Page 40 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘And I’ve got Merlot,’ Fiona added.
‘Sure.’ Sophie went to the bar, sliding between two old men sitting on stools, their Norfolk accents thick as they spoke in low voices. ‘Sorry.’
‘Not at all, lass,’ one of them said. ‘You take your time.’
‘All right?’ Natasha asked when she’d finished serving at the other end of the bar. ‘Need a break from the street festival?’
She was, Sophie guessed, in her mid-forties, a natural blonde with blue eyes, and only a couple of inches shorterthan Sophie. She’d been running the pub for over a decade, since she’d broken up with her husband and moved from North Walsham to the coast. Her nineteen-year-old son Indigo worked here when he wasn’t with his friends or at art college in Norwich.
‘We’re just getting started,’ Sophie admitted, ‘but I do want to talk to you about running the bar stand.’
‘I’m always glad to help out. Any chance I’ll get to do more than bog-standard mulled wine this year? I’ve got some other winter warmers I’m keen to sell.’
‘Let’s talk about it, but I can’t see how having some variety would be a bad thing.’
‘You’re breaking out of the mould, then?’
Sophie laughed. ‘Mostly because Harry and I don’t know what we’re doing.’ Except that the idea she’d had in Birdie’s garden was taking shape, and she needed to speak to Harry about it. If they were going to make changes, they needed to make them soon.
‘So Harry’s real then, not made of stone like one of the creepy old statues in the manor grounds?’
‘Oh, he’s definitely real,’ Sophie said, then worried she’d sounded salacious. ‘Anyway, let’s get together and decide what we’re doing.’
‘You’re on. Now, what can I get you? I’ll have a mob on my hands if I stand here chatting too much longer.’
Sophie gave the other woman her order, then carried the drinks to her friends, navigating around tables, extended feet and dogs slumped happily near their owners. It was a beautiful pub, popular with tourists but unmistakably a country haunt, and Sophie had been in here more than once when a shooting party came in for a quick snifter ontheir way back to a six-course lunch at a country estate, crowing about the number of pheasants they’d shot.
‘Grand, thank you,’ Ermin said, as Sophie set the drinks down.
‘You’re welcome.’ The three of them clinked glasses, the red wine sloshing in Sophie’s glass.
‘How are you getting on with the book?’ Fiona asked, once Sophie was settled.
She shot a glance at Ermin, who leaned forward. ‘Fi told me,’ he said in a loud whisper. ‘There are no secrets between us, but I have promised to keep my mouth shut. Fi says you’re doing some kind of … treasure hunt?’
Sophie raised an eyebrow at her friend.
‘I’m not sure those were the words I used,’ Fiona said. ‘I just told him you were investigating, keeping things on the down-low.’
‘On the down-low,’ Sophie murmured, trying not to laugh. ‘I just want to find out who sent me the book, why someone thinks I need instructions about how to live my life. How do they know I’m missing anything?But if I shout about it, or ask everyone en masse at a village meeting, then whoever sent it might go to ground and I’ll never find out – otherwise, why didn’t they put their name on it to begin with? So, I’m trying to be stealthy.’ It sounded ridiculous, bandying about phrases likego to groundandstealthy.She was as bad as Fiona.
This was a small village and it was a thoughtful gift, but it was the anonymity that was baffling her; the fact that someone had chosen her, but didn’t want to reveal themselves.
‘Who’s in the frame?’ Fiona asked. ‘I swear on the future of Hartley Country Apparel that it isn’t me or Ermin.’
‘Scout’s honour.’ Ermin crossed his finger over his chest in a gesture that Sophie didn’t think had anything to do with scouts.
‘I did wonder,’ Sophie admitted. ‘After what we talked about the other day.’
‘You mean you waltzing off to Cornwall like some kind of nomad?’
‘Fiona,’Sophie hiss-whispered.
Ermin held his hands up. ‘As I said, there are no secrets between us. But Fiona would sell your car or take Clifton hostage if she thought you were serious. She wouldn’t do something so baffling as to send you a book with a cryptic message.’
‘Great to know you’re looking out for me,’ Sophie said, laughing. ‘I am going, though.’ It was her plan and she wasn’t deviating from it. After Christmas, after the festival, after she’d found out who was behind The Secret Bookshop, she’d be off.
‘We’ll see.’ Fiona sipped her wine, not sounding concerned.
