Page 54 of The Battle of the Bookshops
She needed to see him—to confront him—but Flo was in no state to be left alone. In the end, Jules called Diana, who raced over, grasping the situation quickly and waving Jules’s apologies away.
“We’ll be fine,” she said over her shoulder as she went to sit next to Flo. “Go. You can catch the five o’clock bus if you run.”
On the bus, Jules tried to distract herself from the thoughts of Roman that were making her sob so loudly she was attracting attention. She needed to think practically about Flo’s predicament. With her entire life destroyed by the Montbeaus, Flo would have no choice but to move in with Maggie in Middlemass. She would hate it. They would both hate it. And Flo wouldn’t even have a job to distract her. Not anymore. The bookshop that had stood proudly in the high street for a hundred years would be gone, probably converted to a mini-supermarket, or a liquor store, or yet another tea shop.
Then Portneath Books, the Montbeau family’s latest greedy venture, would rule the town without opposition. The Montbeaus will have won. Again. And she personally had not only let it happen, she had even dropped her guard, made friends, fallen in love... witha Montbeau. And all that time, he had known. He had known what he and his family were going to do.
They must all be laughing their heads off.
It was a short walk from the bus stop by the pond to the Montbeau family pile, with its fancy Georgian facade, circular driveway, and close-cropped velvety lawns. It stank of privilege, stability, and wealth—all the things the Capelthornes no longer had. As always Jules slipped down the side path, keen to go unnoticed, to get to Roman’s place behind without challenge.
To her chagrin, the helpless chest-heaving sobs had returned, but she was crying with rage now, her eyes puffy and bright red nose streaming, but she didn’t let it stop her in her mission. She hammered on the studded oak door and stood back, waiting, her hands balled into fists by her side.
And then there he was, standing in the doorway, his frame filling the space, his face immediately radiating shock and empathy at the sight of her. And she saw it: the moment when he understood why she was there. The microsecond that the realization dawned on him, his face went blank.
“You knew,” she said, prodding him hard in the chest, infuriated with herself that her voice broke on a sob. Another pair of fat tears escaped her swollen red eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“Come here,” he said as he reached out to gather her into his arms, but as much as her heart wanted nothing more, it was impossible for her head to allowhim, of all the people on the earth, to comfort her.
She shoved him away with all her might and then went to pummel him with her fists, but he held her away with ease, catching her hands and pulling her arms down so he could capture her in a hug.
Imprisoned, breathing in the familiar smell of his hair and his aftershave, her cheek strafed by his five o’clock shadow, feeling his voice rumbling in his chest as he comforted her with empty words,Jules cried harder still—angry, snotty crying. She was sagging now, with the profound exhaustion that coursed through her like poison in her veins. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have slid to the ground.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was murmuring, over and over.
Time passed, and as he felt her straighten a little, he loosened his grip and looked down at her.
“Julia? Look at me,” he said softly.
He only ever called her that at his most loving. She tilted her head back, met his eyes, and saw her own pain reflected there.
“You knew this was going to happen, right from the beginning,” she croaked. “All this...” She pushed him away, more gently now. Despairingly. Her anger spent.
He gave a tiny nod. A confession.
“You knew you were going to win. That you were going to be able to shut down our shop, regardless of which business was doing best. But you let me think...” Now there was bitter humiliation mixed with the anguish. Fresh tears and snot emerged, and Jules brushed both away with her sleeve impatiently. “You made me think we had a chance. You and me. And yet, all along you knew this bomb was going to go off. It was going to finish us. Itwillfinish us.”
“I didn’t want this,” he said, his voice low.
He made as if he was going to take her in his arms again, but Jules took a step back warily. She couldn’t afford to let him do that. She didn’t have the strength to keep resisting. Not if he held her.
“It doesn’t have to be the end ofus, does it?” he asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
“Oh, but it does,” she said, sadly but resolutely. “It really does. And so, history repeats itself. The two families collide, the Montbeaus flex their muscles, and the house of Capelthorne comes crashing down, yet again. Of course it does.”
“If I could make it stop...” He held his hands out from his sides in despair, his eyes pleading for understanding.
“But you can’t,” she said flatly. “Or you won’t.”
“That’s not fair,” he said gently. “I’m not the only member of my family... and your aunt should have known, surely?”
He had a point. The same point had been sneaking into Jules’s mind, tugging at her impatiently, demanding her attention. “The Capelthornes owned that building outright once,” Jules reminded him. “There wouldn’t have even been a lease if it wasn’t for the Montbeaus shafting us in the first place.”
“But that was history. This isus. This isnow.” He reached out and grasped her upper arms, giving her a tiny shake.
“‘My only love sprung from my only hate,’” Jules murmured, with a thousand-yard stare. She couldn’t afford to meet his eye. “I let myself love a Montbeau,” she went on, “and that was a mistake.”
“We’rea mistake?” He smiled sadly at her, head to one side and eyes full of love. “You canreallysay that?”
