Page 44 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
Sophie glanced at Harry, and saw that he was grinning. It transformed him from dour to carefree, and her breath caught. Under the pub’s soft lighting, his hair had blond highlights, and his eyes looked more green than brown. He had weekend stubble, and she couldn’t stop her gaze flitting between his face and his forearms resting on the table, one hand wrapped loosely around the glass that Jason had just placed in front of him.
‘How’s the ice-cream business?’ he asked Jason. ‘Do you get by OK in the winter?’
‘More than I expected to.’ Jason leaned back in his chair. ‘Obviously we’ve got Batter Days too, and that has a steadier income stream – it carries Scoops a little – but the good people of Norfolk know that an ice cream on a winter’s day is a proper treat, and as long as we keep innovating, we’ll be fine.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Harry nodded firmly.
‘What about you?’ Jason asked. ‘I expect the upkeep of Mistingham Manor is a full-time job.’
Harry stared into the amber liquid in his glass. ‘It’s not easy, and I still do some consulting work on the side, because the manor certainly has a habit of gobbling up money.’ He caught Sophie’s eye, acknowledging that he’d said the same to her the day before.
‘What do you consult on?’ Ermin asked. ‘If you don’t mind me probing.’
‘Investments,’ Harry said. ‘For businesses, mostly, rather than individuals. It’s pretty dry stuff, but I’ve got a lot of experience now, and it means I can work when I want to, alongside spending time on the house. It’s not where my passions lie.’
‘Wheredothey lie?’ Fiona asked.
‘The manor,’ Harry said. ‘Felix and the dogs. Mistingham.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Though I know I haven’t exactly been …’
‘Around much?’ Jason finished. ‘It’s up to you, mate. Live your life how you want, but it’s grand to see you here. Grand that Sophie asked you.’
Harry looked at her, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Clifton was staring up at her, so she pulled him onto her lap. Harry stroked the dog’s silky ears, his fingers inches from hers.
‘I’m glad she asked me too,’ he said. ‘I’ve got into the habit of spending Saturday nights pottering and trying to fix things, which isn’t very easy once the daylight’s gone.’
‘May’s working?’ Sophie asked. Why hadn’t Harry saidshewas one of his passions? It wouldn’t hurt, she thought, to find out a little bit more. ‘You don’t have film nights together or … anything?’
‘Sometimes,’ Harry said. ‘But she works on a tech helpline, and if she covers calls on Saturday nights she gets paid triple, so …’ He shrugged and took a sip of his pint.
‘I hear your goat had fun in Birdie’s vegetable patch yesterday,’ Jason said jauntily, as if he was trying to cut through the stilted conversation.
Harry looked up at the ceiling, and Sophie held her breath. Was that it? Had he run out of his capacity for small talk? Was he about to lose patience in the face of a gentle interrogation?
He dropped his gaze and turned towards Jason, his knee nudging against Sophie’s. She waited for him to move it, but instead he leaned forward, increasing the contact, and said, ‘Felix getting into Birdie’s allotment is one of the least outrageous things he’s done recently. He’s acting out, in his adolescent years. Last week I found him on my bed, muddy hooves rucked into the duvet, eating my copy ofThe Secret History.’
‘Oh Ilovethat book,’ Sophie said, and Harry looked at her, surprised.
‘Me too. I must have read it a dozen times. No more, though – or not this copy, anyway.’
‘That scene before the funeral.’ Sophie winced. ‘I thought I was going to be sick, it was so tense.’
‘It’s horrible.’ Harry shook his head. ‘When Richard was succumbing to the cold, that lonely winter before Henry rescued him – I could feel it. I had to put on an extra jumper.’
‘How did Felix get into your bedroom?’ Jason asked, calling a halt to their Donna Tartt love-in.
‘I left the front door open,’ Harry admitted. ‘I was fixingthe spotlights at the front of the house, and thought it’d be fine if I left it ajar while I carted tools in and out. Apparently not.’
‘How did you get him out?’ Fiona asked.
‘With quite a bit of difficulty and a lot of swearing.’
Sophie watched a sigh escape his lips, then he smiled, soft and genuine, and her heart contracted.
‘The thing you have to understand about Felix,’ he went on, ‘is that he knows he’ll have your whole attention if he’s laying waste to things: destruction, antagonism, whatever it is. And he also knows that, without a shadow of a doubt, he’ll get away with it.’
‘Because he’s so cute,’ Sophie said.
‘Well then,’ Fiona said, ‘you are somewhat hoist on your own petard.’
