sure that this Christmas is the best one ever. So if you’ve got any ideas about how to make it even better, please come and see me. If you’ve got any problems, please come and see me. Peasebrook is what it is because we all work together. So I just want to say thank you for being the best team ever.”

  She raised her glass with a smile, and everyone joined in the toast.

  As she sipped at the bubbles, Alice looked around the hall and thought how lucky she was.

  The front door opened and she turned eagerly.

  It was Hugh.

  “Darling.” He pulled her into an embrace. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you,” said Alice.

  It was only then that she realized there was one other person missing.

  Dillon. Where was Dillon? Suddenly she wanted to see him more than anyone.

  —

  Emilia started awake a while later. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, or why she had a horrible feeling of unease, a sensation that there was something wrong. She tried to gather her thoughts through the fuzziness in her head.

  And then she remembered. She’d been running a bath. She shut her eyes, praying that she had turned off the taps before she fell asleep. Maybe she had forgotten she’d done it? She couldn’t remember doing so. She got up off the sofa and walked with dread toward the bathroom, where she was greeted with the sight of the bath overflowing, oceans of water surging over the sides and onto the wooden floorboards.

  She flew across the bathroom and turned off the taps, then grabbed her keys from her coat pocket and ran down the stairs, opening the door that led into the shop as quickly as she could. An unexpected burst of common sense told her not to turn the lights on, but the glow from the lamplight outside told her all she needed to know.

  Water was pouring through the light fixture above the mezzanine in a merry torrent, all over the books below. And as she watched in horror, the ceiling collapsed slowly, leaving a gaping, jagged hole.

  She’d better phone the fire service. All that water over the electrics—it must be dangerous. With a shaking hand she dialed 999 on her mobile—she shouldn’t use the shop phone. She felt sick. She felt as if her whole world was caving in.

  —

  She was glad it had happened on a Sunday night. There were no passersby, no customers, no staff to gawp at what had happened. The firemen turned up; they wouldn’t normally come out to an incident like this, they told her, but it was a quiet evening, so they made sure everything was safe and turned off the electricity.

  Afterward she lay on her bed. She was freezing because the electricity was off so there was no heating. She was burning up and shivering at the same time. Her teeth chattered. She was pouring with sweat.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t deal with this disaster on top of everything else. She ran through everything in her mind. How hard it was to try to keep the shop going against the odds. Her humiliation in the quartet. Bea leaving—they had become quite close. How very much she missed Julius—every day in the shop was a reminder that he wasn’t there anymore.

  And the fact that she was—she could admit it to herself now—falling ever so slightly in love with a man she could never have.

  She almost felt grateful that the flood had happened, for at least she didn’t have to try anymore.

  She had a built-in excuse and could give up, and no one would think any the worse of her: they couldn’t expect her to come back from this. Everything was ruined. The shop itself, the stock, the fixtures and fittings. Maybe it was meant to be?

  She went back down to the gloom of the shop, fished behind the counter for the card Ian Mendip had given her, and looked for his address. She picked up her car keys and went out to the car, not looking back. If she stopped to think, or spoke to anyone else, things would become muddled. At this moment in time, despite the fact that she felt so ill, she had absolute clarity.

  —

  She drove to Mendip’s house, two miles outside the town down narrow lanes. She swished in through an impressive set of gates and up the drive to his swanky new build, lights automatically illuminating her way.

  She banged on the door. Ian Mendip answered, frowning, not recognizing her. She probably didn’t look her best, and it was pretty late.

  “Emilia Nightingale,” she told him. “Can we talk?”

  “Emilia. Of course. Come in.”

  He stood aside to let her in. She stepped into a cavernous hallway, hung with an over-the-top chandelier, and a sweeping staircase rising up carpeted in dark purple tartan. Normally she would have enjoyed inspecting his lack of taste, but tonight she was on business.

  “I’ve just come to say: the shop is yours if you still want it.”

  A smile spread across his face.

  “Well, that is good news.”

  “Yes. I’ve decided to sell, and I want to exchange contracts as soon as possible.” She wanted to be out of Peasebrook by Christmas. She wanted to be on the other side of the world. Christmas was going to be unbearable. Without Julius. Without . . . She shook her head. She wasn’t going to dwell on what she didn’t have. This was going to be her new start.

  “I’ll get my people onto it.” He stood to one side and gestured she should come into the kitchen. “Do you want to have a drink on it? I always keep some Bollinger in the fridge for occasions like this.”

  “No, thank you,” she said, recoiling at the thought of celebrating with a man she couldn’t stand.

  “Well, at least shake hands on it.”

  He was the traditional type. A deal wasn’t a deal unless you’d shaken hands.

  Emilia hesitated for a moment. She didn’t really want to touch him. It felt as if she was doing a deal with the devil. But she had to look after her own interests and get the best price, so she braced herself.

  She tried not to wonder if she was betraying Julius’s memory: what would he do if he knew she was selling to Mendip? She
told herself she had done her best and it was not to be. There was no point in her trying to carry on with Nightingale Books as some sort of infinite tribute. He had loved the shop, but it was time for her to move on. And it was silly not to get the best price possible.

  “Let me have your solicitor’s details,” she said, “and I’ll get mine to draw up the contracts.”

  Mendip saw her out and she went and sat in her car. She wanted to feel victorious, as if she’d achieved something by letting go of the past. Instead, she just felt incredibly sad.

  And alone. She rammed the key in the ignition, not sure where to go.

  She had no job, no commitments, no ties to anyone or anything, and she’d just done a deal that would see her pretty well off. She slammed the car into reverse.

  Cuba, she thought. She’d book a month’s holiday in Cuba and go and find herself. Drown herself in rum daiquiris and dance till dawn, feel the sun on her face and the music in her soul. Havana would be crazy and dirty and noisy, about as far away from Peasebrook as you could get. And she would be about as far away from herself as she could get. In fact, she could leave Emilia Nightingale at home and come back as someone else. She imagined a girl with a tan and a red ruffled dress and a flower in her hair. That’s who she was going to be for now.

  —

  Jackson’s phone rang. It was Mendip. His heart sank.

  He was going to badger him about Nightingale Books. Jackson steeled himself. He was going to tell him where to get off. He didn’t want any part in the duplicity any longer. If that meant he lost his job, so be it.

  He answered, cautious. “Hello?”

  “Well done, my son.”

  “What?”

  “You could make a good living with your powers of persuasion. It’s a skill.” Mendip laughed a horrible laugh.

  “What are you on about?” Jackson asked.

  “Miss Nightingale is selling me the shop. Contracts are being drawn up as we speak. Soon as we’ve all signed on the dotted line, you’re in charge at the glove factory. We should be in there by the new year. Good work, Jackson!”

  He hung up.

  “What was that all about?” asked Cilla.

  “Nothing,” said Jackson. “Just Mendip’s usual bollocks.”

  He felt sick. He should feel happy that Emilia had decided to sell up without him putting any pressure on her. After all, he was going to have a plum job as a result. Head gaffer at the glove factory—that was something to get excited about.

  But Jackson didn’t feel excited at all.

  21

  Alice was sitting in the portable greenhouse, wrapped up in her duck-down ski jacket and her Uggs, wearing a pair of fingerless mittens. The two girls who helped her with wedding flowers were sitting with her.

  They had a long piece of rope lined up on trestle tables in front of them, and were attaching bunches of green foliage to the rope with pieces of wire. Once the rope was covered, it would be hung up on scaffolding so they could start adding individual flowers, stripping the leaves by hand from each stem so they could be easily inserted. Blooms of yellow, pink, blue, and purple were mixed in with the foliage until the garland was complete, ready to be hung up in the chapel. It was a labor of love, but the Christmas garland had become a Peasebrook tradition.

  Alice looked at all the dried flowers waiting in boxes. Dillon had cut every single one of them, choosing only the very best, and had put them away carefully to dry. She still hadn’t seen him properly since she got back. She had glimpsed him on the grounds, but every time she got to her feet and went to call him, he had disappeared.

  He was avoiding her, she thought. She wasn’t sure why. Had she done something to hurt him? She needed to find out. She was going to go and find him. She stood up.

  “Can you two carry on with this?” she said to the girls. “I’ll be back later.”

  —

  Dillon had purposely stayed out of the way when Alice had come home from the hospital. It was like something from Downton Abbey—all the staff lined up to greet her when Sarah and Ralph drove her back in the Range Rover. He’d watched from a distance as everyone hugged her. Everyone loved Alice. There’d been champagne in the hall and Hugh had been there, of course, watching her fondly. Alice looked so happy, even though she still used a stick when she got tired.

  He’d stay out of the way, if he could. At least until after the wedding. If he had the nerve, he’d find another job, but his loyalty to Sarah was greater than his awkwardness at the situation. Just. And a stubborn part of him wanted to prove to Hugh that he wasn’t intimidated by him.

  So it took him by surprise when Alice cornered him by the entrance gate where he was clipping the box hedges into perfection before they were decorated for the wedding.

  “Hey,” he said with a smile.

  “I’ve found you at last,” she said. “Have you been avoiding me?”

  “I’ve been busy. There’s a lot to do.”

  “So much you couldn’t even have a cup of coffee?”

  He couldn’t look her in the eye.

  “Never mind,” she went on. “I want to go and choose the tree for the hall. I want you to come with me. Make sure I’ve picked the best one before everyone else gets there.”

  There was a small field on the edge of the estate where they grew Christmas trees to sell. People came in early December and picked the one they wanted. It was marked with a label indicating the date they wanted to pick it up, then Dillon would dig it up fresh on the day. The trees made enough money to pay for the estate’s decorations and a staff lunch.

  “Are you sure you’ll make it?” Dillon looked concerned, but Alice waved her stick at him.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He took her arm and they walked across the soft ground around the edge of the estate.

  “Why didn’t you come back and see me in the hospital?” she demanded. “You promised you would.”

  He hesitated. “It wasn’t appropriate.”

  She frowned. “Appropriate? I don’t understand.”

  No, he thought. You don’t. And that’s why I love you.

  “I don’t think Hugh would have liked it,” he said eventually.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Alice frowned. She stopped. “Dillon. I need you to be honest with me. You don’t like Hugh, do you?”

  Dillon felt cornered. This was his chance to tell her what he really thought.

  “It’s more that he doesn’t like me . . .” he said finally.

  “But why? Why would anyone not like you?” Alice looked genuinely baffled.

  “Because . . . because he thinks I know the truth about him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dillon hesitated. He had to be very careful. Whatever he said now could very easily backfire. But he owed it to Alice to tell her his suspicions. He should warn her about what he’d heard. That might be enough to give her second thoughts. And if it did all go wrong, she couldn’t say Why didn’t you tell me?

  “It’s probably just a rumor. But the word around town is . . . he’s a bit of a . . . cokehead.” The words didn’t sit easily with Dillon.

  “Hugh?” Alice laughed. “He can’t be. I’d know if he was.”

  Dillon shrugged. “I’m just telling you what people are saying.”

  Alice thought for a moment. Then she looked at him with a bright smile. “Pub gossip. People always say things. What they don’t know, they make up. And Hugh wasn’t brought up round here, so they’ve just tried to fill in the gaps. It’s because he works in the city and he’s got a flash car. It’s just . . . stereotyping . . .”

  She trailed off. Dillon could see she was desperate for reassurance. He didn’t have enough evidence to contradict her. It was only hearsay.

  “Probably.”

  Alice looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s very important to
me that you two get on. You’re very dear to me, Dillon. And I know you’re being protective, but Hugh’s all right, really. He’s just very different from you. But he’ll be a good husband. He loves Peasebrook and he’s going to help us take it forward. And you’re going to be part of that, too.”

  Dillon didn’t reply. He understood. It was all about money and power. Hugh had cash and influence and contacts. Of course he was going to take Peasebrook forward. He couldn’t wait to be lord of the manor. That was how it worked. He couldn’t force Alice to see the truth, because it was her truth. He had no power to change that.

  “I just wanted you to be aware what people are saying. And you’re right. It’s because I want to protect you.”

  Alice hugged him. “Thank you,” she said.

  Then she pushed her hair back and showed him her scar.

  “Look,” she said. “It’s got much better. You can hardly see it now.”

  I never did see it, thought Dillon.

  “And I’ve got some special makeup. It shouldn’t show at all. For the wedding . . .”

  She looked at him. He really wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

  She stopped to lean on the gate he had put up to stop members of the public from going up to the folly. It was just starting to rain: a spiteful squall that reminded people not to be seduced by bursts of fine weather and bone-warming sunshine that could easily be whisked away in a trice.

  She looked white, an awful gray-green white.

  “Bloody hell,” she said. “My stupid leg. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I haven’t got the strength.”

  He looked at her. He could carry her back to the house, he thought, give her a piggyback or hold her in his arms, but it was half a mile from here and the ground would be slippery.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll go and get the quad bike.”

  “That would be brilliant. You’re a star. I’m sorry to be a nuisance.” She shivered. “I’ll wait here.”

  “No,” he said. “Let me carry you to the folly. You’ll catch your death if you wait here. You’ll get soaked through. Here.”