The Bookshop (11 page)

‘Well, I’ve never spoken to the fellow at all. He was in the first show, of course, but not in the Suffolks, he was in the RFC, I believe – he wanted to fly. Odd, that.’

The General talked much more freely now that the sticky part, the condolences, were over.

‘Another odd thing, he was calling on us that very morning.’

‘He wanted to speak to your wife, I suppose.’

‘Yes, you’re quite right. Violet told me all about it. He made a great effort to call on her, it seems, to congratulate her on her idea – her idea, I mean, about this Arts Centre. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get a word with him myself. I must say I shouldn’t have thought Art was quite his line of country, but, well, a good man
gone. Twelve years older than I am. I suppose any of us could collapse like that, when you come to think of it.’

There was nothing to stop him going on like this indefinitely. ‘You mustn’t be late for lunch, General Gamart.’ She knew about the preparations at The Stead. He would be needed to open the wine.

Conscious of some want of tact, half relieved and half dissatisfied, he dismissed himself and withdrew.

A month or so later, the Old House was requisitioned under the new Act of Parliament. Since one of the provisions was that there should be no other uninhabited buildings of the same date in the area, the oyster warehouse could have been offered in its place, so it was unfortunate that Florence had given orders to have it pulled down. Wilkins had taken nearly a year over the demolition, but he was going ahead quite fast now.

Large numbers of pieces of paper were put through the brass letter-box of the bookshop. The postman apologized for bringing so many. On one of them the City of Flintmarket notified Florence Mary Green that they required to purchase and take under the provisions of the Act of 1959 or Acts or parts of Acts incorporated in the above Acts the lands or hereditaments mentioned and described in the schedule as delineated in the plan attached hereto (but they had forgotten to attach it) and thereon coloured pink, together with all mines and
minerals in and under the said lands, other than coal, and that they were willing to treat with you and each and every of you for the purchase of the said lands and as to the compensation to be made to you and each and every of you by reason of the taking of the said lands authorized as aforesaid. Florence felt, as she read this, that it was the moment for the rapper to manifest itself, and when it did not, she almost missed it.

The notice also appeared in the
Flìntmarket, Kingsgrave, and Hardborough Times
, making poor Florence feel like a wanted criminal. It was certainly not her imagination that old acquaintances avoided her in the street, and customers wore a surprised expression, saying, Oh, I thought I saw somewhere that you had closed down. Mr Thornton, Mr Drury and Mr Keble and their wives no longer came to the shop at all, for it was tainted.

She didn’t mind so much as she had expected. It was defeat, but defeat is less unwelcome when you are tired. The compensation would be enough to pay off the bank loan and to put down a deposit on a rented property, perhaps somewhere quite else. Change should be welcome. And after all, as she now realized, Mr Brundish himself had come round to the idea of the new Centre. For some reason, this idea gave her more pain than the notice of Willingness to Treat.

Raven, in the bar of the Anchor, wanted to know how that lot at Flintmarket Town hall, who according to
themselves never had a penny to spare, and couldn’t even afford to drain their own marshes, had managed to raise the money to buy out Mrs Green at the Old House. But Flintmarket Urban District Council were no more ready to discuss their finances than any other public body. The Recreation Committee said in their report how heartening it was, that if anything was truly wanted and needed, a benefactor could always be found to step forward and make it possible.

Florence’s solicitors in Flintmarket were at first greatly excited at the idea of handling, as they called it, one of the first cases under a new Act. They spoke of bringing an action for declaration, or applying for an order of
certiorari
.

‘Would that do any good?’

‘Well, there can’t really be any legal grounds for challenging an administrative decision, but it’s been held that in fact the public can do so, on the grounds of natural justice.’

‘What is natural justice?’ asked Florence.

After the solicitors found that their client had very little money, they gave up the order of
certiorari
and discussed the matter of compensation. Like all her other advisers, they took a gloomy and hostile view. There would be no claim for depreciation, as books were legally counted as ironmongery, as not losing value by being moved about. Nothing could be claimed for services, as
it was a one-man business. Mr Thornton would have made a joke about its being a ‘one-woman’ business, but the Flintmarket solicitors did not do so. There remained the issue of compensation for the Old House itself.

When, after a few more weeks, she rang them up, they spoke of snags and delays. By this they meant, although they did not admit it for some time, that she was unlikely to get anything at all. Various Town and Country Planning Acts provided that if a house was so damp that it was unfit for human habitation and subsidence was threatened, no claim for compensation could be made.

‘But the Old House has been there for centuries without subsiding. I’m inhabiting it, and I’m still human, and it’s not as damp as all that – it dries out in the summer, and in midwinter. And anyway, what about the land?’

The solicitor referred to the land as ‘the cleared site value’, as though the Old House had already ceased to exist.

‘That can only be estimated if it is in fact land, but an inspection of the cellars has established that the property is standing in half an inch of water.’

‘What inspection? I wasn’t notified about it.’

‘Apparently on various dates when you were absent from the business, an experienced builder and plasterer, Mr John Gipping, was sent in by the council to make an estimate of the condition of the walls and cellar.’

‘John Gipping!’

‘Of course, we assume that he made a peaceable entry.’

‘I’m sure he did. He’s not at all a violent man. What I should like to know is, who let him in?’

‘Oh, your assistant, Mr Milo North. It will be assumed that he acted as your servant, and following your instructions. Have you any comments?’

‘Only that I’m glad they gave the job to Gipping. He hasn’t found it easy to get work lately.’

‘What makes it very awkward for us is that Mr North has also signed a deposition to the effect that the damp state of the property has affected his health, and made him unfit for ordinary employment.’

‘Why did you do it?’ she asked Milo. ‘Did somebody ask you to?’

‘They did ask me rather often, and it seemed the easiest thing to do.’

Milo no longer came round to help in the bookshop; she happened to meet him crossing the common. He made no attempt to avoid her on this occasion. Indeed, he tried to make himself useful by suggesting that if she still wanted an assistant, Christine might well be free again, since, after only half a term at the Technical, she had been suspended by the headmaster. Milo said that he did not know the details, and Florence did not press for them.

There was not very much more that she could do.
The bank manager, with some embarrassment, asked her if it would be convenient for her to make an appointment to see him as soon as possible. He wanted to know whether what he had heard was correct, that she had no legal right to compensation, and, in that case, what she intended to do about repayment of the loan.

‘I was hoping to start again,’ said Florence. ‘I thought I could.’

‘I should not advise you to try another small business. It’s curious how many people look upon the bank as no more than a charitable institution. There comes a time when each of us must be content to call it a day. There is, of course, always the stock. If that could be liquidated, we should be well on the way out of our difficulty.’

‘You mean that you want me to sell the books?’

‘To clear off the loan, yes – the books and your car. I fear that will be absolutely necessary.’

Florence was left, therefore, without a shop and without books. She had kept, it is true, two of the Everymans, which had never been very good sellers. One was Ruskin’s
Unto this Last
, the other was Bunyan’s
Grace Abounding
. Each had its old bookmarker in it,
Everyman I will be thy guide, in thy most need to go by thy side
, and the Ruskin also had a pressed gentian, quite colourless. The book must have gone, perhaps fifty years before, to Switzerland in springtime.

In the winter of 1960, therefore, having sent her heavy
luggage on ahead, Florence Green took the bus into Flintmarket via Saxford Tye and Kingsgrave. Wally carried her suitcases to the bus stop. Once again the floods were out, and the fields stood all the way, on both sides of the road, under shining water. At Flintmarket she took the 10.46 to Liverpool Street. As the train drew out of the station she sat with her head bowed in shame, because the town in which she had lived for nearly ten years had not wanted a bookshop.

Fourth Estate
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Previously published in paperback by Flamingo 1989

First published by Gerald Duckworth and Co. Ltd 1978

Copyright © Penelope Fitzgerald 1978

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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