Page 83 of Bookshop Cinderella

He nodded. “I’ll go see her straightaway. You’d better get busy, too, Delia,” he added as he turned away and started for his room. “You’ve got a wedding to plan.”

***

Everything seemed just the same.

Evie leaned back against the counter of the shop, hands curled around her afternoon cup of tea, studying her surroundings with a vague sense of surprise.

She’d barely bothered to glance around on her arrival in the dim light of dawn. Instead, she’d gone straight upstairs to her flat, dropped her suitcase to the floor, and fallen into her new bed for some much-needed sleep. But now, in the mellow light of late afternoon, refreshed from her long nap, with a cup of strong tea in her hand, she was able to get a good look at her surroundings, and as she did, her first impression was that nothing much had really changed—an odd feeling to have, considering that the renovations had been extensive, and all the furnishings rearranged.

Not that she wasn’t pleased by what she saw. Quite the contrary. The old, peeling cabbage-rose wallpaper had been replaced with a lighter, less stodgy pattern of blue-and-white toile that went beautifully with the bookshelves, which were now polished and gleaming. The ceiling had received a fresh coat of plaster, the worn oak floor had been sanded, waxed, and buffed to a soft glow, and the paintings on the walls, though never great works of art, were at least clean and bright. Her flat upstairs was no longer painted a drab and boring beige, but a fresh, crisp white, and all her damaged furnishings had been replaced, including her mattress, which was now every bit as thick and luxurious as anything at the Savoy.

Her fingers tightened around her cup. Best not to think of the Savoy and of what had happened there. It was over. And life went on.

A better life than before, she decided, looking around. A life where she stepped out of her shell sometimes and tried new things. Maybe, she thought, she could add a rack of newspapers and magazines to the shop. Papa would have hated that, but Papa wasn’t here, and periodicals would bring in some additional income. And perhaps she’d start selling some of the newest novels as well. Harlow’s had gained its reputation as a purveyor of rare books, but that didn’t have to be all the shop was known for. Perhaps she and Anna could hold some events together—have authors in to autograph their novels for the customers, with tea and confections served next door.

Reminded of the tea in her hand, Evie took a sip, made a face, and decided there was another thing in her life that needed to change. She was no longer going to save a few pennies a week by sacrificing sugar. Feeling oddly defiant, she marched into the pantry and added three lumps to her cup, along with an extra dollop of milk.

Have a sweet tooth, do you?

She paused, staring down at the clouds of milk swirling in her cup as Max’s words and bittersweet memories of that wonderful night at Westbourne House swirled through her mind. That was the night they had feasted on Escoffier’s fantastical versions of Middle Eastern cuisine, when Max had shown her that she really wasn’t such a bad dancer, when he had held her in his arms and kissed her for the first time—

With an abrupt move, she jerked the spoon out of her teacup, tapped it on the side, and set it in the dry sink. She could not think about any of that now. She had work to do.

She took her tea upstairs and unpacked, noting sadly that even the fresh coat of blue paint on her armoire could not make her old clothes look anything but drab and boring. She’d gotten spoiled, she realized, wearing those lovely, lovely clothes from Vivienne.

She paused, wondering if it had been a mistake to leave the clothes behind. But she couldn’t see the point in keeping them. Her life here had no place for such elegant finery. But perhaps, she thought wistfully as she laid her folded white blouses in the armoire, she could at least buy a few new things that weren’t too expensive. Anna might help her, for Anna still had some connections from her days in a dressmaker’s showroom.

Her things back in the armoire and her suitcase back in the attic, Evie returned downstairs. The books, she noted as she walked between the shelves, were in good order. Clarence was responsible for that, and for keeping the workmen up to snuff during the renovations, and he’d done an excellent job of both, while still helping his mother in the confectionery. In addition to his pay, he deserved a reward for all his hard work. She could spare the money for that, given that she wasn’t making mortgage payments anymore.

She stopped, her practiced eye spotting a book out of place. Chaucer didn’t belong here. She pulled the volume out, moved it up a shelf, and slid it into its proper place, then continued perusing shelves. Satisfied at last that the shop would be ready to open tomorrow, she moved to the storage room, which she saw at once Clarence hadn’t had time to put in the same apple-pie order as the front. Crates of books delivered during the past few weeks were stacked unopened against the wall and a large bin overflowing with rubbish left behind by the workmen stood by the back door. Unopened letters, circulars, and tradesmen’s bills lay in an enormous pile atop her desk.

The work, she appreciated with a sigh, never stopped.

She sat down, but she’d barely picked up her letter opener before she set it down again, frowning as she remembered that Max’s letter to her suggesting the picnic dinner at his house had not been with the other things in her dressing table when she’d packed this morning.

How could she have misplaced it?

Feeling a sudden panic that her one and only letter from a lover was missing, Evie jumped up, tossing aside the letter opener, and ran upstairs, but the letter, she soon discovered, was not in her handbag. Nor, she realized when she went up to the attic, was it tucked in her suitcase. She must have missed it somehow when she was packing this morning.

Groaning, she sank down on the edge of her bed. Now she’d have to go back and look for it, and she didn’t want to do that. Just the thought of going back brought a knot to her stomach, for she knew walking away a second time would be even harder than the first time had been.

Evie closed her eyes, memories assailing her of her extraordinary night with him. Incomparable, he’d called her at the ball, and for the first time, she’d truly believed it, that she wasn’t a plain-faced wallflower who couldn’t dance. And later, when he’d described how her body looked to him, it had been the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done.

Perfect, he’d said.

That was how he saw her. And how he’d made love to her, worshipping her with his body, the scorching tenderness of his kiss and his caress transforming her into the desirable woman he thought her to be.

She would never forget that night. Never. It was the most beautiful, wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

But then, dawn had come. Leaving him had been the hardest, most wrenching thing she’d ever done, and the only way she’d been able to endure it was to push it away. As she’d packed her clothes into her little suitcase, she’d shoved all the wonder of the night deep down inside, reminding herself over and over of the harsh realities that separated her class from his, realities they’d both learned the hard way.

When she’d finally stepped out of the Savoy and walked home in the cool light of dawn, she had fought tears the whole way, striving to accept that her extraordinary holiday with him was over.

Now, eight hours later, she was all right. She wasn’t a quivering jelly of held-back tears. But if she had to go back, she feared all her efforts to put it behind her would be for naught. And yet, if anyone found that letter, read it—

A sound lifted her head, a tapping downstairs that diverted her from contemplations of the missing letter. It came again, a knock on the front door, and she stood up with a sigh. The shop was closed, the sign saying so was in the window, but customers, she knew, were sometimes a tenacious lot. She’d go down and tell whoever it was to come back tomorrow when she was open again.

But when she emerged into the front of the shop and saw who was standing on the other side of the plate glass, she knew it was not a customer.

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