Page 11 of Be Less Panda

‘I’ve been here less than 24 hours. I’ll leave leading an uprising until at least next week, even if the coffee is awful.’ Nancy laughed.

8

The bookshop was on the corner, exactly where Olivia said it would be. A sign waving in the wind on the wall outside advertised it in gilded Art Nouveau-style lettering as “Dubois’s English Bookshop” with “Bespoke Bindings” in smaller, plainer capital letters underneath. Nancy walked up the steep steps to the front door and pushed it open. A bell tinkled, and a well-dressed woman in her early 50s peered over half-moon glasses at her from behind the counter at the rear of the shop.

Nancy smiled at her. ‘Bonjour, madame. Je suis Nancy Smith.’

The woman looked at her wristwatch. ‘Excellent! I adore staff who are punctual,’ she said in perfect English. ‘Madame Dubois,’ she added, offering her hand to Nancy to shake. ‘You don’t have to speak French when you’re here. I was born and raised in London. The French surname is courtesy of my late husband.’

She raised part of the counter to let Nancy into the back of the shop. ‘Let me show you where to put your things, then I can give you a tour of our wonderful emporium. Philip, you’re in charge for five minutes.’

Nancy followed Madame Dubois’s gaze to see a large man in his late 20s unpacking a box of books in the far corner shop. He smiled and raised his hand. Nancy waved back.

Madame Dubois led the way through a door into a room that appeared to double as an office and a kitchen.

‘Coat pegs are there.’ Madame Dubois waved her hand in the general direction of a brown coat hanging in the corner. ‘Put your bag in the cupboard underneath.’

Madame Dubois seemed welcoming enough, but something about her manner gave Nancy the impression that it was best to do as you were told. She opened the cupboard door and put her shoulder bag on the shelf.

‘The toilet is out in the yard,’ Madame Dubois said, opening the door so Nancy could look out. As soon as she did so, an animated ball of black fur shot into the kitchen.

‘Oh, you have a cat,’ Nancy said excitedly, bending down to stroke it.

‘No, I don’t!’ Madame Dubois said firmly. ‘Get out, you stupid animal.’

She used her foot to push the poor creature towards the open door. The cat took the hint and sauntered casually outside again.

‘That was Mimi. She belongs to the café next door. Do not let her in under any circumstances. I’m allergic to cats.’ She emphasised the point by sneezing loudly.

‘Would you prefer tea or coffee?’ Madame Dubois asked.

‘Tea, please.’ Nancy wanted to avoid a repeat of the coffee saga at breakfast.

‘Excellent. A girl after my own heart.’ Madame Dubois. ‘Philip also prefers tea. He likes his strong with two sugars - obviously a builder in a previous life. I prefer my tea much weaker,’ she laughed. ‘But don’t worry, you don’t have to remember all that because we have a chart.’

Madame Dubois pointed to a piece of paper taped to the cupboard over the sink. There were a lot of names on the list, but most of them were crossed out. Each person had a description of how they liked their hot drink accompanied by a tea or coffee stain, presumably to give whoever was making the drinks a visual guide to the strength they preferred.

‘Cups are in the cupboard, along with sugar and tea. We don’t leave the sugar out - the ants are appalling in the summer. If they get so much as a whiff of it, there will be a long column of them marching across the floor and up the cupboard before you know it.’

Madame Dubois grabbed the kettle from the hob and turned on the tap over the large sink. The water spluttered out in stops and starts.

‘The plumbing can be a little temperamental,’ she said, enthusiastically bashing the copper pipe with the heel of her hand. ‘There,’ she said triumphantly, ‘It’s fine now. It’s rather like a man. You just have to know where to hit it to get it to cooperate.’

It was an interesting analogy. Nancy wondered whether she had used that approach on the late Monsieur Dubois.

‘I’ll leave you to make the tea. There are just the three of us today. Bring the cups to the counter when they’re ready, and then I will show you your duties in the shop.’

So, this was going to be her place of work for the next six months. It would do. It was curious how many people had left, though. Nancy counted the crossed-out names while she waited for the kettle to boil. Seven. Mostly women, all of them coffee drinkers with English names. Nancy’s taste for tea might give her an advantage here.

She found a tray by the sink, put the cups on it, and made a pot of tea. Pouring three different strengths of tea from the same pot at the same time was going to be an art, the mostimportant part of which would be getting Madame Dubois’s tea correct.

She concentrated on the task until the contents of all three cups looked the right colour, then carefully carried the tray of drinks into the shop.

Madame Dubois nodded approvingly and took a sip from her cup. ‘Perfect, Nancy. You’ve passed the first test. Not everyone does. Philip, tea is ready, my darling.’

Philip appeared from behind a bookshelf and walked over to Nancy, offering his hand.

‘Philip Mason,’ he said.

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