Page 28 of The Battle of the Bookshops
“Well, I mean, you probably already know—there’s Imogen Crawley just up the road.”
“TheImogen Crawley, as in the Carnegie Medal winner? The Tango and Ruth books? Ilovethose books.” Imogen Crawley had burst onto the scene to unprecedented success not long before. She was one of publishing’s unicorns—a debut triumph—and the one all the other publishers wanted to beat, with rumors of a big, animated film coming out at some point in the future too.
“Yup, that’s the one,” confirmed Jess. “She lives in Middlemass. Married to the gorgeous Gabriel Havenbury, from Middlemass Hall? They don’t live at the Hall anymore, though, they’re in Storybook Cottage now—that’s the really pretty little house near the gates to Middlemass Hall, do you know?”
“I do!Howdoes a Carnegie-prizewinning children’s book illustrator live in my old childhood village, and I don’t even know about it?” exclaimed Jules.
“She’s a blow-in like me.” Jess grinned. “I’ve lived there a little bit longer than Imo, but, yeah, she’s settled in well. Part of the furniture up there now.”
“She must be really grand, though,” said Jules, who well remembered the handsome, intimidating Gabriel of old. There was absolutely no chance he would ever remember her. He had been one of Roman’s mates, just like Finn—very much one of the cool crowd. Jules was sure his new wife would be equally unapproachable. “I imagine I’d have to curtsy to her, wouldn’t I? How do you address the partner of a lord? Is it ‘my lady’? I have no clue.”
“God, no,” said Jess. “Just call her Imo. She’s really down-to-earth. Hang on, I don’t believe it, that’s ridiculous...”
Jess had been idly looking out the office door and through the front of the shop as she spoke, and suddenly she leaped to her feet and charged out into the street, taking by surprise a small, curly-haired woman walking past with a toddler strapped into a stroller.
Jules watched as Jess, talking excitedly, dragged the poor woman into the shop and through to the office.
“If this isn’t kismet, I don’t know what is,” she declared. “Jules, please allow me to present the one and only Imogen Crawley, soon to be Capelthorne’s painter-in-residence extraordinaire.”
Jules wasn’t sure how pleased she should be with Jess’s impulsive action. Fate was all very well, but the whole artist-in-residence thing was just a germ of an idea; she would have liked longer to sort out the details before she had to pitch it to anyone. Now Imogen would think she was hopelessly unprofessional, making stuff up as she went along.
“It’s amazing to meet you,” she told Imogen, with a smile. “Of course, I know and adore your work. I had no idea you were local until Jess told me about ten seconds ago.”
“That’s about as long as I’ve been here,” joked Imogen, springing the child from her stroller in response to protesting noises that were increasing in volume. “It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind, what with this one.” She dropped a kiss onto the silky black hair of the child who, having got what she wanted, nestled into Imogen’s neck and plugged her mouth with her thumb triumphantly.
“She’s adorable,” said Jules, melting. And she didn’t evenlikebabies. As the child sucked audibly on her thumb, her eyes drooped closed, dark lashes fanning across her round pink cheeks.
“So, this is Ruth,” Imogen said, taking a tiny, starfish hand and waggling it at them in greeting. “Hah! Dead to the worldnow, and well she might be, after keeping me and Gabriel up half the night.”
“What? You mean your baby’s called Ruth, like the character in your books?” said Jules, enchanted. “Don’t tell me Tango is a real cat too?”
“Sorry. Staggering lack of imagination on my part,” admitted Imogen. “Although, in my defense, the baby cameafterthe book character, but I admit, I already had the cat in real life.”
“And is the real Tango a bit of an egotist like the one in the books?” probed Jules.
“Worse,” Imogen divulged. “In mitigation, he does adore the baby, though. She takes every opportunity to pull his tail, and he keeps his claws to himself in the face of impossible provocation. So, are you really looking for an artist-in-residence?”
Imogen looked around the little shop, as if she expected to already see someone quietly painting away in the corner.
“I thought I might be,” said Jules, screwing up her face, “but I hadn’t really got any further than that. Would you seriously even consider it? I’d be blown away if you said yes.”
“I do love this shop,” Imogen said. “And I know you’ve got competition from Roman now, which must be tough. I remember coming in here a lot when I was expecting Ruth. That was just before my first book came out, and well, my feet haven’t touched the ground since.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’d love to help... to give something back to the industry that’s been so kind to me. I know I’m incredibly lucky.”
“Youmustbe too busy, though, no?”Why am I talking her out of it?thought Jules.
“To be honest, it could help me,” insisted Imogen. “I’ve got Gabriel working downstairs below my studio at the Hall, and he’s always coming up for a chat. We’re shockingly bad about not interrupting each other. Gabe’s productivity’s gone right down too. I’m working on a new book at the moment,” she went on, “and it would be great to come here and find a bit of focus. Have easel and paints, will travel, but”—she grimaced—“I could only do a couple of days a week, when Ruth’s in nursery—would that be any good?”
“It would be fantastic!” said Jules, hardly able to believe her ears. “Maybe if you just do two weeks? I’d make sure we had loads of your books in stock, naturally, and you could maybe sign them for customers? We’ll promote you like mad, get you on the local radio, all that stuff...”
“Sure,” said Imogen. “I’ve been on South Devon Sound a fair bit, I know one of the presenters there, so that should be okay.”
“Oh, and maybe...” Jules stopped. It would be a cheek to ask.
“Maybe I could even do, like, a talk or a workshop thing or something?” Imogen ventured.
“Yes!” said Jules, mind whirling with possibilities. “We could sell tickets with refreshments and a signed copy of a book priced in?”
“Ooh!” said Jess. “If you’re doing workshops, I want in, please! I’ve got some amazing artistic children in my schools locally. This could be the most incredible enrichment activity for them—reallyinspiring. I’ve got one kid—my stepdaughter, if I’m honest—who is the most extraordinarily talented manga artist. She would simply fly with a bit of encouragement from a real-life illustrator.”
