Chapter Five
Weak sunlight streamed through the clouds and even Ash had to admit that Tetherington didn't look half bad. The sea stretched away from the promenade, blue and twinkling, and she promised herself a walk on the beach later. She smiled in satisfaction at the thought that she'd be walking on the beach when she should be having dinner with the Browns.
Then there was a neat little high street, complete with tiny boutiques and striped awnings. The place looked like it was stuck in the fifties, and that was no bad thing. As much as Ash liked the anonymity of living in the city, she was far from a fan of the vape shops and American candy stores that had sprung up everywhere.
She drove carefully and slowly down the street until she found a parking spot, parked neatly and efficiently, and got out of the car, pulling her duffle bag with her.
The bookshop was the third building along and she approached from the opposite side of the street, wanting to get a good look at it.
From down here the roof looked good, the guttering was in decent shape. The building itself was dark red brick and looked fairly well maintained. She nodded to herself. Given the condition of the place and its positioning right on the high street, she was probably looking at a low six figure price range.
Not that she needed the money. She was an accountant, after all. Her investments and pension plans were all in order.
She let herself take in the big windows, the merry red front door. Then she cocked her head to one side. Mended Hearts. Huh. Weird name for a bookshop, but then maybe it had been something else before. Was that a good name for a pub? It sounded like a dating agency.
The thought of dating agencies made Ash feel a bit funny so she hurriedly crossed the road and fished the big set of keys that Snythe had given her out of her pocket.
Ten years ago, her mother had signed her up for a dating agency. It hadn't gone well. Mostly because Ash hadn't met a single person. Not that there hadn't been interested parties, she just… she just refused to meet any of them.
In the end, life was simpler and easier the way she liked it and adding someone else into the mix, well, that just sounded like asking for disaster.
"You can't want to be alone forever," her mother had protested.
"Why not?" Ash had asked. "I'm happy, it's not like I'm sitting in my flat depressed or anything."
"But…"
"But what? Just because you've had eleven husbands doesn't mean that I need eleven husbands," Ash had said.
"Chance'd be a fine thing. You've barely got time for three husbands at the rate you're going," her mother had said.
It hadn't hurt though. Because Ash truly couldn't imagine having a man around the house. Sharing her intimate space with someone big and lumbering. Cooking dinner every night. Having someone mess with her things and talking all the time. She didn't like it when people talked, for the most part.
The door creaked open and Ash got a whiff of mold and damp paper before her searching hand found the light switch and she bathed the shop in soft, yellowing light. Tall shelves lined the walls, a little cash desk sat at the back, there were a few display tables and some comfy chairs, and one large sagging couch under the window.
She let the door swing shut behind her. Not a bad space, she thought, putting her duffle down on the couch.
Something rustled and Ash's heart began to beat double time. Surely there couldn't be anyone here? Her mouth was dry as she searched for something, anything to defend herself with. She picked up a large coffee table book and was raising it over her head when a fat orange cat picked its way around a bookshelf and meowed at her.
"Jesus," she said, breathing out. "Well, you'll have to go, for a start. I can't sell a bookshop with a cat."
She made a mental note to call the local animal rescue to have the cat picked up.
She put down the book and picked up her bag, the shop itself was good, but what about the rest of the place?
A few minutes of exploring led her through a small kitchen space behind the shop, then up the stairs to find a tiny apartment that hadn't been decorated since the early nineties by the look of it. There was a hatch that she assumed led to the attic, but she wasn't prepared to deal with spiders yet, so she decided to go back down and investigate the kitchen.
Maybe there'd be tea.
She rounded the corner of the staircase to find a woman standing in the middle of the kitchen.
In the space of a moment, Ash took her in. She was small and curvy making a ball come to mind, her hair in blonde curls and her eyes deep blue and dancing. She had a comfortable body, one that didn't mind biscuits but equally didn't spend all day on the couch.
And she was smiling.
Which was probably why Ash didn't look around for a coffee table book to hit her with.
Instead, she took another two steps down and then cleared her throat. The woman grinned broadly and extended her hand just as a large frying pan appeared around the door frame and a gruff voice shouted.
"I've called the police, drop your weapons!"
The blonde woman retrieved her hand, which was a good thing because Ash hadn't been at all sure about taking it. "Jesus, George, you've got to stop watching Line of Duty. Come in here, won't you?"
A short, dark haired young man poked his head around the door. "Oh," he said.
"Oh," the blonde said back.
"Why do you have a frying pan?" said Ash, since that seemed like the most pressing question currently.
"Defense," said the man.
"From…?"
"You?" he tried.
"Huh," said Ash. She couldn't think of a response to that.
"You must be the new owner," the blonde said, still smiling and Ash wondered if her face hurt.
"Maybe," Ash allowed.
"Maybe?" asked the man.
"So you're Mary's…?" tried the blonde.
"Don't know," said Ash.
The man put the frying pan down on the kitchen table. "Hold on a second. Who are you exactly? And why are you here? I don't really have to call the police, do I?"
Ash could see how this probably didn't look great. "Alright, well, I've apparently inherited this bookshop. I haven't signed all the paperwork yet, which is why I'm not the actual owner. And I've got no idea who Mary is, which is a whole other thing. The solicitor seems to think that she's my aunt. Or was my aunt, I suppose."
"Right," said the man, looking doubtful.
"I've got the keys," added Ash.
He seemed to relax a bit at that. "Alrighty then, it looks like you're on the up and up." He started to smile a bit. "I'm George, by the way. I work here. Or I suppose I worked here. Whether or not I work here now is sort of up to you."
Ash considered this. She hadn't thought about staff. It might be helpful to have someone around though, someone to sort through things, to tell her where things were. Plus, the nice thing about staff was that you could send them home when you were tired of them.
"Alright," she said. "You can stay on for the time being, if you like. I could do with some help sorting things out." He grinned and Ash turned to the blonde. "Do you work here too?"
"Pen," she said.
Ash looked around. "I don't have one at the minute," she said, confused as to why the woman would need one.
"No, no," the woman laughed. It was a nice sound, a good belly laugh, not some well-mannered titter. "That's my name. Pen. Short for Penelope."
"I see," said Ash, who did see even though she thought Pen could have been clearer from the start. "But you don't work here?"
"No. I'm the next door neighbor," Pen said.
Ash had a sudden flash of Amanda Brown's face. Oh no, she wasn't doing this again. No interfering neighbors, no dinners she couldn't say no to, absolutely not.
"Right, well the shop's not open at the moment," she said, walking toward the woman with her arms open, ushering everyone back into the shop itself. "And I've not got my bearings yet."
"Of course, of course," Pen said, still unbelievably smiling. "I'll leave you to get on with things. I'm sure I'll see you soon."
Not if I see you first, thought Ash grimly. "Bye then," was what she actually said.
"That wasn't terrifically polite," George said as Ash closed and locked the door. "You didn't even introduce yourself."
"Ash," said Ash. "And I don't have to be polite. This is my shop."
"Not yet it's not," George reminded her. "You didn't sign the paperwork, did you?"
Ash sighed. Maybe having staff wasn't the best idea in the world. "Alright, you're done for the day."
"It's barely lunchtime."
"I need to have a poke around and see what's what. Are there accounts somewhere?"
"Everything's on the computer," George said, pointing to the cash desk. "The password is under the desk on a post-it."
"Security conscious, huh?"
"It's never been a problem," he said, backing toward the door. "I'll come back tomorrow morning then?"
"Nine o'clock," agreed Ash. She took a look around. "What kind of name is Mended Hearts anyway?" she asked as George opened the door.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You didn't know?"
"Know what?"
"This is a romance bookshop," he said with a chuckle as he left.
Ash frowned. What was she getting into? Men who wanted to hit her with frying pans and were disconcertingly not at all subservient, books that featured heaving bosoms and manly throbbing rods, and comfortable blonde neighbors with eyes like the sea and enchanting laughs.
Maybe coming here had been a mistake after all.