Jumping to Conclusions (23 page)

Jemima stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads. Vincent, bless him, having read the riot act to Levi and Zeke, was now acting as tour guide as though the shop had the floor space of the Waterstones in Charing Cross Road. And, if the sea of white Orion cardigans round the Ann Pursers was anything to go by, Bathsheba and Bronwyn must have marshalled the entire massed ranks of the WI.

Jemima blinked back her tears. Oh, sod it. Her glasses were misting up. She removed them, wiping the lenses on the hem of her purple skirt.

'Excuse me. Do you have a corner for easy-readers? Or the
Beano?

She blinked again. Even blurred, Charlie Somerset was unmistakable.

The jeans and polo shirt were both black this time but the silky hair falling into his eyes was still the colour of beech leaves, even without her glasses. She shoved them back on again, wishing that she hadn't put her hair up. This was definitely a moment to hide behind it.

'Children's section to the left. We don't do comics.'

'Really?' Charlie grinned. 'You do surprise me.'

Arrogant sod, she thought, watching him push through the crowd, kissing cheeks, smiling, talking to everyone. Lucinda Cox who was dutifully standing beside Bathsheba and studying the coffee-table glossies, she noticed, didn't even look at him. That little affair must have bitten the dust. Still, Gillian said he was dating Linda Evangelista or some other superstar model, so no doubt village girls were a mere dalliance.

She was interrupted in her musings by her first sale.

Bronwyn Pugh, clutching Colin Bateman's latest, was rifling through a Margaret Thatcher handbag. 'Charlie has just told me I should read this,' she found her snap-clasp purse. 'He says his mother loves them. Very much like Catherine Cookson, apparently.'

Oh God. Should she be honest? Should she act as adviser or just take the money and run? Bronwyn, she reasoned, might quite enjoy it. And who was she to act as censor, anyway?

The cash register flashed for the first time. The first green-and-gold Jemima Carlisle bag was tucked away. It was a moment she'd remember for the rest of her life.

After that, the sales were steady. People came and went and Fizz Flanagan blasted noisily from the browsers' corner. All the seats were taken and Vincent rushed backwards and forwards, refilling glasses and plates.

'I'm going back to the Munchy Bar for reinforcements, duck,' Maureen puffed. "They're eating you out of house and home. I'll make a few sandwiches. Smashing do.'

All those years of working in Bookworms really should have prepared her for the oddness of people's tastes. She had long ago given up her early-bookseller game of matching the title to the customer. She was wrong every time. They were buying books, and that was all that mattered.

'Do you want some help?' Lucinda Cox leaned across the curve of the counter. 'There's quite a queue. I could put things in bags if you like.'

'That would be great. Thanks.'

They halved the queue in no time. Lucinda, looking very demure in a denim skirt and white St Hilda's hockey shirt, was an ace packer. 'I could do this through the summer, if you liked. If you were looking for staff, that is?'

Jemima wasn't. Or at least, she hadn't been. Maybe it would be an idea. 'Wouldn't you find it boring? Wouldn't you rather help out in the Munchy Bar, now that I've left, or something?'

Lucinda shook her head, making the black plait swing from side to side. 'Maud will be back from her hysterectomy next week. Anyway, I love books. I'm going to read English at Southampton – always supposing my grades are good enough.'

Jemima pulled a sympathetic face. She remembered the horror of her own A-levels. There wasn't, however, much chance to discuss this, as a further gratifying queue of customers was forming.

'Won't your mother mind?' Jemima yelled in the next lull. The twins were playing something rather doubtful by the Prodigy at full blast. She leaned across the counter. 'Dad! Sort them out!'

'No,' Lucinda smiled sweetly. 'She thinks it would be a lovely idea. Keep me out of mischief, you know?'

Whether Bathsheba had any idea of what sort of mischief Lucinda had managed to cram into her A-level revision periods remained a mystery. Still, Jemima thought, as Charlie, his arm round Maddy's shoulders, passed them again without glancing at Lucinda, it was all over now. The Prodigy died with an alarming wail.

'Shame,' Bronwyn said. 'I've always liked Mario Lanza.'

Jemima did a few mental calculations. She would need time away from the counter to restock, meet the reps, do the paperwork, go to the bank. She nodded to Lucinda. 'Okay. But I won't be able to pay you very much. And it definitely won't be full-time. Say a couple of mornings and all day Wednesday?'

'Brilliant.' Lucinda tucked the mixed blessings of Muriel Gray and Jane Asher into the same bag for one of the Bath Olivers. 'I'll just go and tell Ma. She'll be ever so pleased.'

Jemima preened herself. Not only was she running her own shop – but she now had staff. How long would it be before the Jemima Carlisle chain became the subject of take-over headlines in
Publishing News?

By midday the first flush had faded. The shop still had a dozen or more customers, the shelves had a respectable amount of gaps, and the pile of green-and-gold bags had diminished to a satisfyingly low level. The villagers had been fulsome in their praise, and nearly everyone had purchased something. Jemima felt absolutely shattered.

'Only another five hours to go,' Matt said, sitting on the counter. 'I'll take you out to celebrate tonight. Where do you fancy?'

'I won't be fit for anything except bed.'

'Fantastic. A bit forward of you at this stage in our relationship, I might add, but –'

Jemima groaned. They'd only recently got round to kissing good night. She really wasn't ready ... Realising that he was laughing at her, she blushed and looked away.

'Cat and Fiddle? Eight o'clock? I'll pick you up.' Matt slid his feet to the floor. 'I've got to go and do some work for the afternoon. We're not all our own bosses, you know.'

She watched him saunter through the door. Like Charlie, he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt. Unlike Charlie, female heads didn't turn as he passed. She was glad. She was also glad that he hadn't expanded on his afternoon's work. She knew it would be something to do with the Lancing Grange horses, but as long as neither of them said so, it was okay.

'Shall I go and put the kettle on?' Lucinda asked. 'Is there a kitchen or something?'

'Good idea.' Jemima was gasping for a caffeine kick. 'Yes, everything's just through the door beside the loo. Let's have a cuppa while we're a bit quieter. There might be coach-loads this afternoon.'

Bronwyn Pugh had disappeared to make sure Bernie hadn't let armed robbers do away with the Village Stores profits, and Maureen, accompanied by Vincent, had returned to the Munchy Bar. Gillian had dragged the twins back to the Vicarage, and Maddy had rescued Poppy Scarlet and also returned to work. Charlie Somerset had gone without saying goodbye to Lucinda. Most of the people left in the shop were comparative strangers. Only Bathsheba, her legs stretched uninhibitedly in front of her as she relaxed in one of the low chairs, was familiar.

'Kind of you to give Lucinda a little job,' she bellowed across the shop, watching her daughter disappear through the kitchen door, her eyes full of maternal pride. 'Much appreciated. It's a difficult age, isn't it?'

Jemima nodded, not entirely sure whether Bathsheba was referring to Lucinda's hormonal turbulence, her own mid-life crisis, or Jemima's rather late blossoming. She hoped her nod covered all eventualities. 'She's a charming girl. Very bright. Very pretty.' God help her, she wasn't going to add 'just like her mother' – not even for the ring of the cash register.

'Too pretty.' Bathsheba put down her Anita Burgh. 'It's been quite a worry ever since she came back from boarding school. Far too much temptation for an innocent girl in this village. I'll be glad when she goes to university. All those tutors and dons and whatnot to keep an eye on her.'

Jemima flinched. She'd had enough experience of the Oxford cloisters to be pretty sure what sort of eye the tutors would keep on the nubile delights of Lucinda Cox.

'I'm pleased to see that you've set standards,' Bathsheba continued. 'No pornography on the shelves. Very gratifying. Especially with you being in cahoots with Mrs Hutchinson.'

Jemima thanked her lucky stars for the decision on the Fishnets. 'Oh, I don't think you could actually describe Gillian's writing as pornographic. She's had stories in
People's Friend.
'

'That's as maybe,' Bathsheba frowned. 'But she refuses point-blank to join in our campaign to clean up people's reading matter. Says there should be freedom of choice. Pah! Poor Glen must have his hands full with her. The old Reverend Perkins, now, his wife, she knew her place ...'

Aware that she was about to disgrace herself by laughing, Jemima nodded again and slid out from behind the counter. 'I'll just go and see how Lucinda's doing with the coffee. Would you like a cup?'

'Just so long as it's decaff – and no sugar.'

Chewing her lips and trying to think about serious things like world poverty, Jemima slammed the kitchen door shut and leaned against it. Jesus! Bathsheba was unbelievable! Just wait until she told Gillian!

The kettle, stone cold, sat on the worktop. There was no evidence of mugs, spoons, coffee – Where the hell was Lucinda?

'Lucinda! Skiving already, eh? Not an auspicious start – oh ...'

'Hi,' Lucinda, wearing underwear that had certainly never seen the light of St Hilda's regulation uniform list, slithered out from the depths of the walk-in larder. 'Sorry. I got a bit sidetracked.'

Jemima tried to close her mouth. It stayed resolutely open.

'My fault.' Charlie Somerset, his hair in his eyes, emerged from the larder, tucking the polo shirt into his jeans. 'You know how it is?'

Jemima, who didn't have a clue, was still speechless. Lucinda, unabashed in lacy bra and knickers, started filling the kettle with water. She grinned over her shoulder at Charlie. 'Oh, don't worry. Jemima's okay. She's cool. She won't breathe a word to Ma.'

The horse was definitely going to be a winner. Easing him from a canter, Charlie patted Bonne Nuit's chestnut neck in delight. The bond which had been formed at Newmarket had strengthened during the last few weeks, and had now developed into total understanding and mutual admiration.

Without being too girlie, Charlie reckoned that it was exactly like falling in love. At least on his part. Even if Bonnie hadn't quite got round to wearing his heart on his hock yet, Charlie felt he was certainly in the first flushes of infatuation. Horses, like people, had different personalities. Some you got on with, some you didn't. Some remained aloof, some were so pea-brained or bad-tempered that they shut you out, but not Bonnie. Bonnie – and despite his historic and rather beautiful name, the poor animal was destined to be known affectionately as Bonnie Nuts by everyone in the yard – was sweet-natured, kind, and very bright.

Charlie, who could honestly say that he'd loved almost every horse he'd ridden, had never before felt this rush of affection. Not only was Bonnie his last chance for National glory, he was also his friend. And, boy, did he need a friend at the moment. Having no one else to confide in, Bonne Nuit's chestnut ears had been privy to Somerset secrets that would have turned the racing hacks green with envy.

Just how long had he honestly expected to get away with running Lucinda and Tina in tandem? Lucinda, with her cool acceptance of their affair, knew all about Tina, of course. Tina, on the other hand, was unaware of Lucinda's existence. And Tina, having a couple of days between assignments, was at that moment on her way down to Milton St John to have discussions with Kath Seaward about Dragon Slayer's forthcoming season.

'A rather nice opportunity for you to show me the rural sights, darling,' she'd whispered huskily into the telephone the previous evening. 'And as that will take all of five minutes, we'll have to find something else to do to pass the remainder of the time, won't we?'

Charlie groaned, and Bonne Nuit, sensing his jockey's partial close-down, immediately started to amble. Charlie laughed, leaned forward, and tugged the horse's ears. They were very alike. They'd pull out all the stops when it mattered but had no intention of overexerting themselves: at least, not as far as work was concerned.

Oh, God. What a screw-up! Lucinda and Tina. In the same village. At the same time. Even if he managed to keep them apart, there was bound to be some joker who'd say something.

'Which one, eh, Bonnie? Both – or neither? Nah – not neither. I've given up fags, booze, food, sleep – I've got to have something to keep me sane.'

Bonne Nuit tossed his head and blew loudly down his nostrils. He sounded as disapproving as a crusty old colonel. Charlie laughed. 'Yeah, sure. You like Lucinda. So do I. But you haven't met Tina yet. You really shouldn't pass judgement. Still, if I did have to choose –'

He sighed. Lucinda was so wonderfully uncomplicated. She expected nothing from him at all – except a good time – and as she gave that in return, they were both happy. And now she was working at the bookshop there was even more opportunity of their meeting up without Battleaxe Bathsheba having any idea what was going on. And Jemima – he laughed out loud, making Bonne Nuit spook – once she'd recovered from that first shock of finding them together, seemed to have given the affair her blessing.

In fact, Jemima's attitude intrigued him. She seemed totally uninterested – and had said that as long as they kept their activities to a minimum during Lucinda's working hours, it was no concern of hers. What they did in the kitchen, the storeroom or the shop's yard, during Lucinda's breaks, was none of her business. Jemima, he thought, was exactly what Lucinda had said, pretty cool. For the first time in his life he envied Matt Garside.

Now that Peapods, thanks to Gillian's whim or windfall or whatever it was, had acquired Bonne Nuit, he no longer needed to envy Matt Dragon Slayer – but he was rather in awe of his shy, intelligent, and witty girlfriend. He had never had anyone like that. Not someone who was a friend as well as a lover. She had a sparky sense of humour and, despite the grungey clothes, she was very attractive. In fact, those long skirts and baggy tops were quite a turn-on. Undressing Jemima would be like getting to the prize in 'pass the parcel'. The glasses magnified her already large eyes, and that glorious shaggy hair framing her face was dead sexy – simply begging to be tousled and tumbled.