Page 97 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘It’s easier this way.’
‘I thought we cared about each other.’
The panic was a tide now, rising higher. A distress alarm sounded somewhere inside her head, warning her that she was getting it wrong; that, for once, this wasn’t what she was supposed to do. ‘It’s better if I go. For both of us.’
‘You can’t mean that. Soph—’
‘This isbetter,OK?’
Harry stared at her, a deer caught in the shotgun’s sights. He didn’t say anything else.
‘I’m going now,’ she said. And, without kissing Harry, without squeezing his hand or looking at his injured shoulder, she turned away from him and hurried out of his study. She raced through the glowing house to the lounge, where Clifton was playing with Darkness and Terror on the rug, and she scooped him up.
She didn’t meet anyone’s eye, didn’t say goodbye, she just took her dog and ran out into the storm. She was desperate to get away from Mistingham Manor, from the things she’d found out and the man inside, to have a chance to think things through without anyone interfering. She was always so much better on her own.
She couldn’t help thinking of the words she’d read inJane Eyre.The line that had stuck with her, that came back to her now:‘Farewell!’ was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, ‘Farewell for ever!’
Chapter Thirty
It was two days until Christmas, and Sophie was packing frantically, while the blue sky and sparkling sea mocked her from outside the window. They mocked everything that had happened the night before: the storm, her discovery, Harry’s explanation. It was as if none of it had happened, as if she had invented it all.
She grabbed her few treasured paperbacks off the bookshelf and put them in the box waiting at her feet – she always held on to a few flat-pack boxes – and her fingers grazed the cover ofJane Eyre. The tiny Christmas tree she’d bought when everything had been a lot more hopeful – with its battery-powered lights and its shiny red baubles – wavered slightly but didn’t fall from the shelf.
Sophie put the other books in the box, including the special edition ofBeach Readby Emily Henry that had, up until a couple of months ago, been the most beautiful book she owned, and tookJane Eyreoff the shelf.
She trailed her finger over the logo on the spine – HarryAnderly, not a little house after all – and imagined him working away in that hidden room, performing the same actions she did at her own workstation. Clifton barked from the sofa. He didn’t understand what was happening, why she was so upset. He didn’t realize he was going to have to find new pathways to get used to in a new place, that he wasn’t going to see Darkness, Terror or Felix again.
Sophie sat heavily on the sofa and openedJane Eyre. She had nearly finished her reread, was almost at the point where Jane would find out the truth about Rochester and make her way back to him, confident that the love she’d never stopped feeling for him meant that they could start again. And yet, there were other, earlier parts of the book she couldn’t help returning to:That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life, that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.
The doorbell rang, and Sophie’s immediate reaction was to put the book under the cushion. But there was no point, now. There was no mystery any more; no need for discretion. The bell rang again, and Sophie hurried down the stairs and opened the door.
‘The day before Christmas Eve is prime present-selling time.’ Fiona walked past Sophie and up the stairs without waiting for an invite. ‘You should know that.’
‘If that’s the case,’ Sophie said, following her up to her flat, ‘why are you here and not there?’
Fiona’s smile was sad. ‘Because I have Ermin. He and Poppet are at the shop anyway. The storm damaged the front door and the carpet is soaked.’
Sophie winced. ‘Is it fixable?’
‘Completely,’ Fiona said. ‘Most things are, if you put some effort in.’ Her gaze fell to the box on the floor. ‘Stand your ground and repair whatever is broken. Running away is rarely the best option.’
‘What if the problem is me, and the only way I can fix it is by leaving?’
‘Darling,’ Fiona said, surprising her with the endearment, ‘if you keep having to leave, then how can you possibly know it’s what you need? Isn’t it possible,probableeven,that it isn’t the solution? That it’s time to try something different?’
Sophie didn’t know what to say to that, so she picked upJane Eyre. ‘I know who it was. I’m sorry I accused you.’
Fiona just nodded.
‘Don’t you want to know who left it for me?’
‘I went to Mistingham Manor before I came here,’ Fiona said calmly. ‘I thought you’d have stayed there overnight, especially with the storm still raging.’
Sophie stared at the carpet. ‘I found his Secret Book Lair.’
Fiona sat on the sofa and lifted Clifton gently into her lap. ‘You know that there have been rumours about the Anderly family for as long as I can remember,’ she said. ‘There were rumours that Bernie was losing control of his finances, struggling to keep the manor and bookshop afloat, especially when Harriet got ill and he had to care for her too. Then he was a widower, and there were rumours that Harry and his sister Daisy were going off the rails, being entitled and badly behaved without anyone giving them proper guidance. The manor has always had a ghost – the bookshop too. And yet, everyone loved The Book Ends. It was a safe space in this village, and Bernie was the sweetest man – to his customers, at least. Then he got sick, and itwas time to level all those rumours, those accusations, at the absent children. Daisy got off lightly, because Harry was the oldest. And when he got back … well, we didn’t hold off, did we?’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ It was painful, thinking about everything he’d been through; how much of it he’d kept to himself so as not to taint his father’s reputation in the village.
