Rules for a Successful Book Club (The Book Lovers 2)

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘Your sister?’ Jago asked.

  Polly nodded. ‘She’s going through a difficult time at the moment.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing serious,’ Polly said, ‘just – you know – man trouble.’

  ‘Right,’ Jago said warily.

  ‘And I thought – I wondered – if you could help. If you might be interested.’

  Jago frowned and then realisation seemed to dawn on him.

  ‘You want me to go out with your sister?’

  ‘You have a girlfriend already?’ Polly asked.

  ‘Erm, no,’ Jago said with a tiny grin, ‘but what makes you think I’m looking for one?’

  ‘Well – I thought you might–’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s nice of you to think of me.’

  ‘Bryony’s really lovely,’ Polly said quickly.

  ‘Is she like you?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Polly said.

  ‘You mean you’re not lovely?’

  Polly looked confused.

  ‘I’m teasing!’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘Well, we’re different. ‘I mean, we look a bit alike. You know, hair and eyes – that sort of thing. But she’s kind of a free spirit.’

  ‘And you’re not?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘I’m the hemmed-in one.’

  ‘Hemmed in?’

  ‘I know my limitations.’

  ‘That’s a very interesting thing to say,’ Jago said.

  ‘Look, I’ll give you her number. Ring her. Or not.’ She returned to the kitchen followed by Jago and scribbled her sister’s number down on the pad on the dresser and tore the sheet out for him. ‘She works in the children’s book shop in Castle Clare.’

  Jago nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll swing by,’ he said.

  ‘You should.’

  He held her gaze for a moment. ‘Have you match-made for your sister before?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah? And how did it work out?’

  ‘Terrible,’ she said and they both laughed.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said, folding the piece of paper with Bryony’s number on and putting it in his jacket pocket.

  CHAPTER NİNE

  ‘Here, Callie – sniff this!’

  Callie looked up from an illustrated copy of Pride and Prejudice she’d found in Sam’s shop. She thought that Mr Darcy looked rather foppish and so wasn’t going to be adding this particular edition to her collection.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as Sam approached her with a large hardback book about gardening.

  ‘Take a good long sniff,’ he said, making Callie laugh. He sounded like some kind of addict who was trying to corrupt her too. Luckily, though, she was already corrupted when it came to the secretive world of book-sniffing.

  Callie bent her head and took a little sniff.

  ‘Go on – inhale properly!’ Sam said.

  This time, she took a good long breath like a true connoisseur.

  ‘Good?’ he asked her.

  ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of like an autumn day which is ever so slightly damp around the edges. It’s almost earthy.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I thought that too. It’s just come in.’

  ‘Are you going to sell it?’

  ‘That’s generally the plan with books that come in,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, but I know you smuggle a good proportion upstairs to your own private collection.’

  ‘It has been known,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Perks of the job.’

  Callie returned the copy of Pride and Prejudice she was still holding to Sam. ‘I should get on. I’ve still got to go shopping.’

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ Sam said, putting his arms around her. ‘I thought you were going to keep me company for a bit.’

  ‘I should be working.’

  ‘Work later.’ He bent his head to kiss her and Callie was just beginning to see the sense in working a lot later than she’d planned when the shop bell sounded and in walked Hortense Digger.

  ‘Honey, good to see you,’ Sam said as he and Callie sprang apart.

  ‘Oh, will you look at you two lovebirds!’ she said, her pink-lipsticked mouth rising in a smile. ‘All passionate like Sergeant Troy and Bathsheba Everdene.’

  ‘I hope not quite like them,’ Sam said.

  ‘No spoilers!’ Honey said, flapping her hands in the air in panic. ‘I’ve not finished the book yet!’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ he said. ‘Can I help you with anything, Honey?’

  ‘Actually, you might well be able to,’ she said. ‘I spotted a book when we were here the night of the book club and I’m hoping you still have it.’

  Callie watched as Sam and Honey walked through to the back room. Today, Honey was wearing a long cerise raincoat and a turquoise beret with a large daisy brooch pinned to it. Callie wondered where Honey did her shopping because she’d never seen anything like Honey’s ensembles for sale in Castle Clare.

  As she listened to Sam and Honey’s voices drifting in from the back room, Callie perused the shelves some more. How she loved coming to Sam’s shop, she thought. Not only had she fallen in love with the shop itself that very first time she’d opened its green-painted door back in September and heard the merry tinkle of the old-fashioned bell, but she’d fallen madly in love with the owner too.

  How lucky she felt to have found this place. It was as if some unseen force – fate, Thomas Hardy would say – had led her here, taking her by the hand after her marriage to Piers had fallen apart and had welcomed her to the town of Castle Clare and to the bookshop where she would fall in love.

  How she loved having this place to come to on a wet, dreary winter’s day when the writing wasn’t quite going at the pace she’d like. A quick drive down the country lanes, a kiss from Sam and a peruse around the shelves was often enough to kick-start her creativity.

  She was just musing on this further when Honey and Sam appeared.

  ‘Did you find the book you wanted?’ Callie asked.

  ‘I did indeed,’ Honey said, holding it out for Callie to see. ‘Sweet Treats that will Wow the Crowd,’ she read.

  ‘I used to have a copy, but a naughty neighbour borrowed it and never gave it back. There’s a recipe in here I’m going to bake for the next book club meeting. It’ll knock the spots off anything Antonia will bake,’ she said with a little giggle, her painted pink cheeks flushing even pinker.

  ‘I detect some rivalry between you two,’ Sam said.

  ‘All good and healthy, I assure you,’ Honey said. ‘Well, it is on my side at least.’

  Sam ran the book through the till and popped it into a paper bag before handing it to Honey.

  ‘I look forward to sampling the goods,’ he said.

  ‘They will be second to none,’ she said. ‘Right, I’ll leave you two lovebirds. I’ve got an appointment at the hairdressers although I don’t know why I bother in this dreadful winter weather. I seem to spend all my time wearing a dreary hat!’

  ‘It’s far from dreary,’ Callie said.

  ‘Sweet of you, Callie darling!’ Honey said, waving to them as she adjusted the far-from-dreary hat and left the shop.

  ‘Alone at last,’ Sam said, coming round from behind the till and wrapping his arms around Callie.

  ‘Do you think we should check the street just in case anybody else is due to pop in?’

  ‘Let them catch us,’ he said. ‘What have we got to hide?’

  Callie smiled, liking his unapologetic attitude.

  ‘So,’ he began, ‘anything you want to tell me?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I mean, you still haven’t yet told me how your trip to your publisher went.’

  ‘But I rang you as soon as I got home.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yes you did,’ he said, ‘and you said absolutely nothing.’

  ‘I told you it was all fine.’

 
‘And I have the feeling you’re holding out on me, Callie Logan. What aren’t you telling me?’

  The intensity of his gaze made her feel nervous. She’d never met a man who looked at her in quite the way that Sam did – so full of compassion and understanding. It was a little unnerving.

  ‘I don’t know what you want to know.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  ‘It really wasn’t that interesting a meeting. I was in and out in no time,’ she said evasively.

  ‘So you didn’t run into Piers, then?’

  ‘Why would I run into Piers?’

  ‘Because, from what I know of things, he’s still very much interested in you and would more than likely get himself involved in this new book of yours.’

  Callie swallowed hard.

  ‘Callie?’

  ‘Okay, okay. I saw Piers. He made it his business to be there.’

  ‘As I knew he would,’ Sam said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I thought you’d get upset.’

  ‘I’m not going to get upset. Not unless you’re upset.’

  ‘Well, I’m not upset. I was mad, but I wasn’t upset.’

  ‘What were you mad about?’ Sam asked.

  ‘The way he assumed I’d just go along with whatever he suggested. That I’d be happy with him being my editor. I told him that I wanted a new editor.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said that would be arranged, but I had to threaten to pay the advance back first.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Sam said. ‘So, is that all?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is that all he said to you?’ Sam placed a finger under Callie’s chin and tipped her head up so that she couldn’t avoid eye contact.

  ‘He said he regrets letting me go,’ Callie whispered.

  ‘Of course he does,’ Sam said. ‘He’d be a fool not to see what he let slip through his fingers. Why didn’t you tell me he said that?’

  Callie looked into Sam’s warm brown eyes that were filled with such tenderness. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  He bent and kissed her forehead. ‘Hey, I’m a big boy, I can take it!’

  She gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘And I want you to be honest with me, Callie, and you can’t be honest if you’re going to hide things from me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you and now I have by not telling you!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he told her. ‘You know, I’d tell you if Emma rang and said she’d made a huge mistake in walking out on me and all my dusty old books.’

  Callie smiled at that.

  ‘Of course, that’s never going to happen, but you’d be the first person I’d tell if she ever did make that call.’

  ‘I know,’ Callie said and they kissed. ‘How did I get so lucky finding you?’

  ‘It wasn’t luck,’ he said. ‘It was fate.’

  ‘Like in Thomas Hardy?’

  ‘Oh, no. Ours was definitely the good kind of fate.’

  It was a cold and wet Sunday in January and there was a big fire roaring in the living room at Campion House. Frank Nightingale had filled the log basket that morning and the family were sitting around the fire whilst the roast cooked for lunch. Eleanor had switched two lamps on to help chase the winter blues away and the Christmas poinsettia plant, which hadn’t lasted nearly as long as Eleanor had expected, had now been composted and replaced with some beautiful evergreens which Frank had collected from the garden.

  In one of the rare moments between peeling, parboiling, roasting, setting the table and sorting out drinks for everyone, Eleanor was sitting in her favourite armchair, cosily ensconced by a heap of cushions as she enjoyed a pre-lunch glass of wine. Bryony was taking care of dessert and there was nothing more to do for a blissful half an hour.

  ‘Grandma,’ Archie said from his home on the floor where he’d been lying on his stomach reading a comic.

  ‘Yes, Archie?’

  ‘Mum’s letting me have guitar lessons.’

  ‘Really?’ Eleanor looked across the room at Polly who was sitting on the sofa flipping through a copy of The Bookseller.

  ‘With Jago,’ Archie continued. ‘He’s really cool. He’s got long hair and wears huge boots.’

  ‘Sounds like a biker,’ Josh said from the sofa next to Polly.

  ‘He’s got a motorbike,’ Archie said. ‘I’m going to ride it.’

  ‘Oh, no you’re not,’ Polly said. ‘Isn’t it enough that I’m letting you have guitar lessons?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, causing a ripple of laughter around the room.

  ‘So who’s this Jago, then?’ Eleanor asked, watching her eldest daughter carefully.

  Polly shrugged. ‘He’s Maureen Solomon’s son from across the road.’

  ‘The doctor’s receptionist?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ve always liked her,’ Eleanor said. ‘She makes time for people. What’s her son like? I mean other than his long hair and biker boots?’

  ‘He’s nice,’ Polly said. ‘He’s a good teacher, isn’t he, Archie?’

  ‘He’s really good. I can play the guitar already and I’ve only had two lessons.’

  ‘You’ll have to play something for us next Sunday, then,’ Grandpa Joe said.

  ‘Archie’s not got his own guitar yet,’ Polly said.

  ‘Are you getting him one?’ Frank asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Polly said. ‘Let’s see how he does over the next couple of months.’

  ‘But I’d love my own guitar, Mum!’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Polly said.

  It was then that the front doorbell sounded and Brontë, Hardy and Dickens, the three Nightingale dogs, tore down the hallway to a volley of excited barks.

  ‘It’s Sam and Callie!’ Lara said, springing up from the other sofa. Eleanor smiled at her youngest daughter’s enthusiasm as she left the room in a blur of wild curly hair. It was good to have Lara back for the weekend from university and she’d really taken a shine to Callie and a lovely friendship was blossoming between the two of them. How wonderful that was, Eleanor thought, to see new friendships being formed under one’s own roof.

  ‘Hey, everyone!’ Sam called from the hallway after Lara had let them in.

  ‘We’re through here, son,’ Frank called back and Sam, Callie and Lara entered the living room together. Everyone was on their feet to give the new couple a hug, all except Grandma Nell whose only concession to their arrival was to look up from the socks she was knitting.

  Polly used the opportunity of Sam and Callie arriving to escape into the kitchen where she knew Bryony was.

  ‘Hey,’ her sister said as she walked in. ‘Did you talk to Mr Guitar Player?’

  Polly nodded. ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’ Bryony said.

  Polly looked behind her, checking that nobody was about to burst into the kitchen. Finding a private place at Campion House was about as difficult as finding a room without a book in it.

  ‘I gave him your number. Numbers. He has your home, your mobile and the shop. I was hoping he’d ring you straightaway, but he didn’t say anything when he came round for Archie’s second guitar lesson yesterday and I didn’t want to sound desperate by pushing things. But I’m sure he’ll call you. I guess he’s just busy with his pupils and his band which he’s getting back together.’

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ Josh asked, walking into the kitchen.

  ‘Just girl stuff,’ Bryony said.

  ‘That must mean you’re talking about men,’ he said, rolling his eyes as he got a couple of wine glasses out of the cupboard.

  ‘You’d love to think that, wouldn’t you?’ Bryony said. ‘You’d love to imagine that we have nothing better to do than stand around and talk about men all the time.’

  ‘Oh, so I’m right, am I?’ Josh said, filling the glasses with white wine before leaving.

  ‘
Do brothers ever get any less annoying as you grow up?’ Bryony said, turning to Polly.

  ‘Nope,’ she said.

  ‘I thought not,’ Bryony said, sighing in defeat.

  As a pale sun began to show its face from behind the great bank of grey cloud that had been hanging over Wintermarsh all day, it was deemed a perfect afternoon to walk off the Sunday lunch. What was not quite so perfect was the battle which ensued in the boot room at the back of the house as the entire Nightingale family jostled and elbowed each other in an attempt to secure the best pair of wellington boots. There was a vast array in different colours and different stages of decrepitude and nobody could ever agree on which pair belonged to whom.

  ‘Josh – they’re mine!’ Lara declared.

  ‘You’re kidding, right? Those horrible pink things over there are yours.’

  ‘I’ve never worn pink wellies in my life!’ Lara cried in outrage. ‘Anyway, they’ve got a big split across the toe. I’ll get soaked if I wear them.

  ‘Wear those burgundy ones,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘But they’re not even a pair, remember?’ Bryony said. ‘The left one mysteriously went missing and was then teamed with a purple one that Brontë found in the pond.’

  ‘I don’t want it if it’s been in the pond,’ Lara said, wrinkling her pierced nose in disgust.

  ‘It might have frogspawn in it!’ Archie said.

  ‘Then you’ll have to hobble around the countryside in one boot,’ Josh said, instantly acquiring an elbow in his ribs.

  Somehow, the Nightingales managed to leave the house with their two spaniels and pointer in tow.

  Frank, Josh and Lara led the way, setting a cracking pace which nobody else bothered to keep up with. Sam and Callie were next, walking hand in hand, and they were followed by Archie who was splashing in every single puddle he passed, Dickens on a lead beside him. Eleanor, Polly and Bryony watched from behind and Grandpa Joe and Grandma Nell followed them at a more leisurely pace.

  ‘This Jago,’ Eleanor began as they walked out into an open field, linking arms with Polly, ‘Archie sounds very taken with him. Maybe you should invite him to Sunday lunch.

  Bryony glanced around at Polly.

  ‘What is it?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Is there something you aren’t telling me?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mum,’ Polly said a little too quickly to be convincing.