An Unexpected Affair, page 2
She weaved her way over to where he stood, a bottle of wine in her hand. “Hi! I didn’t have you down as a fan of romantic fiction.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh. Well, is there anything else that catches your eye?” she said, indicating the shelves packed with glossy books.
“Not really,” he said looking about the crowded room. “I’ve really just come to give my father a lift home.”
Right, she thought. I’m not going to make a sale here, but never mind.
“Can I top you up?”
“Better not, as I’m driving,” he said, handing Eleanor his empty glass. “Thanks anyway.” He wandered off to collect his father who gave Eleanor a cheery wave as they left the shop.
She waved back, then carried on where she’d left off, topping up glasses and smiling encouragingly at the people who were waiting to get their books signed by Lavinia. After a little while she felt a tap on her arm.
“Hi, I’m Jim Rowe from the Gazette.”
Eleanor turned around and smiled. “Gosh, you’ve turned up. I didn’t think you’d come.” Their paths had crossed before at other events, and it had been Jim who had interviewed Eleanor three years before when she had taken over the shop from a Mr Williams, who had run it for nearly thirty years. She had been slightly embarrassed at Jim’s treatment of her as a heroine, come to save the town’s oldest bookshop from the clutches of wicked developers who hoped to open yet another coffee shop. However, apart from the hyperbole he had done a good job – and taken quite a flattering photograph of her – and the interview was now framed and had pride of place on the wall behind the counter.
“Slow news day,” he said, between mouthfuls of cheese straw. “A coachful of French tourists got jammed in a lane in North Yarnton, and we had an escaped sheep on the beach. Apart from that not much happening, so I decided to swing by and see what our local celebrity was up to.”
“Well I’m glad you did. Publicity is always welcome. I’ll introduce you to our star.”
“No need. ‘Lavinia’ and I went to secondary school together. She was plain Susan Green then.”
At that moment Georgie sprang into action and hurried over to where they stood chatting. “You must be Mr Rowe? We spoke earlier. Have you had the press pack? Lavinia can’t wait to meet you,” she said, turning towards her author. Lavinia, resplendent in ankle-length green velvet, swooped over to them wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Sue love,” said Jim, shaking her hand, “how are things? Haven’t seen you for ages.”
“It’s Lavinia to you. Still working for the local rag, I see.”
“I certainly am Sue, er, Lavinia. And you’re still knocking out the old bodice-rippers?”
Lavinia looked deeply unimpressed by this description of her work. “I prefer the term Gothic fiction.”
“Ouch,” said Erika under her breath, “We’d better split these two up fast.”
“I think this corner here would be perfect for your photograph,” said Georgie, smoothly taking control and escorting Jim and Lavinia away.
Eleanor went back to topping up glasses and chatting to old and new customers. At the end of the evening when the few remaining books had been packed up and the promotional flyers all tidied away, Eleanor stepped outside to find Georgie and Erika sitting on a wall across from the shop each with a large glass of white wine.
“We’re just having a sneaky fag,” said Erika. “Come and join us.”
“When you write your memoirs, sweetie,” said Georgie, patting Erika on the knee, “I insist on being your publicist. What a story!”
“Cheers to that!” said Erika, clinking glasses. Her slim figure and smart hair cut made it hard to believe that Erika had actually started life as Eric. After twenty years in the Manchester Police Force, Eric had retired on a handsome pension and left the city to begin a new life as the person he had had to subdue for so long. Now Erika was officially female and Eleanor’s one full-time member of staff and right-hand woman. She had got the job at The Reading Room because she was very experienced, immensely thorough and good with the administrative tasks that Eleanor loathed. She was also well read and had an easy manner that customers soon warmed to. Another of her talents was an unerring ability to spot and deter potential shoplifters before they made away with the goods. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes there would be a coachload of French schoolchildren in town bent on acquiring a few ‘free’ souvenirs. Word would go from shop to shop that they were on their way and Erika would always be ready for them.
Now she shifted along to make room for her boss. “Eleanor, why don’t you sit down and join us?”
“That is a very tempting offer, but it’s freezing cold out here, and I have to finish tidying up.”
“Darling, let me help you,” offered Georgie, slithering down from the wall.
“No, you stay there. You’ve both been brilliant and it won’t take a minute.”
“Oh well, if you insist.”
“Actually, shouldn’t you be looking after our author?”
“No need. Lavinia has gone to have dinner with an old flame, so I’m off the hook.” Georgie rummaged around in her bag. “Okay, one last ciggy then I’m off to my B&B. This sea air is really quite exhausting.”
“Don’t leave tomorrow without coming in to say goodbye, will you?” said Erika.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eleanor couldn’t help smiling as she went back into the shop. The launch party had been a great success: lots of books sold, new customers in the shop and nothing broken. She had made sure that highlights of the evening were pinged off into cyberspace and there would be photos in the local paper thanks to Mr Rowe.
“Need any help down there?” Eleanor looked up from beneath the drinks table where she was putting empty glasses back into boxes to see Jim grinning down at her.
“No, everything’s under control, thanks.”
“Any chance of a drink? You’re my final celebrity exclusive of the day.”
“‘Fraid not. Emma and Erika have finished off the last bottle of Chardonnay.” Eleanor frowned.
“Never mind – I’d actually prefer a pint anyway. Would you like to join me in the pub for a snifter?”
Eleanor hesitated for a moment then thought, why not? She didn’t know Jim Rowe all that well, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. “Okay. But only if you promise to spill the beans on ‘Lavinia’.”
“Deal. Now let me help you with those.”
Together they carried the wine glasses and empty bottles into the office, then Eleanor turned out the lights and locked the shop door.
“Where to?” she asked.
“It has to be the King’s Head,” said Jim, leading the way down the high street to the harbour side.
The town had several pubs, but this was the one with the most character. The heavy oak door opened onto a narrow corridor then another door, beyond which was a stone-flagged room with a log fire in the inglenook. There was a group of locals at the bar and what looked like tourists at another table. As Jim went to the bar to get the drinks, Eleanor looked around the room. On the walls were photographs of the fishing boats that had once worked the seas along this coast, and the lifeboat crews who had pulled so many men out of the water. Weather-beaten men in heavy oil skins stared out from across the centuries. Another photograph showed the high street and the bookshop that was now hers. One of the things that she loved about the town was the sense of history.
The pub was deliberately old-fashioned and completely unreconstructed – thank goodness. In a prominent spot behind the bar was a collection of mobile phones nailed to a board – Gerald, the landlord, insisted that customers should only speak to people in the same room, not somewhere else in the country. Quite right too, thought Eleanor as Jim joined her at the table bearing a pint, a large red wine and two packets of crisps. “Dinner,” he said smiling.
Eleanor suddenly remembered that she’d not eaten since about 1pm and realised that she was ravenous.
“Thanks and cheers!” The red wine on an empty stomach combined with the success of the evening made Eleanor feel giddy and bold. She couldn’t help herself checking out Jim as he stood at the bar: stocky, and older than her with greying hair. What her mother Connie would refer to as a ‘silver fox’. Oh, and quite a nice bum. The wine had gone straight to her head. She took a sip to cover her smile.
“So tell me about Lavinia Threlfall.”
“Oh, there’s not much to tell really. She was quite a looker when she was younger and determined to do well for herself. We worked alongside each other on the local paper for a few years, but she was always very ambitious and determined to go on to bigger and better things as a writer. Her father ran an abattoir, but you won’t find that in any autobiography, I bet.”
“Did you not want ‘bigger and better things’?”
Jim shrugged. “Not really. I enjoy the job and I love this part of the world.”
He sipped his beer and smiled across at Eleanor. “So what’s your story? I know about the shop, but not much else.”
She took another gulp from her wine. “Oh, there’s not much to tell really.” Not until I know you better, she said to herself. “Got married, had kids, got unmarried, bought a bookshop. What about you?”
“Pretty similar really – without the bit at the end. I was married to Margaret for twenty-odd years, and we have a son and a daughter. We split up a couple of years ago, but we’re still good pals.”
“That’s nice,” said Eleanor, peering into her wine glass. “I’m afraid that Alan and I are not quite at the ‘good pals’ stage yet.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get there. More crisps?”
Eleanor looked at the pile of crumbs on the table. “Sorry! I seem to have demolished most of those.”
“That’s okay. I think the fish and chip place is still open if you fancy something more substantial.”
“That sounds great,” she said, licking salt off her fingertips. “But I should probably go home. It has been a long day.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Jim, draining his glass. “I guess it’s a microwave lasagne for me then.”
As soon as she’d turned down the invitation Eleanor felt a pang of regret. Why shouldn’t she have a night out with Jim? She was a free woman, after all.
“Perhaps we could do it on Saturday?” she said at last. “If you like. I’ll be ready for a night out by then.”
Jim perked up immediately. “Okay. It’s a date.”
Chapter 3: A Hint of Romance
“A date?”
“That’s what he said,” said Eleanor, pouring water into the cafetiere, “but it’s just a turn of phrase. There’s no need to get excited.”
Erika and Connie exchanged meaningful glances. “Love, this is the closest you’ve got to romance in two years, so we have every right to get excited.” It was actually much longer than that, but Eleanor was not about to put her mother right on the details. The women were sitting in the office-cum-storeroom in the basement of the shop the morning after the launch party. Connie smiled at her daughter and held out her mug for coffee.
Eleanor’s mother had been persuaded to move to a village just five miles away on being widowed. She and her husband had had a long and happy marriage then Jack fell ill and died after a short illness. Afterwards, Connie had begun to shrink and fade as though grief was stretching her out, dragging her back to her deceased husband. She had moved to a new house but was still lost in herself, no longer willing to attend choir or enjoy her old pastimes. The girls feared that they might lose their mother too when a minor miracle happened: Connie discovered internet dating. To be more precise, her neighbour had talked her into ‘just having a look’ during a Getting to Know Your Computer course at the village hall. She had had a couple of false starts but eight months and several dates later, Connie had recently returned from a Mediterranean cruise with Harold Greaves, a rather dapper eighty-something widower with a twinkle in his eye and love in his heart.
“I didn’t think that I would have to kiss quite so many frogs, not at my age,” Connie had confessed to her startled daughters, “but my Harold was worth it.”
Despite being all grown up, Eleanor’s children had been shocked at their Granny’s behaviour, Phoebe rushing into the kitchen at Christmas to announce that she had just seen Connie kissing Harold under the mistletoe, “Like properly – on the lips!”
“That is just gross,” Joe had said, shaking his head in disbelief.
However, everyone had eventually got used to the idea that Connie had a man in her life and Harold was now a much-loved addition to the family.
The only downside to Connie’s new relationship was that she, like most converts, was bordering on the fanatical and had been urging her newly single daughter to get online and find true love. To keep her mother happy, Eleanor had succumbed and had a handful of excruciatingly bad dates with an assortment of oddballs. Now, the hint of a potential beau in the guise of Jim Rowe had set Connie off again.
“You aren’t getting any younger sweetheart, and you won’t meet anyone stuck behind a bookcase.”
“Thank you mother. I’m not quite ready for the knacker’s yard just yet.”
“I just want you to be happy, love.”
“I am perfectly happy.” And so she was, most of the time. But, sometimes she did think that it might be nice to have someone to share things with again. Then she’d remember the last, dismal years of her marriage to Alan and shudder. Far better to be on her own and happy than be with someone just because it had become a habit. And anyway, it was not as if she was fighting them off.
Just then there was a knock at the door and Georgie walked in, looking relaxed and pretty in jeans and a white T-shirt, an overnight bag in her hands. She greeted them all warmly then plonked herself down on a pile of boxes.
“So, gals, what’s happening?”
“We were just discussing my daughter’s love life,” explained Connie, leaning over to introduce herself to Georgie.
“Ah, romance! My favourite topic,” she said, helping herself to coffee. “I thought that journalist guy seemed really nice.”
Eleanor gave her a sharp look. “Please don’t encourage them,” she sighed.
“He does seem keen on you, Eleanor,” added Erika.
“He’s a business associate, that’s all. Now I think we all have work to do.”
“Not me,” said Georgie, grinning happily. “I’ve got the weekend off and my train back to London doesn’t leave until mid-afternoon. Lunch anyone?”
Erika raised a hand, “Yup, count me in – as long as it’s a quick one.”
“If you don’t mind spending your free time with a granny,” said Connie, “I’d love to join you both for a bit of a gossip.” Connie enjoyed her trips out with Erika, which were occasionally enlivened by a little inside information about local members of the transgender community. (“Her, I mean him? The dentist? No, never?”)
“Of course, Connie,” said Erika. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Well, it’s alright for some,” said Eleanor, collecting the empty coffee things. “I’ve got books to sell.”
Connie caught Erika’s arm as Eleanor turned and walked back into the shop. “She definitely likes Jim,” she whispered, with a smile.
“I heard that!”
Eleanor knew that her mother and friends meant well, but they really were infuriating sometimes. Feeling the need for a breath of air, she grabbed her bag and headed out. “Before you ladies disappear for lunch I’m going to bring the van round and unload it.”
“Shall I come?” asked Erika.
“No, you stay here. I’ve got a few other things to do along the high street and I could do with the exercise.”
Stepping onto the sunny street the wind whipped across her face as she stomped up the road to the van, ruffling her hair. By the time she had been to the bank and the post office, and walked the short distance to the vehicle, she was completely dishevelled. She peered at her reflection in the wing mirror, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge strands of hair from her sunglasses as she dug in her bag for the keys. “Damn and blast it,” she said to no one in particular. It was, she decided, one of the perils of approaching middle age that you spent a great deal of time talking to yourself.
She was crouched on the pavement, unpacking the usual flotsam and jetsam that managed to accumulate in her handbag when she saw a pair of slightly scruffy deck shoes appear at her side. Above them two tanned knees descended from a pair of khaki shorts.
“Are these what you’re looking for?” Daniel Pearce stood there with the keys to her van in one hand and an old-fashioned string bag in the other. “You must have dropped them as you left the shop.”
“Gosh, yes, thanks,” said Eleanor, hastily stuffing the used tissues, old lipsticks, broken biros and dog chews back into the dark recesses of her bag where they belonged and rising to her feet. Daniel was standing between her and the sun, causing her to squint, despite the glasses.
“I’ve come down to get some fish for my father,” he explained, waving the shopping bag in the air. “It’s Friday. Fish day,” he added with a frown.
Coming from London, Eleanor had initially found it odd that you could only buy certain products on certain days. Sure, the supermarkets stocked the usual range of pre-packaged goods, but if you wanted the best local produce, you went to the weekly market behind the library.
“Mackerel,” he added.
Eleanor smiled encouragingly. “How lovely.”
They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment or two as Eleanor unlocked the van door and climbed up into the driver’s seat.
“My father enjoyed himself at your party last night.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“It seemed to go well.”
“It did, yes,” she said, pointedly closing the door. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, but I really must get back to the office and unpack this lot,” she said, nodding towards the boxes she had brought from his father’s house. “I’ve not had time to do it because of the party.”
