Page 26 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Ermin had a lapse of judgement. Harry doesn’t care about this village at all.’
Sophie thought of their meeting at the bakery. ‘I don’t know if that’s entirely true,’ she said carefully, ‘but I’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Just see if you can bring it into the twenty-first century,’ Fiona said. ‘Winnie is one of my favourite people in the world, but Hook the Duck is a little bit outdated.’
‘What makes you think we’ll do any better?’ Sophie glanced at the clock. ‘Hook the Duck might be Harry’s favourite game.’
‘I’d imagine he’s more of a “playing chess by himself, brooding over a glass of whisky” type man.’ Fiona sounded accusatory, but Sophie didn’t mind the image it conjured up: his features lit by the soft glow of a crackling fire, the leather of the chair creaking as he shifted position. She pushed the image away, remembering May’s quiet indulgence as she’d spoken about him. No good could come of mooning over someone who was so completely unavailable. She reminded herself that Harry infuriated her every time they met, and went back to watching the hands of the clock tick slowly round towards her fate.
Harry was waiting for her next to the steps leading up to Mistingham Hotel’s welcoming front door. The temperature had fallen with the sun, and an icy twilight made the village feel crisp and clean, the first stars visible in the deep bluesky. Under the hotel’s generous porch light, Sophie could see her fellow planner was wearing jeans and a forest green jumper, his waxed jacket open over the top. His hair looked a little less like he’d run through a hedge than usual.
‘Hey.’ He raised a hand as she approached.
‘Hey yourself. How are Darkness and Terror?’
His jaw tightened. ‘They’re fine. How’s the mop?’
‘He’s with Ermin; I’m picking him up later. What jumper is Felix wearing today?’
Harry narrowed his eyes. She thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he said, ‘It’s red with white pompoms.’
‘Oh my God! Do you have a photo?’
‘No. Shall we go in?’
‘Winnie was happy for us to grill her?’
‘Of course she was.’ Harry sounded eternally put upon, and Sophie’s curiosity grew.
‘Lead the way,’ she said.
He did.
‘Good to see the prodigal son is getting back into the thick of things.’ Winnie settled herself in her chair at their chosen table, in a cosy corner of the hotel’s lounge. ‘Henry Anderly in the flesh, sitting right here, opposite me.’
Harry gave a gentle sigh. ‘It’s Harry, Winnie. It has been since I was small. And I’ve been back in Mistingham for over a year and a half.’
‘Nobody would know it, though, would they?’ Winnie had tried to clip her wayward hair back from her face, but a good portion of it had come free and was haloed around her head. She was wearing an apron with something gold and sticky-looking – possibly honey – smeared across it.Sophie knew the older woman was outspoken, but she almost laughed when Winnie leaned over the table and prodded Harry in the chest. ‘You’ve been hiding. Are you ashamed at how you left Bernie to struggle on his own?’
‘That’s not how it was.’ He’d dropped his voice, as if he didn’t want anyone, least of all Sophie, to hear the words he was grinding out. ‘Not that I have to explain myself to you. It’s all in the past now, anyway.’
‘You think anything’s ever really in the past?’ Winnie said. ‘The Book Ends is standing empty, and that’s a testament to how wrong things went.’
‘We didn’t come here to talk about this,’ Harry said firmly, ‘and Sophie doesn’t want to be caught up in it. If you want to chew me out for my life decisions, let’s schedule a different meeting, OK?’
Winnie gave him a steely-eyed stare, but Harry didn’t look away. ‘Fine,’ she said eventually. ‘But know that it’s not right. None of this is.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Harry said with a tinge of bitterness. ‘Now, what can you tell us about the festival? Do you have notes? Lists of suppliers you’ve used in the past? I assume we want to keep everything as local as possible.’
‘I can tell you that it would be much better on the green, with that beautiful tree decorated like a fir, than as some chaotic street festival.’
‘You’ve made your point. What else?’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, young man,’ Winnie snapped. ‘I remember when you were running around on the beach with your shorts falling down.’
‘What would you say the spirit of the festival is?’ Sophie rushed out. ‘Ermin is keen for us to update some of theelements, but we want to do your legacy – and Mistingham – justice, so what do you suggest we focus on?’
Winnie turned a beaming smile on her, and Sophie saw Harry’s shoulders slump. ‘It’s all about community,’ she said. ‘Celebrating what makes Mistingham unique. This village is unlike any other: we’re not a ghost town in the winter, we’ve held on to our identity because a lot of folk still live here all year round, and we have independent shops and suppliers. You need to balance putting on a traditional show for the locals, and not alienating any winter visitors. We welcome everyone.’ She shot a look at Harry. ‘Even if they’ve betrayed the foundations of this place.’
