Page 35 of Strangers in Time

“And now, would you like a cup of tea and a piece of toast with Golden Shred? I had just put the kettle on. I know tea in the morning is not condoned by the Ministry of Food, but I have quite a lot ofit. We purchased itbeforerationing,” he quickly added. “So I don’t believe I am breaking any laws, at least in spirit.”

“No, you needn’t—” Molly paused as her belly rumbled. “Well, toast and a cup of tea would be wonderful. Thank you. And how do you know Charlie again?”

“Well, he dropped by one night.”

“Onenight?”

“Yes, you may have noticed that he quite likes the nighttime.”

“Ihavenoticed that.”

He disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Molly to browse.

She slowly made her way around the place, turning books over, flipping through pages, reading snatches here and there, and twice reciting out loud a particular passage.

She eyed a stout wooden door down a short flight of steps. She went to it and turned the knob, but it was locked. She ventured back to the main floor of the shop and recommenced her wanderings. A book finally seized her attention.

When Oliver came back in with the tea and toast she said, “I’ll take this one.” She held it up. “How much is it?”

“My gift to you, Miss Wakefield.”

“No, really, that isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, but you came here with good intentions for another. So please, it would make me quite happy.”

“Well, thank you.” She pointed to the locked door. “What’s in there?”

“A special room,” he said. “For special moments in time.”

“So, you have books in there, and such?”

“And such.”

“It’s a Jane Austen,” she said, holding up the book once more.

He handed her the tea and plate of toast, then squinted at the cover. “Ah,Mansfield Park.”

She nodded. “I’ve read several of her others. I think she’s quite good.”

As Molly drank her tea and munched on the toast and marmalade,she said, “While I believe I understand Austen’s intended irony, I do not care to endlessly speculate about whom I shall marry one day.”

“I think as you grow older the sharpness of her wit, the refreshing satiric quality of her barbs, and the sophistication of her underlying meanings will impress you far more. And I think you will find some commonality withthisparticular story, since, as you are just back in London, it deals with a young lady in unfamiliar territory.”

“So, you’ve read it?” said Molly.

“Imogen read it to me. She had of course already read them all herself.”

“What, all these books?” Molly said in amazement.

“As she said, what else does one do with books besides read them and then wonder about what one has just read? And, even more pleasurably, what one will readnext?”

“Well, she was the proprietress of a bookshop, so she couldsellthem.”

“Ah, and Imogen was very keen on this. She said, ‘Without reading them first how shall I decide what is worthy to sell and what is not?’”

Molly thought about this. “She makes a fair point.”

“I always thought so,” said Oliver—a bit sadly, concluded Molly, who also thought it a little disturbing that the man seemed only to echo his wife’s philosophy of life rather than espouse his own. Perhaps Charlie had been correct that Mr. Oliver was astrange bloke.

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