Page 88 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
Flora pondered for a moment. ‘Perhaps you don’t have to... I’ve mentioned my friend Beatrix Potter to you, haven’t I, Mr T?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. I had loved hearing tales of the children’s author, and recalled how devasted Flora had been when she had died last Christmas.
‘Did I mention that she bequeathed me her bookshop?’
I racked my brains. ‘I don’t think you did, no.’
‘It’s in a lovely location in Kensington,’ she said excitedly. ‘I intend to hand it over to Louise and Rupert as a wedding gift, but until then it is mine to do with as I wish. I mention it because there is a small flat above the shop. Please feel free to make use of it for the time being, until you become settled.’
I was lost for words. ‘Flora, are you sure?’
She grinned broadly. ‘Positively certain. Here, let me write down the address for you.’ She opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a pencil and paper. ‘I don’t imagine that the flat is in particularly good condition, but hopefully it’s habitable.’ She handed me the address:
Arthur Morston Books
190 Kensington Church Street
London W8 4DS
‘Flora... thank you,’ I replied, trying to keep a check on my emotions.
‘It’s the least I can do, Mr T. Let me get you the keys.’
I left the kitchen and began the walk back down the drive to our cottage. When I was halfway, I turned to look back at the main house. Even though some of the stonework was crumbling, and a couple of the windows rotting, it still looked resplendent. It hadenduredfor so many years, through change, wars and different generations of Vaughans. Yet still it stood, unmoving and awe-inspiring in its aspect.
Then I turned my head away and walked off into another new future.
Elle and I arrived at Arthur Morston Books on Kensington Church Street with our two suitcases, and I put the key in the lock. When I pushed the door open, a bell tinkled, and I searched for a light switch. When I’d located one and flicked it on, Elle and I were greeted by a rather magnificent sight. Enormous oak shelves lined the walls, full to the brim with publications of every genre. That’s not to mention the several shop tables, which were covered in mountains of unorganised books, arranged chaotically, as if someone had been searching for a particular passage in amongst the thousands of pages.
‘It’s amazing!’ said Elle.
We wandered through the shop, breathing in the faint smell of vanilla which seemed to mysteriously permeate from ancient tomes. Eventually, we located a door behind the till which led up to the slightly drab flat. In contrast to the antiquarian grandeur of the shop below, it had peeling green wallpaper and a desperately thin carpet. Nonetheless, it would most certainly do for the time being. After unpacking our bags, we walked back downstairs and, like children in a sweetshop, hungrily investigated the works on Arthur Morston’s shelves.
The books were certainly helping to take our minds off the idyllic life we had been forced to leave behind. ‘There’s enough to keep us entertained for years here, Elle!’ I laughed.
‘I know. I think it’s quite magical to live above a bookshop.’
I crossed the shop floor to her. ‘You know, I think London will be good for us. We’ll be able to watch concerts again, go to the theatre... we can take strolls by the River Thames, just as we did along the Seine in Paris when we were children.’
She returned the book of poetry she’d been reading to the shelf and gave a sigh. ‘You’re right. I’ll try and see this as a positive move, but...’ – she hesitated – ‘I really saw us staying at High Weald forever. I thought we would eventually marry, have children together... and now I wonder if either of those things can ever happen.’
I gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. ‘I understand. Please know that I long for nothing else. One day, when we are safe, we will marry.’
Elle sniffed. ‘I know it’s only a piece of paper.’
‘But an important one,’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘And then, when that’s done, I promise we will have a thousand children.’
‘A thousand?!’ She managed a giggle.
‘Oh, at least,’ I continued. ‘We will need something to keep us busy after we settle down.’
‘Why don’t we start with one, and see how we go?’
‘As you wish, Elle. But if we’re only going to start with one, do you wish for a boy or girl?’ I asked.
She thought for a moment. ‘As long as the baby is fifty per cent of you, I will love it unconditionally.’ She leant her head into my shoulder.
Elle and I spent the next few days sorting and categorising the thousands of books which filled the shop. It certainly occupied our minds, and once again, we fell into a routine.
