Page 79 of The Book of Lost Stories
He frowned: ‘Youtoldher?’
‘No, your brother told Nat. He has always known and resented the fact that you did not trust him with the secret, and he told Alys when he had her captive. I believe, sir, that you must admit that she should be allowed to represent the Hartwoods in the Order, for she is twice the man of most of the other members.’
‘I will give it my consideration. You are either brave or foolhardy to wish to wed her, but you have my blessing. Indeed, I would prefer the wedding to be very soon, before you recover your senses!’
*
‘I think it isIwho need to recover my senses,’ Alys remarked, when Rayven described this conversation. ‘If Imustmarry, against all my principles, why did I accept a man who is clearly of a tyrannical and overbearing disposition, so used to command that he will think he is entitled to order me about as he pleases?’
Since she was seated on the sofa beside him with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her, he did not fear that she would immediately break their engagement.
‘I am butter in your hands, Alys. You know you will not lose a jot of this freedom you value so much, and you will gain the run of my cellars, although I would object if you took up permanent residence down there.’
‘That is quite true,’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘And I have had such experiences of late as must lend considerable verisimilitude to my novels.’
She raised her head from his shoulder and fixed a pair of great, sparkling grey eyes on him in a way he found impossible to resist. ‘I suppose, too, that as a married woman I could see the Roman sewers, if you could arrange it, could I not? I had thought of setting my next novel in London and having my heroine escape through them, and it would be invaluable to actually see them.’
‘It shall be the highlight of our honeymoon,’ he promised, and she returned his embrace with the fervour of true bliss.
EPILOGUE
Cleo Finch
August 2024
I had an early breakfast with Unks in the morning, before he left for a two-day book-hunting trip down south, and there wasn’t a sound from Tris’s room, so I hoped he was having a good long sleep and would wake up feeling much better.
I went down to open up the shop: Tom and I were holding the fort until Unks’ return, but today was half-day closing anyway.
Tris didn’t make an appearance, but just before we closed at lunchtime I heard footsteps overhead. I wondered if he’d been awake enough at any point last night to start reading my novel and, if so, what he’d thought of it.
Tilly followed me upstairs where we found Tris sitting at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee, his curling chestnut hair still damp from the shower and, despite some violet shadows under his clear grey eyes, looking much more alert than when he had arrived.
‘Back in the land of the living, I see,’ I said, and when hesmiled at me I had the sudden strange swooping feeling in my stomach that I’d felt last night. I suppose it was just happiness at seeing him again after so long.
Or maybe this time the odd sensation was because my manuscript was lying on the table next to his plate.
‘Just about,’ he said as I took a mug and poured myself some coffee, while Tilly draped herself around his neck in lieu of Uncle Ambrose. She never did that to me – I was quite jealous!
He tapped my manuscript with one long finger. ‘When I went to bed last night, although it was good to lie down, I was too wired to sleep, so I ended up reading your entire novel before dawn. Then I went out like a light after that.’
‘You read thewhole thing?’
‘Cover to cover – I couldn’t stop! It’s so clever, the way you’ve brought the journal and all the characters to life.’
I felt a huge relief. ‘You enjoyed it, then?’
‘Of course – it’s brilliant,’ he said, looking surprised. ‘In fact, I think it’s going to be a bestseller and I want to write the script for it, because it would make a great film or TV series! I’d like to give it a go, anyway.’
‘Of course,’ I said, feeling flattered. ‘You are the only person who has read it yet, although Unks knew what I was doing.’
‘I think we have a lot to discuss. But first, I’d like to see the original journal for myself.’
‘Of course, but why don’t we have some lunch first and postpone all that till afterwards?’ I suggested, getting up. ‘Omelette and salad with crusty wholemeal bread with a slice of your favourite Bakewell tart to follow?’
‘Sounds perfect to me,’ he agreed.
*
