Page 81 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘I’m sure their friendship is based on more than that,’ Fiona said with a chuckle. ‘It’s lovely to see, though. And Dexter’s working as hard as he can so he can take a whole week off over Christmas to spend with her.’
Sophie opened one of the large Tupperware boxes, and started putting sausage rolls on the willow-patterned serving dish that Fiona must have brought with her. ‘He’ll need the break,’ she said. ‘These look so delicious.’
‘I did wonder if we’d see you tonight,’ Fiona went on. ‘Or if you’d be ensconced in your love cocoon.’
‘Mylove cocoon.’Sophie laughed.
‘How’s it going with handsome Harry?’
‘It’s good,’ Sophie said, her cheeks warming. ‘Actually, it’s great.’ She had gone back to the manor last night and, in between other activities, he’d shown her the finished bunting. She’d been incredulous: not just at the amount, but the quality of it.
I told you, I’m good with my hands.
Well, I know that now.
Predictably, after that, they’d got distracted all over again.
But she felt guilty, because she still hadn’t told him she’d decided to stay in Mistingham. Jazz knew, and that probably meant Fiona did too, but the person Sophie had got closest to, the person who had changed her mind, was still in the dark. Her stomach churned with nerves every time she thought about telling him, because it felt like the biggest step of all, but she knew she needed to do it soon.
‘He’s in London today,’ she told Fiona. ‘He’s got a meeting with the people he consults for. He should be on his way back now – I think the train gets in at eight.’
‘I bet London’s a nightmare this close to Christmas,’ Fiona said. ‘I heard from Dexter that you’ve been asking around about the book, too. It seems like quite a few things have changed for you.’
Sophie thought how plausible it was that Fiona was behind The Secret Bookshop, even though she’d always denied it. Until she’d got to know Harry, May and Jazz, Fiona had probably been the only person who cared whether or not Sophie stayed in Mistingham. She thought of all the times her friend had bemoaned the loss of The Book Ends, and wondered if it had been a way for her to bring back the spirit of the bookshop, while also encouraging Sophie not to leave.
‘Fiona?’ She put the last sausage roll on the plate, checked the counters for paper napkins.
‘What is it?’ Fiona paused, her hands hovering over the plate of mince pies.
‘I need to ask you something.’ She looked at the woman who, almost as soon as Sophie had arrived in Mistingham, had appointed herself a friend and colleague, had given herbusiness a fighting chance with a permanent corner in her shop. Fiona was asstraightforward as they came. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Forget about it.’
‘Come on,’ Fiona said jovially. ‘We don’t have secrets from each other, do we?’
‘No.’ Sophie looked at her boots. ‘No, we don’t.’
‘Then tell me what’s on your mind.’
Sophie didn’t think itcouldbe Fiona, but she needed to know for sure. She wanted to start this new phase of her life with complete honesty.
‘Sophie?’
‘Did you leave that book for me?’ she asked in a rush, and watched Fiona’s eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘Did you give one to Winnie, and one to Simon and Jason too?’
‘I told you I didn’t.’
‘It was left in the shop – how could you not have seen who did it?’
‘I was out in the back room,’ Fiona said calmly, ‘making tea or checking stock, answering the phone. You know what it’s like.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’m really all you have?’ Her tone was harder, now. ‘Out of everyone in the village? Birdie and Dexter, Harry and May. Natasha? What if it was a mistake? What if they meant to say more on the postcard, sign their name, then got distracted and forgot? What if this was never meant to be a mystery, Sophie?’
Sophie flung her arms up, exasperated. ‘So then why has nobody come to see me, to say, “Hey Sophie, what did you think about the book?” Why don’t Simon or Winnie have any idea who it is either?’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t meant for you. Perhaps the postcard was left inside it ages ago, and it’s all a huge coincidence?’
‘You’re clutching at straws.’
