Summer of Love (29 page)

Further along were the gardening books, which took quite a lot of time to examine. There was a wildflower book which gave the flowers their old country names as well as the Latin: ‘sneezewort’, ‘stinking goosefoot’ and ‘shaggy soldier’.

She found herself walking slowly round every section. Partly she was fascinated and partly she felt if she’d at least visited every section she had some chance of being able to direct people to the right place. This was what most people wanted, James had told her, where to find their particular passion.

Eventually she extracted a book called
Mrs Beeton’s All About Cookery
. It had no date on it, but from the advertisements inside – one was for a stuffing mix called Stuffo – she reckoned it to be from the thirties. She flicked it open and found a recipe for ox palates and three ways of cooking tripe. She moved swiftly on to the soufflé section: there were eight of those.

She had deliberately not picked out a novel for herself. She felt she couldn’t risk disappearing into another world when she was supposed to be minding the shop. Although she had noticed a clutch of Ethel M. Dells that were almost irresistible. Although well out of date –almost for her mother’s generation – she had always loved them. Maybe she could buy them later.

Her first two customers wandered round, bought nothing and gave her no trouble. The next needed to find a present for an aunt and Fiona was able to point her in the direction of the gardening and cookery books. The woman was pleasant, paid with cash and Fiona managed to make the till work. Fiona settled into her job with more confidence. She glanced at her watch. In another two hours she could break for lunch.

She was just wondering if it was worth going out for lunch – the whole locking-up procedure was a bit daunting – when a woman came in.

About her own age, she was attractive and well dressed and was bearing a foil-covered pie dish.

‘Oh,’ she said when she saw Fiona. ‘Where’s James?’ She sounded extremely put out not to find him where she expected him to be. ‘He’s always here.’

Fiona smiled apologetically. ‘He’s gone to an auction. I’m minding the shop for him. Is there anything I can do to help?’ The dish, which appeared to be hot, was disconcerting.

‘Oh,’ the woman said again. ‘I’ve bought him a pie. Chicken and mushroom. For his lunch. He’s very fond of my pies. He says I have a very light hand with pastry.’

This seemed charmingly old-fashioned and James-like. ‘Well, I could put it in the fridge for him. He could have it when he comes home, heated up.’

The woman considered. ‘It won’t be nearly as nice as it is fresh out of the oven.’

Fiona forbore to suggest that the woman took her pie to the auction then, to ensure he got it fresh. The pie was giving out delicious smells, reminding Fiona that it was lunchtime. ‘But it would still be nicer than any pie he could buy. Do you really make your own flaky pastry?’

‘Oh yes. Most people buy it ready-made these days.’

The snooty way the woman said this made Fiona say instantly, ‘I do. I even buy it readyrolled.’ She paused. She was incurably truthful. ‘I do make shortcrust.’

‘I don’t know what to do with it now,’ said the woman. Really, her day had been ruined by James’s absence.

Although she found this woman extremely irritating, Fiona didn’t want her to be even more upset and tried to be kind. ‘Well, I could make us some tea or coffee and we could eat it?’

The woman couldn’t have been more appalled if Fiona had suggested they stole the contents of the till and went on a bender with it. ‘No! It was a present for James!’ The woman frowned crossly. ‘Excuse me, but who are you? I’ve never seen you in the shop before.’

Fiona felt horribly guilty, although she knew it was silly. ‘I’m a friend of James’s,’ she said apologetically. ‘He asked me to mind the shop for a day.’

‘Well, why didn’t he ask me?’

As Fiona had no idea who the woman was, what James’s relationship was to her, or indeed anything else about her except that she had a light hand with pastry, she couldn’t really help. Perhaps he hadn’t asked her because she was so possessive and odd? ‘He asked me because I owed him a favour.’

‘Oh? What?’

Fiona certainly wasn’t going to tell this woman the details but she didn’t have much time to think up an answer. ‘Well, he just did something for me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the pie-woman went on, meaning she wasn’t sorry in the slightest, but was in fact rather cross. ‘I thought I knew all James’s friends.’

‘I’m Fiona,’ said Fiona, hoping this would be enough. She was suddenly aware of how little she knew of James’s private life. She really hoped this woman wasn’t James’s girlfriend or anything. Partly because she seemed to be barking mad, but also because Fiona realised she didn’t want James to have a significant other.

‘But how do you know him?’ She indicated it was impossible for James to have friends he didn’t meet through the correct channels.

‘He sorted out my library for me. I know him professionally.’ This sounded good and also as if she were minding the shop because of the library, not because of anything else. She was aware that Pie-woman was asking all the questions. She should ask her some in return. ‘So, how did you get to know James?’

‘Oh, I’ve known him since he first moved here.’

Well, that definitely gives you first dibs on him, Fiona thought. Out loud she said, ‘Would you like to sit down? And do, please, put down the pie. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful heated up, just what James will want after a long day at an auction. I’ll put it in the fridge.’

‘I didn’t know he had a fridge here.’ The woman sounded indignant, as if she should know the whereabouts of all James’s white goods.

‘It’s only very small. It’s in the office. For keeping the milk for tea and coffee. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something?’ Fiona now wanted to eat the pie more than she’d ever wanted to eat anything.

‘When is he going to be back?’ The woman held on to the pie. She was not going to be seduced into letting go of it by the offer of hot drinks.

‘I don’t really know. He wasn’t sure. I think it depended on what, if anything, he wanted to buy.’

‘So he was selling?’

‘And buying. He wouldn’t need to go if he was only selling, would he?’

Pie-woman frowned. ‘I suppose not.’

‘Listen, it’s lunchtime. I was about to put the kettle on. Do join me in something.’

‘Lunchtime? Do you want to go out? I could mind the shop for an hour.’ She seemed eager.

Although she wasn’t a possessive person and she had no right to be possessive over James, Fiona found herself unable to allow this pie-maker control over James’s shop, even for an hour. After all, if James really knew this woman that well, why hadn’t he asked her to mind the shop for him? He obviously never had. That was probably for a reason. ‘That’s very kind but the alarm system is very complicated. I couldn’t possibly explain it to you. I’d decided not to go out.’

The pie-woman spotted the flaw in this argument at the same time as Fiona did. ‘Well, if I was here you wouldn’t need to lock up. I’d look after everything.’

There was something a bit avid about this woman’s desire to look after the shop, which gave Fiona a hint as to why James hadn’t asked her. ‘I’m sure you would but really, I can’t do that.’

‘I don’t see why not. I’ve known James far longer than you have!’

‘How do you know?’ The fact that this was very probably the truth didn’t make the question any less impertinent. ‘Where did you meet him? You didn’t say.’ Fiona was being quite impertinent herself but she was getting desperate. If this woman didn’t either put down the pie or leave the shop, or preferably both, she thought she might do something violent.

Her saviour came in a very unexpected form. The shop bell jangled and in walked Robert Warren.

Fiona and Robert looked at each other, she with relief and he with surprise.

‘Oh, Fiona. Er, hello!’

‘Hello, Robert!’ Fiona was much more pleased to see him than she should have been. ‘How lovely to see you!’

The pie-woman looked at Robert with the same accusing stare she had been directing towards Fiona all this time. ‘Are you a friend of James’s too?’

‘Er, no. I came here to look for a book about antiques,’ said Robert.

Fiona debated whether she should remind him that actually, he had met James, or just leave him in ignorance. A look from the pie-woman helped her decide. ‘Actually you have met him, Robert. He was at my dinner party.’

‘Oh! Oh, I remember now. He helped with the wine. I forgot he said he had a bookshop.’

‘That’s him,’ Fiona confirmed, earning herself a look of dislike from the pie-woman.

‘You must know James quite well if he’s had dinner at your house and he helped with the wine,’ the pie-woman said. She didn’t add that it was tantamount to leaving his boots under Fiona’s bed but she obviously felt it was.

‘He was working in my library,’ said Fiona primly, reading her subtext with no problem.

‘I remember him now,’ said Robert. ‘He was quite interested in old buildings.’

‘We met at the local history society. He gave us a talk on old books,’ said the pie-woman, softening a little.

‘So you’re a friend of Fiona’s?’ Robert knew how to be charming and looked genuinely eager to know the pie-woman.

‘Oh no,’ said Fiona quickly. ‘I don’t even know your name.’ She smiled, encouraging the woman to introduce herself. ‘I’m Fiona Matcham.’

‘Miriam Holmes,’ said the pie-woman, as if disclosing classified information.

‘And this is Robert Warren,’ said Fiona. ‘Miriam – may I call you that? – has a very light hand with pastry. She tells me.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Robert, giving her his intimate and flattering smile.

‘So,’ asked Miriam, softening further. ‘How did you two meet?’

‘On the internet,’ said Robert before Fiona could chip in with something less incriminating.

Miriam paled, taking in the horror. ‘You’re not telling me – are you? – that you met James over the internet? That’s disgusting!’

‘It’s not disgusting!’ defended Fiona. ‘That’s how I met Robert.’ She forced the picture of the vile and evil Evan she had also met that way aside with an effort. ‘And I told you – keep telling you – I met James because he’s sorting my library for me.’

‘You don’t think James looks on the internet for women, do you?’ Miriam didn’t seem at all reassured.

‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ said Fiona firmly. ‘He has lots of other ways of meeting women, as we can both testify. Now, would you like me to put the pie in the fridge for later or do you want to take it home?’

Reluctantly, Miriam let go of the pie. ‘No. I made it for James. I want him to have it. Have you got a pen and paper? Then I can leave him a note.’

Fiona handed these over with alacrity and then turned to Robert. ‘Is there anything I can help you with? I’m in charge of the shop today.’

‘Er, well, yes. Do you have an antiques section?’

‘We certainly have. Follow me,’ said Fiona, glad she could remember where it was.

‘I didn’t realise you and James were such close friends,’ he said, sounding disapproving as he followed her between the shelves.

‘We’re not,’ she said smoothly. ‘I’m just returning a favour he did me.’

‘What favour?’

‘Really, Robert, it’s nothing to do with you.’ She smiled, wishing simultaneously that she’d thought of an acceptable favour that James could have done for her, and that she hadn’t been so rude. It wasn’t her style.

Once she’d established Robert in front of the antiques books she went back to the desk in time to receive the note, which was long. She resolved that the moment both Miriam and Robert had left her alone she would eat the pie.

‘I didn’t eat all of it,’ she said apologetically to James a couple of hours later, ‘but I was starving.’

James thought the whole thing hilarious. ‘Come upstairs for a drink. I’ll close the shop and you can tell me again, without leaving out any of the details.’

Once she had a large glass of white wine in her hand and seen the rest of the pie safely put in the kitchen area, Fiona began to see the funny side too. ‘I didn’t leave out many before. She was just so cross to see me here! She’d murder me if she knew about the pie. Who is she?’

James ushered her into the sitting part. ‘Miriam? She’s that rather scary thing, a woman of a certain age looking for a husband.’

Fiona had been heading for the sofa but she stiffened. ‘I could be described as that myself!’

‘I know, but I don’t think you are looking for a husband and no one could think of you as scary.’

‘I don’t find that remotely flattering!’ She was indignant. ‘I can be positively daunting if I put my mind to it!’

‘And if you don’t, you’re positively adorable.’ Swiftly and quite without warning, James took the glass of wine out of her hand, set it on a convenient table and kissed her.

It took Fiona a couple of seconds to realise he really was kissing her and not just giving her a friendly peck, but no, his mouth was on hers and his arms were very tightly around her.

She had time to wonder how long it had been since she’d last been kissed like this and if she still knew what to do when she stopped bothering to think.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she said when she was released. ‘That was very unexpected.’

‘But not unwelcome?’

Fiona shook her head a little and sank down on to the sofa. She retrieved her glass and took a sip.

‘I’m sorry if I shocked you,’ said James. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’

‘Really?’ Her second sip was almost a gulp, she was so surprised. ‘I had no idea.’

James seemed to find this hard to believe. ‘Oh come on, surely you must recognise the signs. It must happen all the time.’

‘No! It doesn’t. And I thought we were just friends. I had no idea you wanted to kiss me.’

James picked up his own glass and sat next to her. ‘And the rest …’

Fiona found herself blushing and, foolishly, trying to remember what sort of underwear she had on.

‘Ever since you first walked into the shop I’ve wanted you. It was one of the reasons I’ve spent so long sorting through your books. Oh! I’ve got quite a nice cheque for you, by the way. That little collection of books did very well.’