Page 102 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
The next face Ollie saw in the queue made her do a double-take.
‘Hello,’ Arabella said, her smile reserved.
‘Arabella,’ Ollie stuttered. ‘Are you – is Sophia—?’ Her heart was suddenly thudding.
‘Sophia’s mother is being moved into a care home today,’ Arabella explained. ‘It all happened so quickly, and she’s so terribly sorry she can’t be here. But we’d love to do something in the new year.’
‘That would be great,’ Ollie managed, ‘but you—’
‘I wanted to show my support. And when I heard Bryan Mailer was appearing, I couldn’t not make the journey.’
‘You’veheardof him?’
‘I love Roskilly and Faith,’ Arabella admitted. ‘Such a shame the publisher went out of business. If you could wangle me an introduction to Bryan afterwards, I’d be ever so pleased.’
Ollie nodded, dumbfounded, then handed Arabella her wine and watched her find a seat. It took all her willpower not to rush into the storeroom and squeal at Liam.
When the upstairs of A New Chapter looked fit to bursting, and Ollie had got over Arabella’s appearance and finished having a brief panic about fire regulations and all their extra tinsel, Becky came up the stairs and gave her a thumbs up. It seemed that everyone who was planning on coming, was here.
Thea, who was standing close to the storeroom door, nodded and pressed a nervous hand to her lips.
Ollie put down the wine bottle she was holding and strode onto the stage. The remaining chatter died out,and Thea lowered the lights, plunging all but the front of the room into darkness.
‘Good evening everyone, and happy Christmas Eve Eve,’ Ollie said. ‘Welcome to A New Chapter, and our festive pageant event. As most of you will know, our plans for tonight changed recently and suddenly. Itisdisappointing not to have Sophia Forsythe-Hartley here, but a family emergency prevented her from coming tonight, and I’m sure you will all join me in wishing her well. We’re hoping to reschedule our event with her next year. In the meantime, however, we have been very lucky to secure someone who, frankly, I could notbe more excited about!’
She paused, taking in the eager faces, feeling the hum of anticipation in the air. ‘Soon after I moved here I picked up a book calledThe Legend of Kerensa’s Handprintby one Bryan Mailer. I devoured that mystery, and then the next, and the next, in huge, hungry chunks, and when I started asking around, I discovered that I wasn’t the only one who was hooked by the locally based series. It became obvious that he is well known – and well loved – around here. What I struggled to do, despite hours of searching, was find out more about the man himself. He turned out to be as much of a mystery as his stories – and we all love a mystery at Christmastime, don’t we?’
There were several enthusiastic ‘Yes’s’, and some quieter murmurs of assent.
‘Luckily,’ Ollie went on, ‘the man is no longer a mystery, and I hope you will all be as surprised, as delighted, as I was to come face to face with the wonderful writer who sometimes calls himself Bryan Mailer.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He’s one of our very own Port Karadow residents,already a well-loved member of the community, and he’s agreed, for us, tonight, to come clean about his previous life as a successful author.’
She clasped her hands together. Becky, at the back of the room, caught her eye, and they exchanged gleeful grins. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please give it up for esteemed mystery author and the darkest horse I know, Mr Bryan Mailer – otherwise known as Liam Byrne!’ She turned, and Thea opened the storeroom door.
Liam stepped out, looking handsome in a moss green shirt and charcoal trousers.
There were mutters ofSeriously?andLiam?andWhat the hell?and Ollie heard someone say,Is this for real?But all of that mingled with the applause, which got louder and rowdier, a few cheers and whistles thrown in, as Liam took his place on the stage, the slim volume of legends – that Ollie had temporarily returned to him – in his hands.
Once the cheering had died down, he cleared his throat and began to speak. Ollie was relieved at the strength, the steadiness, of his voice.
‘I had intended to take this secret with me to the grave,’ he said, ‘but when you let Ollie Spencer rent the barn on your estate, it turns out nothing is sacred anymore.’ He turned to her and smiled, and she grinned back, while several members of the audience laughed. ‘Although, in this case, I am perhaps doing her an injustice. It was Max Holden who overturned the first stone, then evaded my ire by landing himself in hospital.’ The laughter died, and Ollie felt the weight of several stares on her. Everyone in town knew what had happened to their beloved café proprietor. ‘I am only making a joke of this,’ Liam went on, ‘becauseMax is recovering well, and has given me his express permission to blame him for this predicament: me standing up here, in front of all of you. I’ll go easy on him, however, and will only demand one sausage roll per day for the next decade, as penance for his nosiness.’ He lifted his glass of wine and said, ‘Let’s raise our glasses to Max, and wish him a full and speedy return to health.’
Everyone in the room raised their glasses and chorused, ‘To Max!’ Ollie felt, briefly, as if her chest might explode.
‘And now,’ Liam continued, ‘to my tawdry past as a mystery writer. I thought I would explain a little about how I ended up writing the Roskilly and Faith books, why I chose to do it under a pseudonym – simply, because I was more interested in the stories themselves than having any kind of notoriety – then finish by reading one of the legends I wrote to accompany the series. I’ve picked one that I hope you’ll approve of, as it has a distinctly Christmassy feel.’
The last of Ollie’s nerves dissolved as Liam addressed his audience like a pro. He was funny and dry, and recounted his journey to publication with as much nuance and interest as there was in his novels. The audience were rapt, Finn leaning forward with his chin resting on a hand, Lizzy’s eyes bright, everyone slowly accepting, and enjoying, the fact that the slightly reclusive farmer had moonlighted as a skilled, popular author several decades ago.
When he began reading the legend – one Ollie hadn’t got to yet, about a mysterious figure called Misty Nicolas who left Christmas wreaths on doorsteps on foggy, December nights, every household who received one having some good fortune befall them – the bookshop was silent apart from Liam’s deep, mesmerising voice.
Ollie loved studying the happy customers, and she loved that they could all feel proud of Liam, as well as enjoying his stories. This event felt exactly right, for A New Chapter, Port Karadow, and, she hoped, for Liam, too – she thought of Arabella’s appearance, and suppressed a grin. He certainly seemed to be having a good time, holding his listeners in the palm of his hand. He thrived on it, she could see, even if he’d told himself he had never been interested in the public side of being a writer.
She caught Thea’s eye, and her boss gave her a discreet thumbs up.
When Liam finished his reading, the room erupted into wild applause, as if they’d been treated to a night with a famous rock band or world-class opera singer. Liam seemed taken aback, and Ollie walked onto the stage and put her arm around him.
‘Wasn’t he wonderful?’ she shouted, and the applause got louder and faster, showing no signs of dying down.
‘Enough!’ Liam said, holding up his hands and laughing. ‘Good lord, people. Thank you, thank you.’
