2

Florrie wheeled her bike into the entrance area of the flat, her stomach all of a dither. What was that all about? The sound of paws thundering down the stairs made her look up as she leaned her cycle against the wall. ‘Good morning, Gerty. How are you today, eh, girl?' Smiling, Florrie bent to ruffle the glossy ears of the black Labrador who was now nuzzling into her legs with her usual enthusiastic greeting. ‘Well, this is a lovely welcome.' She gave Gerty's solid body a resounding pat. ‘And how's Mr H this morning? Has he got the kettle on yet? D'you think he's in the right frame of mind to talk about having the outside windows repainted?'

Gerty pressed her paw against Florrie's leg, looking up at her with happy brown eyes, her tail swishing across the floor. ‘Come on, let's go and see,' Florrie said, and the Labrador jumped to attention.

Florrie grabbed her backpack from the basket of her bike and followed Gerty up the threadbare runner of the stairs and into the kitchen of the flat. Though it had barely been updated since the nineteen-seventies, the place was spotlessly clean and neat, like every other room up there.

‘Morning, Florrie, dear.' Bernard Harte smiled at her as he peered over his half-moon spectacles. He was sitting at the table, his white hair combed back neatly, his navy-blue V-neck pullover stretched taut across his rotund middle. He had a mug of tea in one hand and the local newspaper spread out in front of him. A small pile of newly delivered post was set to the side. As usual, there was a selection of warmed croissants and pains au chocolat arranged on a plate in the centre, and this morning they smelt particularly divine.

‘Morning, Mr H.' Florrie gave him a wide smile as she pulled off her beret, her hair instantly floating about as static made mischief with it. Smoothing it down proved futile so she unwound her scarf and slipped off her coat. ‘Oh, yum! They look delicious; I'm absolutely famished, the fresh air always gives me a raging appetite, and it was particularly fresh this morning, I can tell you,' she said breezily, doing her best to push the conversation with the handsome stranger out of her mind, promising herself she'd give it some serious thought later.

As he did every work-day morning, Mr Harte prepared breakfast for himself and Florrie using freshly made supplies from Seaside Bakery, the artisan baker's shop two doors down. Tuesday to Saturday, it was chunky doorsteps of toast or thick, oven-bottom muffins with lashings of butter and strawberry jam or tangy marmalade, but on Mondays Mr H always treated them to a selection of croissants and pains-au-chocolat, it was his way of creating a bright start to the week. The bookshop opened at nine-thirty and Florrie had fallen into the habit of arriving an hour early so the pair could enjoy a leisurely breakfast, washed down with copious cups of tea while they discussed their plans for the day, and – whenever Florrie felt brave enough – her ideas for bringing the bookshop a little more up-to-date. Granted, her suggestions were usually turned down, but it didn't stop her from trying.

‘I'm pleased to hear you're hungry, you could do with having a few more pounds on you, you're no bigger than a sparrow. And judging by the roses in your cheeks, I assume you've cycled half-way around the town to get here.' He gave a chuckle that lit up his deep-blue eyes.

Florrie grinned as she went to hang up her coat. Used to the familiar routine, Gerty settled herself by the little pot-bellied stove in the corner, her eyes never leaving the pastries on the table. ‘Mr H, you know very well I can't let a day go by without having a fix of the view along the prom. Cycling along there first thing in the morning, while the town's waking up, is no hardship; it's more than worth the ten minutes it adds to my journey. I don't think I'll ever tire of looking at Thorncliffe.'

‘Ah, yes, I do know what you mean.' He took off his glasses and sighed. ‘My Dinah used to speak of it as fondly as you do; she couldn't go a day without getting a glimpse of it either. I used to feel the same, but I can't bring myself to look at it now.'

Florrie's heart squeezed at the sadness in his voice. The eighty-four-year-old had lost his wife two years earlier. She'd suffered a stroke and had become increasingly reliant on a wheelchair the year before she passed away. Every day, Mr H would push her along the top promenade where they'd sit and gaze out at the cliff, sipping coffee from the Crows' Nest, watching the boats and surfers.

Florrie gave a small smile as she made her way over to the table, pulling the hem of her berry-red turtle-neck jumper over her black skinny jeans. She topped-up Mr H's mug of tea before pouring one for herself. ‘There's something about that cliff that gets right under your skin. I could honestly never live anywhere else but here.'

‘Hmm. I wish young Edward felt that way. I'd love nothing better than if he came to live here. He doesn't seem settled in London.'

‘Oh?' She pushed her glasses up her nose. For as far back as she could remember, Mr H had been estranged from his son, Peter, and daughter-in-law, Suzanne, and as a sad consequence, his thirty-four-year-old grandson, Edward. She didn't know the full ins and outs, but she'd gathered it was something to do with an explosive argument between Mr H and Peter over the bookshop. Though neither Mr nor Mrs H had spoken much about it, she could tell it had caused them enormous pain, especially as it had deprived them of any contact with their only grandchild who'd been a young boy at the time. No one was more surprised than she when six months ago, out of the blue, Mr H had received a letter from Edward who'd tracked him down, stating he was keen to build bridges and get to know his grandfather. Mr H had been in raptures and hadn't wasted a moment in rushing down to London to see his grandson. Since then, he'd paid him several visits, returning each time with a renewed zest for life.

It had warmed Florrie's heart to see her boss looking so happy, though at the back of her mind there was a little niggle that warned her the reunion might possibly be short-lived, especially if Edward's parents had anything to do with it. She'd kept that to herself, hoping upon hope that he wouldn't let his lovely grandad down.

Mr Harte lifted a postcard from the top of the pile of post and waved it at her. ‘He sent me this.' He slid his glasses back on.

‘Oh?'

‘Yes, and judging from the variety of postmarks, it's taken a while to get here. Anyway, the poor boy's been so busy he hasn't had time to call or email. He works too hard; all the hours God sends by the sound of things.'

Florrie pushed down the doubts that were starting to surface before Mr Harte was alerted to them. He'd known her all her life, and having worked for him and Mrs H since she was thirteen years old, he'd developed the ability to read her like the books that lined the shelves of his shop. But it still didn't stop her from worrying that Edward had been having doubts about his newly restored relationship with his grandfather. Mr H would be devastated if he had.

‘And reading between the lines…' Mr H paused, scrutinizing the postcard, ‘…hmm, I think young Edward's a bit lonely. Yes, lonely, that's the feeling I'm getting. Edward is lonely, which is a terrible shame for a wonderful young man like him.'

‘Lonely?' She took a sip of tea and peered over her mug at him, her glasses steaming up. She wondered how he'd drawn that conclusion from the smattering of words on the postcard.

‘Yes, don't ask me what it is that makes me think that, it's just a feeling I'm getting, call it grandfathers' intuition.' He frowned at the postcard, pursing his lips together. ‘Maybe I should invite him to stay here for a while; he could have a little break. What do you think?'

‘I think that's a great idea. I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to spend time with you.' She beamed at him, garnering as much enthusiasm as she could to stifle her doubts. The thought of Mr H being disappointed by his grandson made her heart ache.

He chuckled, his rheumy eyes twinkling. ‘Well, you seem as excited as I am at the prospect of him coming to Micklewick Bay.'

What? No! ‘It's just that I know how much a visit from him would mean to you; you could take a few days off so the pair of you can catch-up; a break would do you good too.' She hoped her explanation would be enough to stop his mind from heading down that route; since he'd made contact with Edward, he'd regularly commented on how he thought Florrie and his grandson would "make a lovely couple".

‘Yes, that's very true. Come to think of it, a few day trips with young Edward would be rather splendid. And you could show him around the town, couldn't you? Take him under your wing with that rather jolly group of friends of yours?'

Florrie had all on not to choke on her tea. You've got to be kidding me! Conscious of Mr H watching her, she steadied herself. ‘Erm… well… I suppose so… yes.' She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

‘Splendid! It'll do him the world of good to get some fresh seaside air in his lungs. He spends far too much time indoors, painting or whatever it is he does now.' Mr Harte sat up straight. ‘A couple of weeks here in North Yorkshire would be like a tonic to him.'

And it would be like a tonic to you too , she thought, looking at him fondly, seeing the colour had returned to his cheeks. She felt herself soften. ‘If I were you, I'd get onto it straight away, before he makes other plans.'

‘Yes, good point.' He paused for a moment, thinking. ‘So, can I just double-check, you'd be happy to let young Edward tag along with you and your chums while he's here? I'm sure he'd find the option of being able to spend some time with folk closer to his own age more appealing than being stuck with an old fogey like me for the duration of his stay.'

Florrie groaned inwardly, she felt torn; the prospect of having to entertain Edward Harte with Mr H not-so-subtly playing cupid in the background wasn't remotely appealing. But seeing the hopeful look on her boss's face made it impossible to refuse, so she forced a smile, and, trying to stop reluctance from lacing her voice, said, ‘Yes, as long as he can put up with us.' What have I just agreed to?

‘Excellent!' Mr H's eyes lit up. ‘I'm sure he'll be able to. I'll call him just as soon as we've had breakfast. Now, come along, dear, tuck in, I know how you enjoy a pain-au-chocolat. Oh, and it was Jasmine who served me with these; she said to say hello.' He pushed the plate of breakfast pastries towards her.

Florrie mustered-up a smile, though it didn't stop a sense of misgiving setting in.

The usual Friday night get-together at The Jolly Sailors with Jasmine, Stella, Maggie and Lark wouldn't come around soon enough after this conversation, but the sudden thought of Edward Harte joining them made her heart plummet all the way down to her black ballerina pumps. How was she going to explain that to them, especially since Friday nights were strictly just the five of them? She stifled a sigh; she knew just how much it meant to Mr H. But, either way, it had taken the edge off her appetite.

A whimper came from Gerty's direction, reminding them of her presence. Florrie glanced across to see the Labrador looking at her as if to say, ‘Come on! What are you wating for? There's food to be had!' Florrie couldn't help but smile. In typical Labrador fashion, Gerty's appetite clearly remained unaffected by whatever was unfolding around her.

As she reached for a pain-au-chocolat, Florrie sensed the weight of Mr H's gaze on her. She lifted her brown eyes to see him looking at her intently over his glasses. ‘Is everything all right, my dear? You seem a bit distracted this morning, it's not like you.'

Florrie's heart lurched, regretting that he'd sensed the change in her demeanour. ‘I'm absolutely fine; I'm just making a mental list of the jobs I need to tackle, that's all.'

‘Hmm,' he said, taking a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving her.

‘And I read till quite late last night, so I'm a bit tired. Maybe that's what you're picking up on. I'll have to make sure I get an early night tonight.' She laughed, switching her gaze from him. Even to her own ears, Florrie's excuses sounded flimsy.

‘And how are things with that young man of yours? You haven't mentioned him much recently. Is everything all right there?'

Oh, here we go. Let the meddling begin! She knew exactly where this line of questioning was heading. Much as she was relieved to get away from the topic of Edward, she'd rather it didn't switch to Graham. Time to change the subject!

‘Everything's fine, thanks.' She pulled a corner off her pastry. ‘By the way, did you say Miss Davenport would be popping in today?'

‘Yes, I rang her on Saturday evening to let her know her book had arrived; she said she'd call in for it sometime this morning.'

Florrie nodded. She had a soft spot for Miss Davenport, an old friend of Mr and Mrs H's, and a regular at the bookshop; she often called in for a chat as much as to buy a book. And though Florrie was aware Miss Davenport kept herself busy with the variety of clubs she was a member of, she rarely mentioned family. Florrie suspected she was lonely. ‘Hmm. I was thinking about her the other day; wondering if she's read any of Julie Spelton's novels. They're getting really popular; I think she'd enjoy them. They're the same mix of romance and humour as Tilly Turner's books, which, as we know, are Miss Davenport's favourites. They're set in the Scottish Highlands too, which ticks another of her boxes.'

‘Yes, now you mention it, I think you're right. I'll look into ordering a couple.'

Phew! The distraction had worked. Florrie beamed. ‘Good.' It gave her a thrill to find new authors for their customers, particularly ones like Miss Davenport. Over the years, Florrie had grown very fond of her, and had got to know her well as they'd chatted over the counter. And she'd become quite adept at seeking out new authors for her to try.

Mr H tapped the postcard against the palm of his hand and pursed his lips. Sensing his mind was moving back towards the matter of her love-life and Edward, Florrie acted quickly. ‘It's a shame she never married or had a partner.'

‘Who?'

‘Miss Davenport. She's such a warm, kind-hearted soul, and judging by the sort of books she reads, it's obvious she loves the idea of romance. I think it's a terrible shame she's had no one to share her life with.'

‘Yes, it is a terrible shame; Jean never seemed to recover from having her heart broken by Johnny Jackson when she was a young woman. Stunned everyone when he dropped her like a hot potato.'

‘That's so sad.' Florrie knew Mr H was averse to gossip and whenever their conversations touched on Miss Davenport he never elaborated on the same scant details he always shared, but she couldn't shake the feeling he knew more than he let on. Maybe a little nudge would help reveal more, and this morning felt like the perfect moment to try. ‘I wonder what really happened?'

‘No one knows the ins and outs, but one minute Johnny and Jean were madly in love and looked destined to head down the aisle together, and the next he was in the arms of Elsie Norwood who was Jean's best friend at the time. He shocked everyone by leaving town and marrying Elsie in something of a whirlwind. Rumour had it a baby followed six months later, but no one knows for sure. Johnny never returned to Micklewick Bay after that. Dinah and I could never see what he saw in Elsie, we always had the impression she was rather conniving.'

‘Goodness, I didn't know a baby was involved, no wonder Miss Davenport was so devastated.' It saddened her to think that her friend's heart had been so badly broken she'd felt unable to open it up to love again.

‘Yes, well, I've said too much; I'd be grateful if you would keep what I've told you to yourself.' He coughed and mumbled something under his breath.

‘Of course. How about another cuppa?' Mr H may have shared more than he intended, but Florrie still had the feeling he was holding something back. And that something had piqued her interest.

‘Yes, thank you, my dear.' He watched Florrie as she topped up his cup. ‘And did you and your young man go anywhere nice this weekend? Did he take you somewhere wonderful for a slap-up meal, or did he take you dancing?' There was that glint in his eyes again. ‘A charming young girl like you should be treated like a princess; I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you on his arm.'

Florrie set the teapot down, averting her eyes from his. ‘Graham was away on a business trip at the weekend.'

‘I see,' Mr H said slowly, smoothing his hand over his chin. A loaded silence stretched out between them. ‘Well, it's a shame young Edward wasn't here; it would've been the perfect opportunity for you both to get acquainted.'

Florrie's stomach lurched at hearing Edward's name again and she felt her face flush. Mr H, the wily old fox, couldn't have been less subtle if he'd tried. But two could play at that game, she thought, as she resolutely pushed Edward from her mind; it was time for a little bit of give and take. If she'd just agreed to take his grandson "under her wing", then surely Mr H couldn't refuse a request to tackle one of the jobs he usually, very deftly, brushed under the carpet as soon as she mentioned them. She seized the moment. ‘I meant to mention, when I arrived this morning, I noticed the paintwork outside has suffered quite badly over the winter, and I really think we should get it repainted before it gets any worse; the wood's at risk of rotting if we leave it. I'm more than happy to get some quotes and organise it all for you.' She finished with a hopeful smile, ignoring the reluctant face her boss was pulling.

‘Must we? Is it really that bad? I'm sure it was fine the last time I checked out there; and, if I'm being honest, I don't really have the heart for anything like that. Since I lost Dinah there doesn't seem much point any more,' he said, his eyes losing their sparkle.

Which was exactly the problem, and why Florrie was now feeling terrible for bringing it up. Since Mrs Harte had passed away, the shop had become increasingly neglected, and she couldn't help but think it was why customers were trickling away. Florrie did as much as she was able without causing offence to her boss, but there was so much wonderful potential in the shop and she knew that Mrs Harte would be sad to see how it was fading into a shadow of its former self.

‘Well, how about doing it for Edward? For his visit?' Florrie popped a piece of pain-au-chocolat into her mouth and chewed. ‘Tell him you're doing it in honour of him coming to see you, then he won't be able to refuse.' A little guilt-trip sent in Edward's direction might just do the trick – just in case there were any doubts about calling to see his grandfather lingering in his mind.

‘Oh, I hadn't thought of that. And now you mention it, I wouldn't like him to see the shop looking shabby. Yes, let's do that, let's get the place looking ship-shape again.' Mr H looked suddenly brighter. ‘If you're sure you don't mind finding someone to do it, I'll go and see if I can get hold of Edward right now.'

‘Brilliant.' She smiled, rubbing her hands together. It gladdened her heart to see Mr H looking so animated. She hoped with all her might his grandson wouldn't disappoint him.

*

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