Page 5 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘Here we go.’ It was muttered, but loud enough for Thea and Ollie to hear.
Thea shot Becky a look that was concerned rather than angry, then turned to Ollie with a smile. ‘Contacts?’
‘Publishers and publicists,’ Ollie explained. ‘If we wanted to get a particular author here, for example.Some of the writers who set their books in Cornwall would be ideal.’
‘Let’s talk about it in a moment,’ Thea said. ‘I want to give you the grand tour, and show you the events space.’
Thea led her to the storeroom at the back of the shop, where Ollie left her coat and bag, and then took her on a tour of the building. Once they’d been through the expansive downstairs, with the fiction and children’s sections, they climbed the grand staircase in the centre of the space.
‘I noticed that you have a sign outside that says coffee’s served here,’ Ollie said.
‘We do serve coffee,’ Thea replied, ‘Though it’s not as we’d like it to be quite yet. I want a self-service coffee machine up here, for when we hold events, and for people who want to come and read before they decide on their purchases. It’s on my to-do list, and in the meantime we’re making coffees in the kitchen.’ She gestured as the upper floor came into view. ‘What do you think?’
Ollie let out a long breath. The space was so different to the near building site it had been when Thea had shown her around at the interview.
The room itself was beautiful, with large windows letting in the soft autumn sunshine, and showing off Port Karadow, a tumble of rooftops down to the glistening harbour, in all its pretty, seaside glory. On the left-hand side of the staircase was more shelving: the non-fiction section, Ollie could see at a glance. The space to the right was more open, with the shelving only along the wall, and displaying a selection of books with the covers facing outwards. At the back there was a raised platform, like a low stage, and at the other end of the room, under the window, there was a sofa in abold, fuchsia fabric. There were also a couple of beanbags, but other than that, it was empty: a carpeted area brimming with possibility.
‘Wow,’ Ollie said. ‘This is starting to take shape.’
‘It’s a long way from finished,’ Thea explained, ‘but I want to keep it flexible, so we can change the layout depending on the event, accommodate any style we want. We’ve got the stage, and I’ll get some foldout chairs which we can store out the back.’
‘It looks great already,’ Ollie said, and she meant it. ‘It’s beautiful, and it has so much character. We should use it straight away – trial an event here.’
Thea smiled. ‘Let me make you a coffee, then I can show you – hang on, what?’
Ollie turned in a slow circle. ‘We should test the space out as soon as we can. It’s Tuesday now: how about on Friday evening?’
Thea blinked. ‘How could we possibly do that?’
‘A book club,’ Ollie said, thinking on her feet. ‘We could just ask a few people to come, to each bring one of their favourite books to discuss. It would be really informal – the beanbags, the sofa, a couple of bottles of wine. That way we can see what they think about the shop and this space: a book club and focus group rolled into one. It doesn’t need much planning.’
‘You’re serious.’ Thea laughed. ‘Who do you have in mind?’
‘I can ask in town today: I only know a couple of people, but I can see if they’re free. And you must have friends you can drag along.’
‘I can … I could, I suppose. You want to do it so soon?’
‘No time like the present,’ Ollie said. ‘A book club wouldshow that we’re an event-minded bookshop, and it will take the pressure off slightly while we organise other things.’
‘OK.’ Thea’s smile was unguarded. ‘Let’s do it! Let’s get a coffee and tell Becky our plan.’
‘Perfect.’ Ollie followed Thea back downstairs, her head already racing with possibilities. Seeing the events space had unleashed her imagination, set off sparks that she hadn’t felt ignite for a long time. For the first time since her accident, Ollie felt like she was in control of her destiny, that she could really make a difference. And there was something about it being in Port Karadow, rather than London, that made it feel extra special.
Chapter Four
Ollie walked from the statuesque splendour of the Old Post House, down the hill into Port Karadow’s cluttered, colourful streets.
It wasn’t a particularly polished town, which made Ollie love it even more. The buildings didn’t match in colour or style, the shops were mostly independent with a few familiar chains, and while a lot of them had made the effort to be attractive, none looked overly upmarket. She couldn’t imagine that, when it was time for the Christmas lights to go up – and that wouldn’t be long now, with it being less than two weeks from November – they would all match: she was expecting a rainbow kaleidoscope, rather than a drift of white twinkles. Port Karadow embraced every style and palette, and felt welcoming because of it.
As she reached Main Street, a skittish marmalade cat approached her and she bent down, hand outstretched, but it must have smelt Henry on her boots because it changed direction, bounding onto a wall and disappearing. Once ithad gone, she walked to the ironmongers. It was one of her favourite places already, with its shelves bursting with treasure, inviting her to get lost inside for hours. The owner, Maisie, was probably a couple of years younger than Ollie, and had recently given up her schoolteacher job to help her father run the shop. He was getting on and – Maisie had told her – needed to retire, even though he didn’t want to.
Ollie knew all this because she’d bought picture hooks, earthenware pots and outdoor lighting from the shop when she’d first arrived. Now, Maisie was cleaning the glass of the front door, spraying and polishing, standing on tiptoes to reach the top corners.
‘Maisie! How are you?’ Ollie asked.
‘I’m good.’ Maisie paused to smile at her. ‘How are you getting on at Foxglove Barn?’
‘It’s really looking like home, now. I’ve put up some photos, and got a haul of books from the charity shop to fill my bookcase. I’ve just about prevented my dog from chewing everything to pieces so far, too.’
