Page 72 of The Battle of the Bookshops
“Yeah, so the conservation officer is telling us not to do too much to clear off the charring, even,” Roman went on. “I offered to get them sandblasted, but she said it was better for the beams to show signs of fire. The darkening adds to the story of the building, apparently.”
“Hmm, I suppose it does,” said Henry, spearing a huge piece of Yorkshire pudding soaked in gravy and shoveling it in thoughtfully.
Business done, the men concentrated on their food while Bunty charmingly drew Jules out about her former career in publishing.
“It all sounds so glamorous,” she was saying, over a heavenly homemade pavlova with plump blackberries and a heady blackberry vodka syllabub for the cream. “And you’ve actually met Fenella Richardson? Iadoreher books.”
Jules didn’t like to say that Fenella Richardson was a monster and that she was sure her former boss would have done her best to render Jules unemployable throughout the whole of the London publishing scene. She had been thinking perhaps, when she was confident Aunt Flo was fully recovered, she might look into getting a job at one of the regional satellite offices that the larger publishers were now setting up. There was talk of a new Penguin Random House office in Exeter, she had heard. Theymightnot have heard she was a disaster. That could work. She didn’t want to give the impression of being an utterly hopeless prospect for Bunty’s darling son to have committed emotionally to.
“I’ve been bullied into buying a table at this ball thing at the end of the month,” said Henry, once the London publishing conversational thread had petered out. “I hope you will join us, my dear.” He nodded gallantly toward Jules. “It’s a family compulsory service,” he went on, pointing his knife at Perdy, quelling dissent before she even spoke. “You,” he told her, “can bring that vacant-headed young farmer chap that’s been panting around you recently.”
Poor Perdy blushed. “What? Rupert? He’s an idiot,” she muttered.
“Bound to be, if he’s as keen as Dad says,” taunted Roman.
Perdy stuck out her tongue at him.
“So that makes six of us,” interrupted Bunty firmly. “But it’s a table of ten, isn’t it, darling?” she asked her husband. “Four more places to fill.”
“Not a problem,” said Roman. “All the usual crowd are going. I’ll see who’s handy.”
Jules’s stomach, filled with beef and meringue, roiled at thethought. Black-tie balls were daunting, with the complicated dress code and the noise and everyone else seeming to know what to do. The last two she had attended made her feel like an ink-stained twelve-year-old.
And she didn’t have a dress.
“Pretty girl,” Henry had harumphed when he and Roman were bringing their regular Monday morning meeting to a close.
Shuffling papers together on the long conference table in the main office, Roman stilled. “She’s a lot more than just a pretty face,” he said evenly.
“I dare say she is,” Henry went on, failing to read the signals. “Pretty figure too, and they’re not short on native cunning, the Capelthornes—never said they were—but is it enough?”
“Is what enough? Enough for what?”
“Just... her being attractive,” Henry went on insistently. “Which, as I am happy to say, she is. But there’s plenty of other good-looking women around here, remember—although I reckon you’ve worked your way through a fair few of them by now.” He chuckled. “Chip off the old block. Anyway, point being, looks fade, and then what are you left with? Just giving you the heads-up to exercise a little caution, that’s all, old chap. Family comes first, and all that.”
A muscle was pulsing dangerously in Roman’s jaw. “Just so we are clear,” he said pleasantly, but with thinly disguised tension, “Jules and I have a relationship I value above all else and am completely committed to. I hope Jules feels the same.” He faltered momentarily. “I think she does,” he went on. “And I think it is important for you and Mum to realize that. If, for some reason, you have a problem with it, then I advise you to give some serious thought to what your priorities are.
“Just so you know, though,” Roman continued as he strode to the door, a cardboard folder of papers under his arm, “if it comes to choosing between family and Jules?” He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I choose Jules.”
And, with that, he closed the door firmly in his father’s astonished face.
Chapter 32
“I can’t believe you actually went and had lunch with that ghastly family,” Maggie said.
“They were nice,” said Jules, rummaging in Maggie’s cupboards to see if her mother had any more tea bags.
“That’s because they want something,” sniffed Maggie. “I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could chuck them. And that Henry’s the most outrageously snooty and irritating man I’ve ever met.”
“He spoke very kindly of you, though.”
“He what?” Maggie snapped.
Jules sighed internally. “Look,” she said, “Roman and I are a thing. That’s not going away. You lot can either get over yourselves or you can choose to carry on a feud that practically no one can actually remember the point of anymore. In any case, the people who started it have now been dead for a very long time. So, it’s up to you—accept it or don’t accept it. If it’s the latter, then, frankly, Roman and I would prefer you to keep your prejudices to yourself.”
Maggie’s eyes goggled in shock. “Fine,” she snapped. “Just don’t come crying to me...”
“Why would I?” muttered Jules under her breath. She didn’t have the energy for her mother today. She had been feeling guiltyat not having seen her for a while, so the necessity of rummaging through her wardrobe for something to wear for the ball had been as good a reason as any to drop by. Now she was regretting it.
