Page 63 of Book People

Sebastian is waiting for me outside the door of Wychtree Crafts the next day. I’ve been successfully not thinking of him all day and his presence makes my traitorous little heart leap inside my chest.

I feel as if I’m always cataloguing what he’s wearing, but I can’t help it. I notice these things. Today he’s in a plain white shirt and plain black trousers. He should look like a waiter or something, but he doesn’t. He’s ascetic as a monk and it suits him. There’s nothing to distract from his perfect bone structure and the white makes his eyes glow blue as cornflowers.

My God. I’m sixteen again and mooning over the captain of the school rugby team. It’s ridiculous and I need to stop.

I smile at him, bright and unbothered. ‘Hi,’ I say.

He nods. ‘Miss Jones.’

Miss Jones. What crap. I want to tell him he can call me Kate, the world won’t blow up or anything, but I can’t be bothered having that discussion today. Not when I’m about to meet someone who might have known my grandmother, so all I do is gesture at the door. ‘Shall we?’

He pushes it open for me and I step inside.

It’s a homey, cosy little shop. Full of hand-knitted jumpers, baby blankets, quilts of all shapes and sizes, pottery, carvings, rugs, assorted souvenirs and a small case of locally made jewellery.

Mrs Bennet presides behind the counter and she’s chatting to a customer as Sebastian follows me inside and the door closes. This current awkwardness in front of someone else from the village is too much for me, so I ignore him and wander amongst the shelves while we wait for her customer to leave.

It’sespeciallyawkward after Aisling texted me this morning, informing me that Sebastian had been seen leaving my shop in the early hours of the morning a few days earlier and that now the village is rife with rumour.

In fact, I thought I caught a gleam in Mrs Abbot’s eye this morning when she came in to view the latest romance titles, not to mention some significant side-eye from the mums’ morning tea group this morning.

Gossip doesn’t bother me, as a rule, and I don’t particularly care that someone saw Sebastian – they can think what they like. But Sebastianwillcare, I already know that. It’s not fair, since he was the one who started it with that kiss, but still. He’s lived here his whole life and he’s already done his utmost to distance himself from the village. Gossip will make him want to put even more distance between himself and everyone else now.

The customer leaves and Sebastian approaches the counter, so I gird my loins and follow him.

Mrs Bennet is in her late seventies, still sharp as a tack, and her eyesight’s perfect – which is why she reigns supreme re the dartboard. Her iron-grey hair is cut in a severe bob, she wears bright red lipstick, and her nails have the most beautiful French manicure. She looks after herself, does Mrs Bennet.

She eyes us as we come to the counter. ‘Sebastian,’ she says, in measured tones. ‘And . . . Kate.’

Sebastian gives her a cool smile. ‘Mrs Bennet. You’re looking well this afternoon. Is that a new lipstick I see?’

Much to my surprise, Mrs Bennet blushes like a schoolgirl. ‘Why, yes, it is.’

‘It looks fantastic on you.’ He’s not effusive, yet his attention is wholly on her, as if he can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing than talking to her, and, well, all I can think is that the man is downright charming when he wants to be.

I feel as if I’m watching a master flirt in action as stone-faced Mrs Bennet positively melts under his regard. I don’t know her well, since Mrs Bennet doesn’t read. She knits and sews and crochets instead, so I don’t have that much to do with her. Though I have more than a few of her items in my kitchen cupboards; I love a pretty mug.

‘Why thank you, Sebastian,’ she says, fluttering a little. ‘The girl in Boots said it flattered my complexion, but I wasn’t sure.’

‘Rest assured, Mrs Bennet, it is, indeed, very flattering.’ He leans a hip against the counter. ‘So, I’m here on a little mission and I wonder if you could possibly help us.’

‘Oh yes?’ She doesn’t look at me, only him. ‘What help do you need?’

‘Miss Jones has been here in the village a couple of months now and she’d very much like to find out more about her family.’

‘Oh, she does, does she?’ Mrs Bennet finally looks at me, dark eyes sharp, then back at him. ‘I heard a rumour about you two, you know.’

Sebastian raises an imperious brow while I try not to blush, as it’s not as if I’m a simpering virgin. ‘It was just one night,’ I say, before he can stick his oar in, because there’s no point in denying it. ‘No big deal.’

‘Hmm.’ Mrs Jean Bennet is disapproving. ‘So casual, you young people. We were more careful about it in our day.’

‘Your day?’ Sebastian asks. ‘You mean the “swinging sixties”?’

Mrs Bennet’s stern expression relaxes. ‘I said we were careful, child. I never said we didn’t have sex. We did. A lot.’

I don’t quite know what to say to this, but Sebastian only shrugs. ‘As I was saying, Miss Jones wants to find out about the Joneses. Her mother took her away from Wychtree when she was very young, and never returned.’ He pauses and gives her another full blast of his total attention. ‘I think you were friends with Rose Jones, weren’t you?’

A rush of excitement goes through me. She was my grandmother’s friend? I had no idea.

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