‘Some nineteenth-century editions, a couple of Hogarth Press books–’
‘Jeepers!’ Bryony exclaimed.
‘Is he going to bring them back?’ Polly asked, standing back up to full height and helping Grandpa up from the floor.
‘How the hell should I know?’ Sam said, raking a hand through his hair.
‘What are you going to do?’ Grandpa Joe asked, slumping onto the sofa in the middle of the living room.
‘I’m not sure there’s a lot I can do,’ Sam said, ‘but, when Emma realises I was telling her the truth about the book of poems, maybe she’ll return the books her idiot brother took.’
Polly sat down next to her grandfather. ‘You okay?’
He nodded. ‘Nothing a brandy wouldn’t fix.’
Polly nodded. ‘Sam?’
‘Top of the cabinet,’ he said.
‘Pour us all one,’ Bryony said.
Four brandies were poured and Sam pulled out two wooden chairs from the table for himself and Bryony. Emma had taken custody of most of the marital furniture when they’d split up and Sam had had to start from scratch with cast offs from his family and pieces he’d picked up secondhand.
‘Well,’ Grandpa Joe began after a generous slurp of brandy, ‘never say life as an antiquarian is dull!’
‘It’s not funny, Grandpa,’ Polly said. ‘You could have been seriously hurt.’
‘I’m not worried about that,’ he said with a harrumph, ‘I’m worried about those books.’
‘Forget the books,’ Polly said. ‘Are you quite sure you didn’t bang your head?’
‘Stop fussing, girl,’ he said. ‘You’re worse than your grandmother.’
Polly tutted which made Sam smile. Polly was always being told how very much she took after Grandma Nell. She was forever fussing around, making sure everyone had eaten enough or that they were wearing enough warm clothes. It was an endearing trait, but it was obvious that Grandpa was in no mood to be mollycoddled.
‘What are we going to do?’ Grandpa Joe asked, his great gnarly hands clenching his knees.
‘We are going to shut up shop, that’s what we’re going to do,’ Sam said.
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s all,’ he said.
Grandpa muttered something into his thick white moustache.
‘What?’ Sam said as he made towards the door. ‘What would you have me do. Grandpa? Run down the street shouting blue murder? Getting the police involved and making this into an even uglier mess than it already is?’
‘Maybe you should buy a Rottweiler,’ Bryony said.
‘Or at least get CCTV,’ Polly said.
‘I can’t afford that,’ Sam said.
‘Well, at least keep your private living quarters locked when you’re down in the shop so that maniacs like Aidan Jones can’t just barge in and take what they want,’ Bryony said.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll lock my door.’
Sam left the room, walking downstairs to close up the shop. He tidied the area around the till and then went around the place, realigning books and returning the copy of Jilly Cooper’s Riders that had been placed in the crime section when the elderly browser had hurriedly left the shop as Aidan Jones had arrived.
Sam took his glasses off and pinched his nose, trying desperately to put the memory out of his head. He shuddered to think what he might have lost from his personal collection of beloved books that day. Could he rely on Emma to do the decent thing and return them to him? He wasn’t at all sure about that. One thing he was sure about, though, was that he was never going to lose his heart to a woman again.
Chapter 12
When Sam came downstairs to open the shop the next morning, he was baffled to see a number of people standing around outside the window, some bent double over the pavement.
He unlocked the door, turned the “open” sign around and went to see what was going on. The first person he recognised was Lily Ann Taylor. She was in her mid-fifties, was a regular customer at the Nightingale’s bookshops and loved nothing more than a bargain.
‘Good morning, Lily Ann,’ he said with a smile. ‘What’s happening here, then?’
‘Mr Nightingale!’ Lily Ann exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement. ‘Are you doing a giveaway here?’
‘Pardon?’ he said, looking at the group of people who were huddled around what looked like a cardboard box. He squeezed himself between two ladies and his mouth dropped open in horror as he saw what they were all so interested in.
‘My books,’ he said, instantly recognising the hardbacks which Aidan Jones had taken just the day before. So, he’d brought them back, Sam thought. But when had he dropped them off? Exactly how long had they been hanging around on the pavement for all and sundry to pick through?
‘They are free to take, aren’t they?’ an elderly lady with a large tartan shopper asked, a look in her eyes which seemed to suggest she was ready to fill it to the brim with Sam’s precious books if they were, indeed, free.
‘No,’ Sam said. ‘NO!’
The woman dropped one of the books back into the box in shock.
‘Sorry,’ Sam said. ‘I’m really sorry, everybody, but these books are part of my own collection.’
‘Then what are they doing on the street?’ she asked him.
‘There’s been a mistake,’ Sam said. ‘They shouldn’t be out here at all, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry to confuse you all.’
‘But Winston has already taken one,’ the elderly woman said, nodding down the street.
‘Oh, blimey!’ Sam exclaimed, taking the heavy box up from the pavement and hurrying into the shop with it before coming back outside and locking the door behind him.
‘Where did he go?’ Sam asked. ‘Where did Mr Kneller go?’
‘Towards the church, I think,’ Lily Ann said.
Sam began to run, weaving his way through the morning shoppers out in Castle Clare, but he couldn’t see any sign of Winston Kneller. He was probably long gone, Sam thought. Long gone with one of his favourite books.
Turning right into Market Square, Sam was heartily relieved to spot the old man.
‘Mr Kneller,’ he cried, catching up with him outside the Co-op supermarket.
‘Sam?’ the old man said as he turned around on hearing his name. ‘You all right there?’ He was wearing a jaunty brown felt hat and a slim red and white scarf. He gave a cheeky little smile and Sam thought, not for the first time, that Winston Kneller had the kind of face that one would expect to find on a Toby jug.
‘Mr Kneller,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to chase after you like that, but I believe you have one of my books.’
Mr Kneller looked down into the canvas shopping bag he was holding in which was a can of tomato soup, a packet of cheese-topped rolls and a bag of dog treats. And a beautiful old hardback book.
‘You mean this?’ he said, taking the book out of the bag.
Sam nodded. ‘It’s not for sale, I’m afraid.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It was free. That’s what Lily Ann told me.’
‘I’m afraid she’s wrong,’ Sam said. ‘Somebody was returning my books and left them outside the shop. They should never have been there. I’m really sorry for the confusion.’
‘Oh,’ Mr Kneller said, reluctantly handing the book back to Sam. It was a very rare first edition printed by the Hogarth Press. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘But do come into the shop sometime. We have many reasonably priced books actually for sale,’ he said with a little smile.
Mr Kneller tipped his hat. ‘I will,’ he said.
‘And perhaps you’d be interested in our new book club,’ Sam added.
‘A book club?’
‘We’re setting one up to meet in the shop. You’d be most welcome. I’ll send you the details.’
‘Will there be refreshments?’ the old man asked.
‘Tea, coffee and biscuits,’ Sam said, ‘and if Antonia Jessop joins, which I’m sure she will, th
ere’ll be cakes too no doubt.’
Mr Kneller’s old eyes lit up at the mention of cakes. ‘Count me in,’ he said, waving a gloved hand at Sam before he went on his way.
Sam watched him go and then returned to his shop, hoping that his Hogarth Press book didn’t smell of dog biscuits.
He was just moving the box of books to a safe place behind the counter when Bryony came into the shop.
‘What have you been up to?’ she asked. ‘It looked like the entire population of Castle Clare was outside your shop. You having a sale or something?’
‘No, I’m not having a sale,’ Sam said.
It was as Bryony approached the till that she saw the cardboard box. ‘Are they your books?’
‘Yes,’ Sam said.
‘Oh, thank goodness for that! Are they all there?’
‘I’m just checking now.’
‘Want a hand?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to get them upstairs before anyone else tries to run off with them,’ he said.
‘I’ll lock the door here for a minute.’
The two of them then took the books up to Sam’s flat, popping the box on the landing floor whilst he got his key out.
‘Glad to see you’re taking security more seriously now,’ Bryony said.
‘After seeing half of Suffolk trying to run off with my first editions and having Aidan breaking in, I am definitely taking security more seriously,’ he said, shaking his head at the memory.
Ten minutes later and the books were all safely restored to Sam’s shelves and the two of them had returned downstairs to reopen the shop.
‘Do you think you’ll hear from Emma again?’ Bryony asked.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ he said.
‘Dear Sam,’ she said, taking her brother’s hand and squeezing it. ‘You deserve to find the loveliest, kindest girl in the world!’
‘What I deserve,’ Sam said, ‘is to be left alone in peace.’
Bryony shook her head. ‘As if we’re ever going to let that happen to you!’ she said with a grin.
The writing had been going well. As Callie reached what she hoped was the halfway point of her new story, she took a moment to enjoy the sensation. She had something, she thought. She really had something. She wasn’t quite sure what it was yet, but her agent had looked at the first few chapters and had seemed enthusiastic about it so that was a good sign.
Rolling her shoulders back, she realised just how stiff she had become from the hours she’d been spending at the keyboard. She needed a good walk, she thought as she got up from her chair and walked to the little window which looked out over the front garden and on towards the common. She’d been walking a lot more over the last few weeks but, now that it was the end of October, the clocks would be going back and the nights would be drawing in, meaning less time in the great outdoors. What would she and Leo do then, she wondered?
A blush heated her face as she thought of the implications of that question. Since the bonfire supper in the woods, she had seen Leo several times each week. Most of their dates had been walks. She’d decided that she liked the sort of man who considered that a walk along a river in search of mushrooms was a very good date to take somebody on, and she couldn’t help being charmed by the fact that he’d turned up for such a date in wellies and a cap. After the terrible mistake she’d made of dressing up for her first date with Leo, she’d soon learned that trousers and sturdy footwear was the way to go. In fact, he’d been teaching her how to dress properly and there’d been a very interesting shopping trip after that first walk, with Leo insisting that Callie had to start dressing as if she meant to stay in the country and not like she was just visiting it.
‘What do you mean?’ she’d protested.
Leo had looked down at the pink wellies with blue dots on them and had shaken his head.
‘They will not do,’ he said. ‘Maybe they’ll do for a walk down a dry lane to the post box, but they’ll split and crack before the winter’s out and they won’t keep you warm if you’re standing in the middle of a field, trust me.’
Callie didn’t like to say that she had no plans for standing around in the middle of fields, but maybe that’s what she was destined for if she continued to date Leo. So she ditched her gorgeously girly pink wellies and bought a pair of heavy duty black ones which felt very snug indeed, she had to admit.
She’d also bought herself a tweed coat once she’d received her royalty cheque for her books. It seemed to bury her and had more pockets than she could ever hope to fill.
‘What are all these for?’ she’d asked Leo.
‘Oh, shotgun cartridges and dead partridges,’ he’d told her without blinking. Her mouth had dropped open. ‘Or, in your case, a notepad and pen.’
She’d smiled at him and watched as Leo had chosen a rather fetching woolly hat for her.
‘I haven’t worn a hat since I was seven,’ she said.
‘Well, you will now unless you want your ears to fall off with frostbite,’ he’d told her. ‘East Anglian winters can be brutal.’
So, she was wearing the proper clothes for the second walk they went on and that’s when she’d been introduced to Truffle and Blewit who were utterly adorable and instantly gave Callie their approval as they’d walked across the fields together.
‘I wanted to show you one of my favourite views of Suffolk,’ Leo said. ‘Well, it’s one of my favourite views in the world.’
They walked up a gentle hill, keeping to a footpath which skirted a wood. The field to the right had recently been ploughed, leaving corduroy-like ridges across the land. Since moving to Suffolk, Callie had fallen in love with the fields, watching the ever-changing colours and the wildlife that called this special place home.
The air was cool and she was thankful for her new coat and hat, and her boots had already been baptised in Suffolk mud. She would look like a real country girl in no time, she thought. She was even beginning to recognise the plants around her. She’d spotted lipstick-pink spindle berries in a hedgerow as they’d parked the Land Rover, and had even noticed a couple of parasol mushrooms as they’d entered a field.
‘I’ll come back for those later,’ Leo said as he strode ahead of her, her hand in his. How quickly they had taken to holding hands, Callie thought. The first time had been when she was climbing over a very high stile. Leo was waiting for her on the other side and held a strong hand out to her and, when she’d placed her hand in his, he hadn’t let go of it once she was safely down on the ground.
As they reached the top of the hill, the valley below spread out before them, the river winding its way through lush green fields. There were little copses dotted around the landscape, and cottages, farmhouses and pretty churches which all looked as if they had been a part of the landscape forever.
What a joy it was going to be to live through each of the seasons in the English countryside, Callie thought as she took in the view. This is my home now, she said to herself and how wonderful it would be to glory in the changing light and colours, the sounds and the scents of each passing day.
‘Do you like it?’ Leo asked her after they’d been standing in silence together for a good long time.
‘I love it,’ she said, watching as the clouds broke and a shaft of sunlight lit the valley, bathing everything in a golden light.
‘You’d have to go a long way to beat a view like this and I’m not sure there is one.’
‘You really love this place, don’t you?’ she said, looking at him as his dark hair flew around his face in the breeze.
‘It’s a part of me,’ he said. ‘See that little bend in the river after the thatched cottage?’
Callie looked towards the spot he was pointing at. ‘Yes?’
‘I learnt to swim there.’
‘Did you?’
He nodded. ‘One hot summer evening.’
‘Who taught you?’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘Just after my brother pushed me in.’
‘Oh, no!’
Callie laughed.
‘And that field over there – the one which slopes down towards the churchyard – I ate my first foraged mushroom there which actually turned out to be a really bad idea because it was a toadstool and made me very sick.’
‘It didn’t put you off foraging, though.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It made me even more determined to find out more and get things right next time.’
‘What else?’ Callie asked, liking this potted history of Leo and seeing the landscape through his eyes.
‘Let me see,’ he said, surveying the scene before him. ‘Ah, yes. See that big old oak tree?’
‘It’s magnificent,’ Callie said. ‘It must be hundreds of years old.’
‘At least five hundred years,’ he said, ‘and it’s got my initials carved into it.’
‘You vandal!’ she teased.
‘Well, I had something very important to commemorate there,’ he said.
‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘My first kiss,’ he said, his dark eyes watching for her response.
‘Oh, I see,’ Callie said. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to hear about Leo Wildman’s first kiss.
‘It was a pretty memorable occasion,’ he told her.
‘Right,’ she said.
‘But I didn’t really have anything to compare it with back then,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think it’s going to be as memorable as this kiss.’
Before Callie could process his words properly, he’d lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth firm and warm on hers.
Callie thought of that day now as she looked out of her study window. She thought of the coolness of the breeze and the warmth of Leo’s hand and the fire in his kiss.
Their third date had been slightly more formal. Leo had introduced her to one of his favourite pubs and they’d had lunch by an open fire. Then, as was becoming a routine, they went for a walk. This time, through a pretty Suffolk village full of pink cottages and medieval houses. They had held hands and shared a kiss as they’d crossed over a bridge.
The Book Lovers Page 13
