Page 89 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
‘I wonder whether Flora would consider allowing us to sell any of these books for her? It’s senseless that all this wonderful stock sits gathering dust on the shelves,’ Elle said. ‘The money we take can go straight back to High Weald.’She looked suddenly enthusiastic. ‘We could even order in new books, if Flora would let us... before Louise and Rupert arrive, of course.’
I considered it for a moment. ‘I think it’s certainly worth enquiring,’ I replied.
We wrote to Flora, but did not receive a reply for over ten days. By the time a letter did drop through the door, Arthur Morston Books was in pristine condition and ready for trading. Unfortunately, the letter’s sad contents explained the reason behind Flora’s delay.
Dear Mr and Mrs Tanit,
It is with regret that I must inform you that my husband died the night after you left, alongside fourteen others at RAF Ashford, when a bomb directly hit the tent he was sleeping in. As such, Teddy has immediately inherited High Weald and all of his father’s associated assets, as is his birthright.
Please rest assured that Arthur Morston Books remains my property, and Teddy is unable to take it from me. I still intend to give the shop to my daughter and her husband after their wedding in the summer, but in the meantime, I am more than happy to allow you to sell the books and restock the premises. Perhaps, if you are able to make a success of it, then Rupert and Louise might feel inclined to keep you in situ as managers... though that is, of course, their decision.
Regrettably, I will no longer be contactable via High Weald itself, as Teddy intends to take a wife, and as such I will move to the Dower House. I will send exact details once I am sure of them. It is a kind thought that you should wish to send the profits backto High Weald, but I would request that any surplus funds are kept by yourselves.
Kind regards,
Flora V.
‘He’s kicked his own mother out of the house! How dare he!’ Elle raged.
The news had shaken us both. ‘Poor Flora. The love of her life perishes and her scallywag son gets everything. How horrendously unfair.’
‘Do you think it’s us, Bo?’ Elle asked. ‘Are we cursed? It seems that everywhere we go, we leave a trail of human despair.’
We spent that evening sharing stories of Archie Vaughan and all the ways he had influenced our lives for the good.
Within three days, we had opened up Arthur Morston Books for trading. We soon discovered it to be an incredibly fruitful business, with locals desperate for stories and escapism after the dark days of the London Blitz.
After a successful year of trading, on 8th May 1945 the BBC announced victory in Europe, and the country celebrated the formal acceptance of Germany’s unconditional surrender. The war on the continent was over. Elle and I danced in the street with the British people. Then, at the start of June, a cream vellum envelope arrived through the letter box of Arthur Morston Books, addressed to ‘Mr Tanit’. I took it back to my small desk at the rear of the shop, and opened it.
Dear Mr Tanit,
It is my sincere hope that this letter reaches the individual for which it is intended.
My name is Eric Kohler, and I am a lawyer at a firm in Geneva, Switzerland. It is my sad duty to inform you that your grandmother, Agatha Tanit, passed away some years ago now – in 1929 – at the age of ninety-one. I am in the rather difficult position of being unaware of how well connected you are to your family, so if what I write shocks you, I apologise.
The heir to Agatha’s estate – your father, Lapetus Tanit – is also sadly deceased. He was found in South Ossetia, Georgia, in the winter of 1923. The cause of death was deemed to be exposure to the bitter elements.
His body was recognised by the soldiers who discovered him, given his position in the Russian royal family, and very slowly the news made its way across Europe to your grandmother.
When Agatha learnt of her son’s death, she endeavoured to find you, her only grandchild, exhausting large amounts of money and time during the search. She eventually managed to establish that you were in Siberia, but by the time her representatives arrived, you had gone.
For over a decade now, I have scoured the continent for the name ‘Tanit’, and a man that would be your approximate age. In fact, I must confess that I have written versions of this letter several times, but had no success with previous recipients. Recently, during my monthly enquiries on behalf of your late grandmother, I saw your name appear, registered as the manager of this bookshop in London.
Mr Tanit, it is my very sincere hope that you are indeed Agatha’s grandson, and the beneficiary of her estate. However, to ensure this, I must ask that you make the journey to Geneva to meet me in person, where I will be able to ask you some questions which will determine the outcome. Your travel costs will, of course, be covered, so if you might be so kind as to write to me concerning your availability, it would be my pleasure to arrange your trip.
Kind regards,
E. Kohler
I placed the letter down on the desk, and without warning, tears filled my eyes. It was as though, somehow, my father’s hand was reaching out from the page.
‘Bo? What’s wrong?’ Elle asked, seeing my distress. I handed her the letter.
She absorbed the contents. ‘Oh Bo... I’m lost for words myself. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.’ She hugged me hard. ‘I’m so sorry about your father.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m being silly. Obviously I knew, Elle. But seeing it written down on paper has brought everything to the surface.’ I sighed deeply. ‘After all these years of wondering, now I know that he only made it as far as Georgia.’
Elle gently rubbed my back. ‘It makes your achievement of reaching Paris all the more remarkable. But what about your grandmother, Agatha... did you know about her?’
