Love Letters (18 page)

‘Hello, Laura,’ said a voice that made her knees go weaker and her mouth become drier. She sank on to a little chair that was near a small desk.

‘Hello,’ she said again, wishing she had a glass of water.

‘It’s a great coincidence that you happened to be there, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe. Great for whom?’ she asked warily, wondering what he meant.

‘Great for me, anyway. The reason I need to speak to you is, I want you to do a job for me.’

‘What sort of job?’ Laura was a bit panicked. She was busy enough as it was with the festival and still working at the bookshop.

‘Did you hear about the writing course I’ve agreed to do?’

She turned away a little but was aware of Rupert and Fenella poring over the crossword as if it were an exam paper, they were working so hard at not eavesdropping. ‘Yes. I was a bit surprised. It was all I could do to get you to agree to speak at the festival, now here you are offering to run a writing course. I thought you weren’t keen on them.’ She tried to sound lighthearted, but she found speaking to him almost unbearably lovely.

He gave a short, dismissive laugh. ‘I’m not running anything, I’ll just teach.’

Laura tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to help her think. ‘But I thought people sent in their manuscripts and you decided who got on the course on the strength of them?’

‘Oh, so you know all about it, do you?’ He sounded amused.

‘Not at all. Just what Fenella told me. But that’s right, isn’t it?’ Now she pulled the scrunchy off her ponytail and shook out her curls as if doing so would settle her jumbled thoughts.

‘It is so, and that’s where you come in.’ He sounded a little triumphant as if he’d solved a problem.

‘Where? Where do I come in?’

‘My agent, Eleanora, the old dragon’ – his chuckle revealed he was fond her, old dragon or not – ‘told me that you have a very good eye when it comes to fiction. You didn’t tell me you knew her.’

‘Well, er, yes, I do. And yes, I suppose I have read a lot,’ said Laura tentatively.

‘So I want you to read all the scripts and pick out the ten best.’

She gulped. ‘What? But how would I know? When would I have time to do it? I’m organising a literary festival!’ A second later she remembered that literary festivals were often run by people with full-time jobs.

‘Not single-handed. Eleanora told me there’s a team, including her niece, or god-daughter, Fenella – whoever it was I spoke to.’

‘That’s true.’ Laura struggled to sound calm.

‘Well then, you can do my scripts for me. I’ll pay you,’ he added.

‘How much?’ Too late Laura realised this must have made her sound awfully mercenary. She hadn’t really asked because she cared that much, although she did need money. She just wanted to give herself a bit of time to think.

‘We’ll work out a fee, but probably about ten pounds a script. I’d need you to pick, say, thirty, and we’ll decide on the best ten together, over the phone probably, or by email.’

‘All right then,’ she said meekly. Then a thought struck her. ‘There’s just one thing. I only live in a small flat, just a bedsit with a bathroom, really. I’m not sure I’ve got the space to do all this.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about it.’

Laura could tell he was now bored with the subject of the course, and his ‘Don’t you worry about it’ really meant ‘I’m not going to worry about it’. Well, he didn’t need to, now he’d got her to agree to help him.

‘So, how have you been?’ he said now. ‘Have you recovered from your trip to the Emerald Isle?’

The laugh in his voice was not helping her current heart condition. ‘Of course. What was there to recover from?’

‘Drinking whiskey by the tumbler full for a start,’ he said. ‘Not to mention the men you had to beat off with a stick.’ She could just imagine him, lying back in his chair, possibly doodling, enjoying his gentle teasing.

‘I didn’t need a stick.’ She was smiling too and she wasn’t sure if he would be able to hear this in her voice or not.

‘Sure now, I was meek as a lamb when it came to it.’ He paused. ‘So, I’ll tell Eleanora to get whoever’s in charge of this course to send the scripts to you. We’ll keep in touch about it.’

‘Thank you. I think.’

He laughed. ‘Sure you’ll thank me. You may discover the next Dermot Flynn and then the world will be at your feet.’

‘I think one Dermot Flynn is quite enough for the world, thank you,’ she said.

He laughed again. ‘You’re a lovely girl, Laura Horsley, and I have my eye on you.’ Then he disconnected.

Laura examined the handset and then switched it off. She got up and walked slowly to where Fenella had answered the phone and found the rest. She was horribly aware of Rupert and Fenella studying her, desperate to find out what was going on.

‘He wants me to read the scripts for his course and help him select the final ten. Apparently Eleanora recommended me.’

‘Huh!’ said Rupert. ‘Far more likely that Eleanora got him to agree to do the course by saying, “I’ve got a lovely girl who’ll do all the hard work for you.”’

Fenella looked at her husband, about to reproach him for slandering her aunt but then obviously decided that was probably exactly what had happened.

‘It’s kind of Eleanora really,’ said Laura. ‘She knows I need the money. I wonder if there’ll be many scripts?’

‘There could be a few,’ said Fenella. ‘I gathered from Eleanora that the competition has been very widely advertised.’

At the sound of this word Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Ergh! Advertising! We haven’t thought about it at all!’

Work, even on a Sunday evening, was an excellent displacement activity, she decided, forcing a reluctant Fenella back down to her office for another hour before she headed back to her flat. Dermot Flynn was taking up far too much space in her brain and they had a festival to organise.

Chapter Nine

Three weeks later, Laura was tipping white wine into a glass at the bookshop for possibly the very last time. It was their farewell party for all their customers. ‘Yes, it is terribly sad the shop is closing,’ she said to the recipient of the wine, a woman whom she couldn’t remember ever seeing in the shop, but who obviously supported it now there was free wine going. ‘But I’m sure you’ll manage.’

‘Of course, I buy all my books from charity shops,’ said the woman taking on a pious expression. ‘I do like to support charity.’

Behind the woman Laura observed Henry’s rueful eyebrow. ‘But not bookshops?’ said Laura.

‘Oh well, they’re businesses, aren’t they?’ The woman looked into her empty glass, willing Laura to magic some more wine into it as a reward for her virtue.

Laura held the bottle firmly upright. ‘Yes, and they have to make money, like any other business. And how would the authors make money if no one bought their books new?’

The woman frowned. Taking pity on her, Laura tipped a small amount of wine into her glass.

‘I never thought of that,’ said the woman, and moved away.

‘Laura, dear!’ A much-loved customer, stalwart of the reading group, came up. ‘What are we going to do without you all?’

It was customers like this woman who made bookselling such a joy, Laura felt, and hoped she wasn’t going to get emotional. Now the time had finally come she felt as if she was losing a friend. It was the end of an era for her. She’d cut her literary teeth here; she felt more at home here than anywhere else; this was the place where she could really be herself. ‘Oh, Fiona! Don’t say that! It’s sad enough as it is. You will keep the reading group going, won’t you?’

‘Of course. It won’t be the same without you, though. You’ve read so much.’ She sighed. ‘But we’ll manage.’ She paused. ‘And what about you? Have you got another job?’

‘Sort of. A temporary one, anyway.’ Laura produced a flyer from the table behind her. ‘I’m helping to set up a literary festival. In the summer. I do hope you’ll be able to come to some of the events?’

Fiona inspected the flyer.

‘Of course, we can’t promise all those authors will be able to attend but some of them will.’ Laura sounded a little more confident than she felt, knowing as she did that authors were sometimes very late making up their minds and some were known to pull out at the last minute. She dismissed this negative thought and smiled at Fiona.

Fiona inspected the flyer. ‘Oh, it’s a bit far, isn’t it?’

‘Well, maybe you get up a group of you and arrange to stay over. It’s a really beautiful area.’ She felt like a travel agent selling a holiday destination, even if it was all true, and tried not to look so eager.

‘Mm, that would be fun and lots of us could use a break from our families. Can I take this with me?’

‘Of course! Here, take several.’ Well, she did need to drum up trade, after all.

Grant came up. ‘It’s going well, isn’t it? And I’ve given away lots of your flyers. I must say, people have been really sweet, saying how much they’ll miss us.’

‘Not that woman over there, helping herself to crisps by the bowlful. I don’t think she’s ever been in before.’ Laura tried not to sound resentful, but she was, a little.

Grant glanced across. ‘Don’t malign her. I sold her a birthday card once. She’s one of those people who doesn’t use us but likes us to be here.’

‘She buys all her books from charity shops,’ explained Laura to another regular customer who joined them. ‘I think she believes it’s faintly immoral to buy them new.’

‘Now don’t you go knocking charity bookshops,’ the customer said. ‘There’s many a new author I’ve discovered by buying their books for virtually nothing. Then I’ve bought everything else they’ve written new!’

Laura rewarded this jolly woman by emptying her bottle into her glass. ‘I know, you’re a star, and I don’t really mind people supporting charity shops, of course I don’t. It’s when they try to make out they’re more virtuous than the rest of us who wantonly buy our books new-from-a-shop.’

The woman chuckled. ‘So what are you both going to do now?’ It was a question they were being asked frequently.

Grant said, ‘Well I’m applying to a couple of big bookstores, but Laura here is running a literary festival. Flyer, please.’ He held out his hand.

Laura produced one. ‘Of course, not everyone on this flyer will be able to come but—’

‘Oh, that looks huge fun!’ said the woman. ‘Good for you!’

And they chatted for a while about festivals and favourite authors and what a shame it was that another independent bookshop was closing down, even if it was out of choice.

As she topped up glasses, answered questions and circulated among the crowd – the shop was understandably packed; it was a huge favourite and had been there for years – Laura felt a sense of pride and sadness. Not an overwhelming sadness, because she had things to look forward to, but she was going to miss it. It was as if she was throwing off her old, safe self, like a treasured overcoat, outgrown.

It was after ten before Henry closed the door on the last straggler: an enthusiastic member of the local press who’d wanted to get all his angles (and help them finish the wine).

‘Well, that was a great party,’ said Henry as he, Grant and Laura cleared up. The part-time staff had been sent home because Laura insisted they’d covered for her so much recently, she didn’t want them doing extra washing-up as well.

‘Yes. It was a shame Monica couldn’t come though,’ Laura said to Grant as she gathered up a pile of paper plates. ‘You’d really get on.’

‘Well, we’ll have to have another get-together sometime.’ Grant sighed deeply. ‘It’s going to be really sad not being a team any more.’

Laura put her arms round him. ‘I know! I’ve suddenly gone all weepy.’ She’d managed to keep any threatening tears in check all evening but now it was just the three of them she felt them pricking behind her eyes.

‘Oh, do brace up!’ said Henry, who couldn’t be doing with all this emotion. ‘You’ll both go on to greater things and soon forget about this little shop.’

‘It’s not that little,’ said Grant, releasing himself from Laura and tying up yet another black bag.

‘And I won’t forget it,’ said Laura. ‘It – well, you, Henry, really – taught me all I know.’

‘Well, don’t get all maudlin!’ said Henry, dropping empty bottles into a cardboard box. ‘We’ll keep in touch over Laura’s festival, won’t we? And I’ll give you both splendid references.’

‘And we’re not actually closing until the end of the week,’ Grant reminded them, ‘and then we’ve got a few days packing up.’

When Laura got home from the shop after its last day of business she was very tired. If she’d had to say, yes, it was very sad the shop’s closing, and no, she didn’t really have another job yet, but there was going to be this literature and music festival and would they like a flyer? one more time, she felt she’d have had a nasty turn. She’d done so much of it at the party, she hadn’t been prepared to do it for the rest of the week as well. And the bookshop had looked so forlorn with its depleted shelves and bare floorboards. Although she’d wanted to help, she was quite glad Henry had insisted he and Grant would do the final days of clearing and packing up. She wasn’t sure she could have borne seeing it as a completely empty shell.