Chapter Thirteen

Ash sighed and closed the final page of the book. She contemplated throwing it at the wall but decided that would probably be bad form for a bookshop owner, however temporary she might be. It just wasn't… satisfying. Okay, so the couple had beat their obstacles, fallen in love, but so what? She'd finished the book only because she hadn't wanted to leave it incomplete.

In the end she tucked the book tidily under the counter and wiggled the computer mouse to make her screen come to life.

She checked her email, flicked through a few sites, and then sighed again.

Her original plan hadn't been amazing, but she'd figured she'd get at least something from one of the genealogical websites. Some kind of… what? Now that she thought about it, it wasn't like she had that much information to give herself.

After all, what did she know other than her own name and her mother's? She didn't even… Quickly she clicked onto Google and made a search request. Alright, that might be a start. She clicked again, filling in the appropriate information and her credit card number. A copy of her birth certificate would be with her within three weeks, she was promised on the final screen.

Great. Only almost a month. She gritted her teeth. Why was it so hard to find anything out? She was beginning to sympathize slightly with solicitor Snythe. Tracking down families was a lot harder than she'd imagined.

Mind you, if her father was anything like the idiot she'd just read about in that stupid book, all illogical feelings and doing anything for love, she didn't think she'd be able to stand him. Not that she actually planned on meeting him. Probably.

Mostly she just wanted to sort out this bookshop business. She wanted to be sure that she was the right person and that some rightful heir wasn't going to come tracking her down years from now to demand money from the sale.

Then she wanted to know more about Mary. She still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she needed there, some secret that Mary was keeping about who she was, the life she led, the happiness she had.

There was a faint meow as the damned cat slipped around the counter and then hopped up on top of a bookshelf. Ash bared her teeth and growled at him. He ignored her completely.

"Nice look," George said, coming up the stairs from the cellar just in time. "A bark or growl won't do you any good though, Fab loves dogs. All the online orders are done, Billy will pick them up in the morning when he's done with his rounds."

"Billy?" Ash asked.

"Um, postman?" George said. "Do you not know his name yet? You've been here nearly two weeks."

"Why would I know the postman's name?"

"Because…" George shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, I want to know, why would I?"

"Because he drops in here nearly every day and asks how you are and gives you your letters and because why wouldn't you? You live here now."

"Temporarily," Ash reminded him, though the idea of keeping the flat upstairs was growing on her. She walked on the beach every day and the quiet evenings were perfect for getting her work done. She was starting to like it here, to like the way the days were all the same.

There was no opera, of course, or lunchtime concerts, or museums to go to. But she supposed she could still take the train up to London for those things from time to time.

"Right, temporarily," George said. He sniffed. "Pen thinks you'll end up staying, you know."

Ah, there was the current obstacle standing in her way. If she did stay, how was she supposed to persuade the blonde to just leave her alone? Or at least to knock before coming in, and to limit her visits to no more than once a week rather than two or three times a day.

"Mmm," was all Ash felt comfortable saying to this.

"You should give her a chance," said George. "She's really lovely, you'll like her if you give her a chance and you never know, you two might—"

"We two nothing, she's an interfering little… something," Ash said sharply.

George rolled his eyes. "Fine, well, then, I suppose I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hold on," Ash said, putting her hands on the counter. "Where do you think you're going? It's only one o'clock."

"It's my half day," said George, picking up his jacket from behind the counter. "You'll be fine, don't worry."

"Well… what if I'm not?" she said, starting to panic slightly. "What if… I don't know, what if there's some kind of book emergency?"

"There are no book emergencies," George said, pulling his coat on. "And if there were, well, I suppose you'd just have to deal with them. This is your shop, after all. Temporarily, that is."

"But…" Ash took a breath. "How about we ask Pen to come in and help?"

George looked at her as if she'd grown two heads. "Pen has her own shop to run, she doesn't have time to run around after you. Which is something you should remember. All those biscuits and cakes she brings you, they all take work, you know?"

"I know," Ash said, coloring a little and suddenly feeling just the tiniest bit ungrateful. She did know that. She should have said something.

"And Pen is about the busiest person I know. In between baking and running the cafe, she volunteers to help reading at the school, she fund-raises for the WI, she looks after Moira's kids when Moira needs a break, she's in the crochet circle and the bookclub, she's the first to stand up and help when help's needed."

He took a step toward the counter, picked up a small collection box that Ash had seen but not registered.

"She'll give to any charity going, she contributes to everything, and maybe you could keep all that in mind before you start thinking of her as an interfering little anything. Because Penelope Robson is about the kindest, most caring, most generous person I know, and frankly, you're lucky that she even gives you the time of day."

Ash's mouth had gone dry and she blinked rapidly a few times before swallowing. "Um… right," she said weakly. "Right, okay."

George shook his head and smiled a little. "Alright, I might have got a bit carried away defending her honor. But it's all something to keep in mind, eh? Pen's brilliant, and you could be a bit kinder."

"Right," Ash said again. He was right. She could afford to be a bit more charitable she supposed. Especially since it turned out Pen was some kind of saint. Not that she needed a saint in her life, but it wouldn't kill her to have a bit more patience, she supposed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," George said. "Oh, and I see you finished that book. Don't forget the new one I gave you. I think you'll like it better."

"Yeah, okay," said Ash. "'Bye then."

She tried not to stare after him piningly as he walked out the door and up the street, but she couldn't help herself.

She still felt oddly uncomfortable in the shop. All those heaving bosoms inside the closed pages of all those books made her feel odd, almost embarrassed. She looked down at her own chest. It didn't heave. In fact, she wasn't even sure it merited the word bosom.

But maybe that was the problem, maybe she felt uncomfortable because she'd never exactly been the heaving bosom type. Sure, she'd had dates, even a few short-term relationships. But she'd decided early on that none of that stuff was for her, it just never felt right. She'd always been better alone.

So she'd left the heaving bosoms to other people, better endowed people, and moved on. So, it seemed, had Mary. Except in her case she'd sold heaving bosoms to other people. So maybe they had more in common than Ash might think.

She went into the back and made herself a cup of tea. If she was lucky, the shop would stay quiet until closing time and maybe even she'd get the chance to make a start on George's colorful book before she took her evening walk.

As the kettle boiled she thought she felt a stir of air, thought she almost heard something. But when she went back into the shop, there seemed to be no one there.

For the next half an hour she ran through the shop's email accounts to see if she could find any clues there about who Mary was, finding nothing, but feeling the whole time like she was being watched.

Fabio seemed on alert too, his head not bending in sleep, eyes wide open.

Finally, Ash closed the email program, grumbling to herself, and feeling very stupid, walked around the shop, poking her head into all the corners until, to her surprise, she looked around a shelf and found a young woman in a comfortable armchair fast asleep.

It took her a second to register what was happening. The unkempt look of her, the overloaded rucksack by her side, the stale smell. Ash wrinkled her nose.

"Come on, up you get," she said. "You can't stay here."

The woman opened her eyes, blinked and yawned before stirring. Ash seriously hoped she wasn't going to start anything, that she wasn't going to have to call the police.

"Alright," the woman said, stretching and picking up her bag. "Alright, keep your hair on, I'm going, I'm going."

Ash followed her to the shop door and out onto the street, seeing Pen peek out of her door as they both went out into the sunshine. She had just a glimmer of a memory of what George had said and the young woman looked even dirtier in the sunlight. With a sigh she dipped into her pocket and pulled out a ten pound note.

"Here," she said. "Get yourself something to eat."

The girl's eyes opened wider. "Thanks," she said. "Thanks very much, that's really kind."

Well, maybe I could stand to be a bit kinder, Ash thought as she went back inside. But as she turned to close the door she noticed that Pen had come out of her shop and had put her arm around the girl, was ushering her into the bakery.

And somehow she knew that her ten pound note wasn't going to be good in the bakery. That Pen was going to feed the girl and help her and ask for nothing in return. Ash was as jaded as they came. But finally, she realized, George was right about Pen. She really was a good person. A truly good person.