Page 27 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
Sophie held her breath, waiting for his reply. She was desperate to know the full story, but she’d only ever heard snippets about why everyone was so against him. He’d abandoned his father, and the bookshop, supposedly, but there had to be more to it; there had to be a side of the story that he had yet to tell. She didn’t know how anyone could have his self-control, stay in a place where he was so frowned upon. Perhaps that was a small part of why he was here with her right now; perhaps he wanted things to change. After all, he could have point-blank refused when Ermin had asked him to be involved, but he hadn’t.
Harry ran a finger over the soft cream tablecloth and said, gently, ‘I’m trying my best, Winnie.’
Sophie felt a pang of sympathy. There was a lot going on beneath his granite persona, and she wondered if she’d get a chance to see some of it over the next few weeks.
Harry’s almost-apology seemed to mollify Winnie somewhat, and Sophie got her notebook out. It was a deep purple, covered in silver foil snowflakes, the lines on thepages wide and faint. She had made it a couple of months ago, a practice run for new winter designs for the shop, and it had since become one of her bestsellers.
She opened it to the next blank page and smoothed the pages. ‘Can you tell us a few of the things you’ve organized in the past? Your favourite suppliers or attractions – especially from last year, when it was a street festival.’
‘I’d be glad to.’ Winnie leaned over the table towards her. ‘Let’s start with the games. Hook the Duck, I know for a fact, never gets old.’
When they left the hotel, some of the evening traffic had died away and the roads were quiet, a thin layer of frost dusting the grass and the roof of the village hall. It added to the sense of cold, and Sophie shivered.
‘Do you need to pick up Clifton?’ Harry sounded dejected, as if he’d exhausted his hostility and had nothing left. For once Sophie couldn’t blame him – not after the dressing-down he’d got from Winnie.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘We’ve got some basic information, but don’t you think we should work out whatwe’regoing to do? The longer we leave it, the harder and more stressful it’ll be.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘So come back to mine?’ He gestured to his mud-splattered Defender.
For a moment, Sophie was so surprised she couldn’t speak. He was inviting her to the impressively mysterious, supposedly haunted Mistingham Manor? She fumbled with her phone. ‘Let me check in with Ermin.’
‘Sure.’
She fired off a text, and Ermin’s reply was almost instant. ‘I can get Clifton any time.’
‘Great. So you’ll come?’
‘Let’s do this!’ Sophie knew her reaction was cringingly over-the-top, but Harry didn’t comment on it.
It was only a few minutes’ drive to the manor, but Sophie appreciated the car, because it would have been a cold, dark walk. As Harry indicated and turned off the main road, down a wide, tree-lined avenue that looked terrifying even in the glow of the headlights, she kept all her thoughts to herself, because she didn’t want to ask a question he’d be able to ignore when they arrived at their destination.
She got a fleeting glimpse of the house as they drove past it, then he parked down the side, opened the passenger door for her and led her round to the front.
Mistingham Manor wasn’t as large as she had imagined, but it was still impressive. It was made of grey stone, solid and imposing, and the main entrance was double-height, with two arched wooden doors. A series of evenly spaced spotlights were angled up at the building, highlighting window frames that needed a fresh coat of paint.
There were four front-facing windows on the ground floor and five on the first: the middle one was arched, echoing the shape of the doors below. Five of the nine windows were glowing, as if the manor was inhabited by a large, sprawling family instead of two adults and two dogs.
Taking in as many details as possible, Sophie followed Harry up the wide stone steps, and was surprised to see a beautiful Christmas wreath hanging on one of the doors. It was a glossy mix of holly and pine leaves, gold-sprayedpine cones nestled alongside dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks tied with twine. An elaborate, silver-blue ribbon sat in a big, shimmering bow at the bottom.
‘I thought you weren’t doing decorations, let alone getting in early?’ Sophie leaned in and sniffed: it smelt like mulled wine, like cosy December nights tucked up under snug blankets. ‘Did May do it?’
‘No, I did,’ Harry said.
‘Youmadeit?’
He shrugged, and she thought he had to be remembering their conversation in the post office, how adamant he’d been that decorating for Christmas was a waste of time. ‘There are healthy holly trees in the driveway, and Birdie had dried orange and cinnamon made up ready. It’s just a wreath,’ he added defensively, when he saw her grin. ‘Come on.’
He pushed open the door and Sophie stepped into an entrance hall that was bigger than her flat. She’d been expecting something dark and draughty, but instead the space had soft cream walls and polished pine floorboards. The stairs rose up on the left, then turned ninety degrees onto a landing. At the end of that they turned another ninety degrees, rising up and disappearing on the right side of the hall. The banister uprights were threaded through with a silver and purple garland, frosted leaves and tinsel and shiny baubles.Just a wreath?It was on the tip of her tongue, but he was looking studiously away from her.
‘This is lovely,’ she said instead. ‘And it’s sowarm.’There was a gargantuan fireplace along the right-hand wall, a fire crackling and spitting inside it. ‘Is May home?’
‘She’s probably upstairs,’ he said, juggling his car keys. ‘She must have lit it earlier. The rest of the house is notlike this, believe me. But I’m pleased with the entrance – first impressions matter, that’s what everyone says.’ He took a breath. ‘Sophie—’
There was a skittering noise, a single, joyous bark, and then Darkness and Terror appeared. They gave their owner a cursory greeting, then raced up to Sophie, their noses up, jostling against her legs so she was forced to bend and lavish them with attention. Terror whined happily, and Darkness put a paw on her knee, his dark, liquid eyes beseeching.
