Chapter Seven

The sand stretched away, yellow and wet, into the distance as the sea hissed on the shore and the wind blew Ash's hair into her eyes. She walked steadily over the beach, continuing until she hit rocks and then turning to walk back, feeling the air fresh in her lungs.

There was a lot to be said for being able to walk on the beach. Enough that by the end of her walk she was seriously considering a move. After all, she worked from home, it wouldn't be like she had to totally up-end her life or anything. Walking on the beach every morning could be a good thing. An excellent thing.

She could sell her flat in London. She could even, if she wanted, keep the little flat here and sell the bookshop.

Because she had to sell the bookshop. What the hell else was she supposed to do with it? She knew as much about book-selling as she knew about stamp collecting. And even less than that about romance novels.

In fact, she still blushed slightly every time she walked into the shop as though the dirty parts were leaking out of the books and infecting her or something. Which was definitely ridiculous.

Not that Tetherington itself was a bad place. It seemed very nice actually. She couldn't think of much of a reason why she shouldn't stay here. The fact that she was already in possession of property just made things more convenient.

When she got back to the shop, she put the kettle on and switched on the computer on the shop counter, fully intending to go through the shop's accounts. Without thinking, she untied the ribbon on the box that the bouncy blonde woman had left and helped herself to what was inside.

"Huh." She eyed the biscuit. "Not bad," she said to herself, taking another bite. Actually, that was uncharitable. It was more than not bad. It was very good.

She helped herself to another as she opened files and scanned numbers.

She was snapped back to attention by a velvety thump. Looking up, she saw the orange cat on the counter.

"I thought I threw you out."

The cat regarded her stonily and Ash sighed.

"Fine, but you're leaving again in the morning."

It stretched, yawned, and curled itself up on the counter, still watching her.

"It looks like old Auntie Mary was doing alright for herself," Ash said, scrolling through a spreadsheet. "In fact, selling books is a lot more profitable than I'd have thought. Although, I suppose your stock never goes off, that's got to be a big advantage."

She closed down the spreadsheet and opened another file.

"She's into online sales as well, good for her." Ash paused for a second. "She was into online sales, I suppose."

She stood up straighter, frowning at the cat. "What was she like? You knew her. You probably knew her better than anyone. I've been picturing a doddering old lady, but now I'm thinking she might not have been quite that at all."

The cat yawned again and closed its eyes.

"You're not staying," said Ash.

It wasn't staying. She didn't want a cat and besides, she was selling the place, she couldn't have random animals wandering in and out at all times of the day, could she?

The cat didn't respond to her.

Ash sighed and looked around. If she wanted to know more about Aunt Mary then she supposed she was in the right place. After all, how better to find out about someone? She had Mary's entire life at her disposal.

Okay, it was slightly creepy, but the lady was dead and, Ash told herself, she was doing the right thing. Snythe may be convinced that Ash belonged here, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea herself. Maybe she could find some evidence that this Mary really was her aunt.

Of course, that might lead to knowing more about her father. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd never had any burning desire to track him down or anything. Then again, maybe she should. Maybe she ran the risk of developing some horrible genetic disease, or birthing twins, or growing a third nipple or something.

She tapped her fingers on the counter and took another biscuit. They really were very good. Except they did now remind her that there would be a downside to deciding to live in a small town. Neighbors and plenty of them. And people poking into her business. She didn't like that idea.

She sniffed and the cat on the counter breathed a deep sigh of irritation and opened one eye to glare at her.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," she said. "I'll be in the back if you need me." She paused to glare back at it for a second. "But you're not staying."

The cat closed its eye again and went back to sleep.

THE KITCHEN YIELDED little information other than that Mary liked PG Tips and full fat milk. She wasn't much of a cook, apparently, since the cupboards were filled with tins of soup and spaghetti.

Ash sucked on her teeth and made her way upstairs.

She wasn't completely alright with this digging around, she realized. She was self-aware enough to understand that her discomfort came from the fact that she'd hate anyone digging through her own things. The very thought of it made her shudder.

But then what would that somebody find?

She thought of her own neat flat. Books on the shelves, computer on its table, ready meals in the freezer. She wasn't exactly giving much away, was she?

That was how she liked it though. She'd never been one for other people, not really. She was comfortable in her own skin, comfortable alone, and that was that. She was indisputably the polar opposite of her mother, something that Ash was satisfied with and her mother was bemused by. But Ash didn't need a parade of men in and out of her life to make her feel like she was beautiful or something.

In fact, beautiful didn't factor into her life at all.

If she had to think about beautiful, she supposed she'd think of someone like Pen next door, with her blond curls and her luscious curves and her bright smile. That was beauty. Ash herself was just… stringy.

There was a set of pictures on the mantlepiece, the same woman appearing in a few of them, enough times that Ash assumed it had to be Mary. She grinned. Mary was stringy too, all long legs and narrow hips, more masculine than she might have cared for. Or maybe not, maybe she liked the androgyny.

Ash frowned at the picture. How did a woman like this end up owning a romance bookshop?

She put the picture carefully back in its place and started opening cupboards and pulling out drawers.

But after an hour she'd found nothing more incriminating than a secret stash of crime novels, which she supposed a romance bookseller might consider contraband.

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. There was little here that let her know who Mary really was. She eyed the hatch to the attic and her back groaned in protest.

It was late, the attic would have to wait for another day. It was time to open a tin of spaghetti and start winding down for the night.

There was plenty of spaghetti in the kitchen cupboard, and Ash heated it up in a pan on the stove. While it was heating she went into the bookshop, the cat was nowhere to be seen. She sucked on her teeth as she looked around, before finally selecting a book from a shelf marked ‘Our Bestsellers.' It had a bird on the cover. That couldn't be too bad, she figured.

Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a couple more biscuits on her way back to the kitchen.

"GET THAT CAT out of here," Ash said when she came down in the morning to find George feeding the animal.

"He lives here," pointed out George.

"Well, he needs to not live here. Either he moves in with that woman next door or he goes to the rescue center," said Ash, putting the kettle on for coffee.

She watched as George stroked the cat and had a thought. "You must have known Mary pretty well."

"As well as anyone else," George said.

"So what was she like?"

He smiled. "Fun, smart, loving. She was kind and had a good word for everyone."

"Sounds like a veritable saint," Ash said, thinking that Mary might have looked slightly like her but was apparently her opposite when it came to personality. She poured water over instant coffee and went out into the shop.

Light streamed through the windows and the sign on the door was turned to open.

"Um, what's happening here?"

George had followed her but now he stopped. "What do you mean?"

"We're open?"

"Aren't we?" he asked. He started to flush. "I mean, I sort of assumed when you said you wanted me to work, and well, maybe I shouldn't have, but then, what's the point of a shop that's not open?"

"It's not quite my shop yet," Ash said thoughtfully. She sniffed. "You've got a point though. A closed shop makes no money. We'll be open for now."

"For now?" asked George.

The shop door opened and Ash sighed.

The irritating blonde was smiling and proffering a plate of what looked like croissants. "Morning," she caroled.

"Room service?" Ash asked acidly.

"Just a few leftovers," said Pen still smiling. "They're still warm, want one?"

Ash's stomach grumbled and much against her better judgment she took a pastry.

"What do you mean for now?" George asked again, taking a croissant of his own. "You said we'll be open for now, what does that mean?"

Ash tore the warm croissant apart with her hands and looked him steadily in the eye. "I mean we'll stay open for now, providing you know what you're doing to run this place. It's a damn sight easier to sell a going concern than it is to sell a closed one."

"Sell?" George said.

"Sell?" said Pen. And for the first time since she'd known her, Ash saw the smile drop from Pen's face.