The Little Bookshop On the Seine (21 page)

“I bet it’s stunning.” I sighed, thinking about how far away I was going to be from my own parents for the first time. Christmas would be very different this year. I hoped they’d still celebrate – open presents by the hearth, sip on some eggnog and sing along to carols.

Oceane continued, “The light is different there, gauzy somehow. It’s the sunlight reflecting off the Mediterranean Sea perhaps. Better to visit in summer when bright pink bougainvillea creeps up walls, and sun bleaches the streets. But some paramour always whisks me away and I only ever get there over winter. And that is a beauty all of its own, the eerie wind off the sea, and days darkening early. We sit in front of the fire and read, my father nipping to cellar whenever we need more wine. What’s not to love?”

“What do you parents do?” I thought they must have subsidized Oceane’s lifestyle, because she certainly lived extravagantly.

“They own vineyards,” she said breezily, shrugging and picking up a pile of books to shelve. “So, this year, you’ll be in charge of the Christmas party.”

Oh sweet Jesus, that I could do. Christmas was my favorite time of year, and I went all out for those I loved. “Do you decorate the bookshop?” I asked. I could picture it all decked out in full Ashford style. At home it was hard to drive down the main street without being blinded by Christmas lights and walking into anyone’s shop you’d be pulled in for a swift peck, as mistletoe was abundant, over every doorway. By the time you went home, your cheeks would be a fetching shade of various lipsticks, and your face would be sore from smiling.

“No, we don’t decorate, save a tiny tree on the counter. Sophie has this fear that the place will catch fire if we so much as light a candle.” Oceane shook her head as if the idea was preposterous. I poured two cups of tea and picked up a pile of books to shelve. “She’s a bit of a Grinch with the whole festive season to be honest.”

It baffled me, people who didn’t adore Christmas. “Well surely we can still decorate a little? It wouldn’t be Christmas without glittery decorations and flashing fairy lights.”

Oceane squinted at me. “I’ve seen how Americans decorate. We’re going to have blinking candy cane earrings and warbled Christmas carols on a loop, aren’t we?”

I laughed. “That’s the spirit! I’m sure we can find some inflatable reindeers, and maybe hire someone to carve ice sculptures? It’ll all be very French minimalist of course.” Her face was a picture of shock, her mouth opened and closed while she tried to discern if I was joking.

“You see the French way…” she said before I interrupted.

“It’s OK, Oceane. You can show me how you do it, and then we’ll just step it up a teeny tiny notch.”

“We could visit Anouk for decorations, though maybe I should go alone. I’m not sure you’re allowed to go out into the secret room yet.”

The elusive other room where the real treasures were kept. I could hardly wait to step past those doors to see what Anouk kept back there. “Because I
can’t
just waltz in there, it makes it that much sweeter. Maybe we can try for some Christmas presents first and see how that goes?” I said, putting the last book into place and surveying the shop. It was neat enough and ready to open.

“Good idea! She’s got some lovely unique pieces your American friends would adore, but never, ever say that. Tell her they’re for you,” she warned.

“Why?”

“Anouk doesn’t like her wares to leave the country.” Oceane shrugged. “It’s a quirk of hers. Thinks our antiques will be mass shipped out by consumerists. I don’t know, it’s just her way.”

I frowned. “OK, but lying to her?”

“Saves her the heartache of worrying.”

I would never get used to these idiosyncrasies, but still, they made me giggle.

Chapter Fifteen

The phone rang in the middle of the night, and my heart seized. “Hello?” I answered, my voice short, sharp.

“What’s wrong?” Ridge’s husky voice traveled down the line.

I sat upright. “It’s two a.m. …I thought, maybe…” A call at that time of the morning had the ability to make me freeze with worry that something had happened to him. He went to remote areas where there were wars, places riddled with conflict. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re OK.”

He said, “I’m sorry I woke you. My body clock, and the time difference, and yet another country, it’s addled me. I didn’t realize it was so late for you.”

“It’s fine.” I settled back on the fluffy pillows. “Is everything all right?”

There was a pause, and I frowned into the darkness. What was he calling for? It wasn’t like him to mess up the times, he had every piece of technology known to mankind, when he was in range, and it worked. “I can call later,” he said.

“No, let’s talk now.”

“Then you’ll be tired tomorrow. Sleep, princess.”

I almost huffed. “Ridge, the calls are few and far between. I’m awake now. We have time.”

“Actually, I only have a minute. I’m supposed to be outside, the car’s on its way.”

“Did you call hoping to get my voicemail?” I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice, because I
knew
, I could feel it. And what kind of relationship was that?

For the first time ever, Ridge was lost for words. My wordsmith, the one who spoke like poetry to me, was stumped.

“Well?” I demanded.

“Not exactly, it’s just…I hate hearing the disappointment in your voice. I feel like a mug. I had a minute so I…”

I didn’t wait for him to continue, just slammed down the phone. What was up with him? I get his life was busy, but so was mine. Calling to chat to my voice mail was just plain rude. And a bad omen of things to come.

Sleep was elusive, as I waited impatiently for the sun to rise.

***

The days were as routine now as they were in my shop back home, although a heck of a lot more frantic. I knew what I had to do each day, and managed my time well in order to get it all done. The promise of an hour or two to wander around Paris inspired me to work efficiently. Today, Beatrice and I worked well together, with no cross words. The aborted call from Ridge the night before was still swirling round my head – what kind of game was he playing at? Pushing it from my mind I turned to the task at hand. Beatrice handed me a cup of tea before heading over to help a young couple at the till.

It was another dark day, where the skies refused to lighten. I was all set to head out for lunch when I spotted him. He was well dressed in loose fitting chinos and a white knit sweater with an all-too obvious designer logo that even I recognized. He didn’t seem like the type who was struggling for cash. It was the way he darted glances over his shoulder that caught my attention. Leaving Beatrice behind the counter I inched my way closer to him, stealth-like.

After the drama of my bags being stolen, I felt capable of nipping this in the bud. I was done with thieves. Pretending to be a customer, I whistled to myself in an
I’m-on-holiday-in-Paris
relaxed kind of way. I pulled a book from the shelf in front of me, and flicked through it, watching him from the corner of my eye. With nimble fingers, he shoved a book up his shirt – so fast, I wondered if I’d imagined it. My chest tightened. I’d never confronted a shoplifter before! With a deep
you-can-do-this
breath, I squared my shoulders, and stormed towards him, holding out my hand. “Give me the book back.” I surveyed his sweater, was there more than one book secreted up there?

He gazed at me with a smile in his eyes. “Excuse me?” his face was a mask of innocence. Honestly, what was it with people stealing here?

Willing my voice not to shake, I said, “Give. Me. The. Book. Back.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Which book?”

I folded my arms. “If you don’t give me the book back, I’m going to holler the place down!”

He chuckled, he
actually
chuckled. What the hell was I doing wrong? I rearranged my expression and did my best steely glare. Just because I was short and unassuming didn’t mean I couldn’t be fierce.

Then suddenly I felt Beatrice next to me, I hoped that she was there to support me, but the air chilled at the tone of her voice. “Sarah, what are you doing?” she hissed through her teeth. “Can you help serve?”

My mouth fell open. All of our earlier camaraderie forgotten. “Excuse
me
, Beatrice, I am actually in the process of catching someone,” I narrowed my eyes at the guy, “
stealing
!” The word came out like a shriek. I expected his face to fall, or him to dash out of the shop, books tumbling as he ran – but he didn’t. A long, slow smirk settled across his features.

“Oh for god’s sake,” she huffed. “You’ve just lost five sales from customers who walked out because they didn’t want to wait, in order to catch this guy stealing one book? He’ll bring it back when he’s done! They all do!”

I stood there, open-mouthed, heart hammering. Eventually I managed, “What?”

Beatrice shook her head, her red curls bouncing. “Could you be any more sheltered? Sophie turns a blind eye to book theft because she believes everyone should have the right to read, and just because they can’t pay, doesn’t mean they should miss out. I thought you’d been told all of this?” She rolled her eyes, and it was all I could do not to poke her, the gazing heavenward thing was getting old super-fast. She’d held off from doing it to me, but finally she’d cracked.

“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “There’s a lending library here! If they want books, why can’t they borrow them the right way?” None of this made sense, it was like I was stuck in a parallel universe. Letting people steal? No wonder my bags had been taken if no one cared about theft!

With a huff she turned and apologized to the thief.

My face turned crimson. “Don’t say sorry to
him
! Are you insane?”

“Look, Sarah. Things are done differently here, as you’ve been told a hundred times already! The lending library is full of
old
books. This guy,” she jerked a thumb at him, “no doubt wants something newer. It’s not a big deal.”

I glared at them both.

He laughed, and took another book from the shelf, giving me a wink as he walked blithely past.

“He’ll bring it back,” Beatrice said. “Serve now? Before we lose the rest of the customers to the bookshop around the corner.”

Anger coursed through me. This was a flagrant abuse of Sophie’s trust. There would be no stealing allowed while I was here. I was all for people reading, but there was a perfectly good lending library, and they could show some respect by asking at least. My mind whirred with ideas, we could easily update the library selection with newer books. I couldn’t believe Sophie was that busy she let her books go, just like that? With so much emphasis on the bottom line, her complex computer programs for data entry, and the drive to make more sales, how could she let brand new books walk out the door? It didn’t make any sense. And yet another thing I added on the to-do list.

Later that day I was totting up the total takings, sipping coffee as the same heavy sensation settled in my gut by the continued drop in sales. I steeled myself. If books were being stolen, then that would definitely contribute to our bottom line. Without another thought I emailed Sophie and asked if she was free to Skype. A few minutes later a call came through on the laptop.

On screen, Sophie looked beautiful. Her time away had softened the worry lines around her eyes and the stiffness of her posture. She was so relaxed she was almost floppy, a stark contrast to me, coiled snake-like with anxiety.

“Oh darling your friends are like sunshine, the town is everything I imagined it to be and more. I never want to come home! Perhaps we should think of extending the exchange to a year?” I choked on my coffee, and managed to get hand to my mouth before I covered the computer screen with liquid.

Sophie frowned. “Are you OK?”

I composed myself, and managed a laugh. “I’m fine! But I think what we discussed originally is an adequate time to live each other’s lives.” Sophie was having a blast with my friends, and I couldn’t contain the tiny bit of jealousy that crept up and tapped me on the shoulder.

I pressed on, “It’s just, there was an incident today. A thief snatched a book, and Beatrice bounded over and told me you turn a blind eye to it. And it doesn’t make sense to me. If you let people steal books, then no wonder the staff think it’s OK to steal from the till.”

Through the monitor, she gave me a patient smile, and I knew what was coming. Never in a million years would we be on the same page, of that I was certain. “Of course I allow people to take books! It’s an unwritten rule, one we’ve had for years. It’s for locals, students, people that will one day have their own names on novels in my shop, and will remember how we helped them… a long standing tradition which started way before I took over.”

My mind actually boggled – a pounding sensation, the beginning of a headache brewing. On top of everything else this felt like the final straw; I was exhausted, exasperated and I wasn’t holding back any more. “Fine! I’ll let people steal, even though it makes no sense to me. But it’s setting the standard, Sophie. I don’t know which one of the staff is stealing, or if it’s a bunch of them nipping Euros out of the till, but how can you expect them to care if you give away books like that?”

Her eyes narrowed, as though she didn’t like what I had to say. “Are you unhappy because of Ridge leaving, is that what this is?”

I reeled as if slapped. “No, Sophie, that’s not why. You said your staff were a handful, you said the paperwork was monumental. Fine, I get that. But the pressure of covering shifts for lazy staff, and then staying up late so I can add everything into the computer, and then getting up bleary-eyed the next day to be told stealing books is OK… it’s downright ridiculous. No wonder no one respects me here, when I try to do things the right way, and not follow some weak tradition from the past.”

Her mouth fell open. She wasn’t used to me having an opinion, especially a daring one like that. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said, sharply.

“Let me guess, because I’m not French?” I shook my head. “Why can’t they ask for a book instead of just taking it?” She went to speak but I held up a hand. I was going to say my piece this time. “I’ve been riddled with guilt working here. The thought of all that money missing kept me from sleeping. I’ve made stupid mistakes myself from being constantly wooly-headed. And I’m not taking it any more, Sophie. While I’m here, things will have to change or I can’t stay.” The words fell from my mouth, before I could edit them. But it was time I stood up for myself, or I’d end up being run ragged by unwritten rules that made no sense.