Page 54 of Book People

‘How awful.’ There’s sympathy in her eyes. ‘Do you think it might have something to do with C?’

‘Judging from those notes, possibly. Anyway, my grandfather took over the bookshop afterwards, but his successful running of it was stymied by a gambling addiction that only got worse after my grandmother left him.’

Her brow creases. ‘Oh dear. How did that happen? Your grandmother leaving, I mean?’

‘Oh, she met my grandfather when they were both very young. Too young. She was one of those sixties hippies who lived an itinerant lifestyle. There was some music festival happening near Wychtree and she was staying in the village, and wandered into the bookshop one day. Love at first sight, apparently. Anyway, she was a free spirit, and didn’t like the village any more than my great-grandmother did. My grandfather had to marry her because she got pregnant, and that was what you did back then. Not long after having Dad, she left my grandfather and went back to London.’ I sift yet more strands of her hair through my fingers, relishing the feel of it. ‘I don’t remember her – she didn’t have much contact with Dad after she left, or so Dad said – but it broke my grandfather’s heart. He gambled a lot afterwards and my father had to take steps to protect the bookshop as he got older and could take over. My grandfather then died about nine years ago of a stroke.’

The crease between her brows deepens. ‘Oh, that’s tragic.’

‘The Blackwoods are famous for falling for and marrying unsuitable women far too young,’ I say. ‘My father was the same.’

She puts her chin on her folded hands. ‘How?’

An old grief grips me, but I’m the one who’s introduced the subject, so I go on. ‘Dad met Mum in a café when he was in London for a book fair. She was studying law, was bright and ambitious, and they hit it off talking about books.’ Memoriesplay through my head, of sitting in the garden with Mum as she tells me about the day she met Dad. How she loved his intelligence and his quick wit. I remember her smiling and shooting me a glance. ‘And his blue eyes,’ she added. ‘She loved the bookshop, unlike the other Blackwood wives. And she loved the village. She studied law through the Open University and wanted to start her own practice here. But . . . my father preferred the bottle to her. She was actually going to leave him, I think, but then she found out she had cancer.’

An old anger twists in my gut. At Dad and how he let his addiction get in the way of being a good husband. How he let it control him and eventually how he disappeared into it and into his grief. How he stopped being a husband to my mother and a father to me.

But I don’t want to talk about Dad. We’re talking about my mother and she’s more important.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Kate says. ‘That must have been really awful.’

‘It was,’ I say simply. Because that’s exactly what it was. Awful. ‘It was a long time ago, but I was very close to her.’ I hesitate a moment, then add, ‘I started reading fantasy books and science fiction when she was sick. Because it was an escape. I could lose myself for a few hours in a totally different world.’

She nods. ‘That makes sense. But . . . why did you never expand what you carry in the bookshop? You don’t include genre fiction at all and I can’t help but wonder, if you like it, why you don’t?’

It’s a fair question and one I’ve never put much thought into, because I’ve never had to. Not until she came along. ‘Because that’s the way it’s always been done,’ I say, thinking. ‘My grandfather didn’t want to stock what he thought were “cheap” books, so we never did. And Dad . . . lost interest in the bookshop after Mum died.’ I wind one of her curls around my finger. ‘Agood thing, since if I had, your bookshop may not have got off the ground.’

She smiles. ‘Oh, you think so?’

I’m only partly teasing her. ‘Of course. I am a very good bookseller, Miss Jones.’

She shifts on me, the press of her body against mine rousing me, and the lazy desire coursing through my veins becomes less lazy. ‘You are, Sebastian. But you could have some amazing events at Blackwood Books. Different from mine, but along the same lines.’ There’s excitement in her eyes now. ‘You could have talks on art history or architecture or photography or something.’ Her face is beautifully flushed. ‘Oh, what about a chess evening? Or a poetry reading? Do you have a book club?’ She gives me a sudden and very direct stare. ‘Why do you not have a book club, Sebastian?’

I let go of her hair and shift, turning us both over and pinning her beneath me. ‘Because I never knew I needed one,’ I say, as I settle myself between her thighs.

She puts her palms flat to my chest, stroking my skin with her thumbs. It feels good. More than good. It feels fantastic. ‘Well, you do. As much as we’d like them to, books don’t just sell themselves these days. You have to get out there and sell them. Tell people why they should be reading instead of watching Netflix or playing World of Warcraft or whatever else they’re doing. Ask people what they like to read, tell them about new releases . . . There’s lots you can be doing.’ She reaches one hand to my face, touching my cheekbone. Her fingers are gentle and it’s been so long since I’ve been touched this way, I can hardly stand it. ‘You have so much experience and so much knowledge about what you do, Sebastian. But more than that, you have passion. And I think there are a lot of people who’d love to share that with you.’

I lean into her hand the way she leaned into mine, then I turn and press a kiss to her palm. ‘I don’t take kindly to people telling me how to do my job. But I’ll make an exception for you.’ Again, I’m only partly teasing.

‘It’s a good idea,’ she says earnestly. ‘You know I’m right.’

I move on her, pressing myself against the sensitive place between her thighs, making her gasp. ‘You are. You’re an incredibly intelligent woman, Kate Jones. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you’re brilliant.’

Colour flushes her face, her hair spread and tangled on the pillow like sea-drenched kelp. A mermaid I’ve caught and am taking my pleasure with. ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she says, smiling. ‘If you help me with my history, I could help you with getting events started at Blackwood Books, or even a newsletter.’

I shouldn’t agree, not when being in her company constantly is such a test. Then again, I’ve already agreed to too much and what she’s suggested will help the bookshop. As to having her around all the time . . . well, that will be the future’s problem. Right now, there’s only one issue that’s concerning me.

‘I would love your help,’ I say. ‘And I could also use your help with this other little problem of mine.’ I shift again, making her groan. ‘It appears some beautiful witch has got me hard and I really don’t know what to do about it.’

She’s breathing faster now. ‘You really don’t? Do you need some instruction?’

I take her wrists in my hands and press them down on the pillow beside her head. ‘Oh, I think I can work it out.’

I bend and kiss her.

And lose us both in the never-ending moment.

Chapter Fifteen

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