The Lost Bookshop(62)

‘I must warn you that her writings are quite anti-British.’

I laughed as we carried on walking past the railings of the church grounds.

‘I am not very easily offended on that score.’

He stopped at an iron gate and ushered me to take the steps ahead of him.

It looked like such a humble entrance for this, the oldest public library in Ireland. The building was equally modest – redbrick and inviting in its own way. No colonnades or grand statues, just a sign with the opening hours.

‘It does belie the significance of what lies within,’ he said, reading my thoughts.

I gasped as we got in and I had my first full view of the library. Row upon row of books housed in beautifully dark wooden shelves, ancient books, whispering like leaves on a breeze. There were benches in every alcove and the air was thick with knowledge. I was stunned into silence.

‘Come, I will show you the cages,’ he said, again with that sweet smile that jarred with his frightful words. ‘Maturin lived quite close by and so he spent hours here, every day, voraciously reading books from the sixteenth century.’

We came to the ‘cages’, which were in fact little compartments with doors that were half wood, half metal grid. Inside, a private space walled in books for study.

‘While it is a public library, it is not a lending library. The librarians noticed that many of their priceless manuscripts were being stolen from the library and—’

‘Hence the cages. So, do they lock you in while you read, is that it?’

At that moment, I thought I heard someone calling my name. But I didn’t turn around.

‘Mon Opale.’

My body stiffened. I didn’t dare hope.

‘Bonjour,’ Mr Ravel said to whoever stood behind us.

I turned around to see Armand, more handsome than my memory could ever do him justice, his dark features all the more beautiful here. It was all I could do not to fall into his arms and, but for the fact that Mr Ravel was beside me, I dare say I would have. Instead, we embraced and kissed on each cheek.

‘Mr Ravel, may I introduce my … fellow book dealer, Mr Hassan.’

The two men shook hands and I found myself at a complete loss as to how I should handle the situation. My hand cradled my belly instinctively. Here stood the father of my child, but social etiquette prevented me from uttering a word. Mr Ravel had been so kind and chivalrous, how could I tell him to leave?

‘Mr Ravel, I beg your forgiveness, but I have a very important business matter to discuss with Mademoiselle—’

‘Gray!’ I shouted.

The two men looked at me.

‘He always pronounces it incorrectly,’ I stammered, feeling utterly stupid.

‘Of course,’ Mr Ravel bowed slightly in the most respectful way that I felt a pang of guilt at simply abandoning him.

‘And do call in to my shop,’ I said, hoping that he would.

He smiled kindly and was gone.

Armand took my hand and led me into one of the open cages. I let my body lean against the ladder that was placed there for reaching books on the higher shelf and he pressed himself against me, his mouth on my neck, like a vampire himself. We didn’t speak; the only sound was our breathing and the occasional turn of a page from the readers outside.

‘Wait, wait. Stop,’ I said, panting slightly. ‘What are you doing here?’

He looked up at me and smiled, his deep brown eyes lit by rays of the afternoon sun, revealing flecks of amber. I knew then I loved him. I loved him madly. But I wasn’t sure if he ever could or would love me.

‘I’m after a book, of course,’ he grinned and pulled the top of my blouse down revealing the white curve of my breast.

Not for me, then. He kissed me and I forgot myself momentarily.

‘No, I mean what are you doing in Ireland? Why didn’t you send a telegram?’

He stepped back slightly and sat on the desk opposite, where some old books lay open. His body language changed; he picked up a pen and fidgeted with it. When he looked at me, there was an air of disappointment in his eyes that I had spoiled the moment with my question. I’m not sure I had ever observed him so keenly, but then, I was never carrying his child before. An uncomfortable truth formed first as a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and his lack of response confirmed it in my thoughts.

‘You weren’t going to tell me you were here, were you?’

He got up again, all charm.

‘It’s not that, Opaline. You know what it’s like, following a lead. I had not planned to come here, but a collector requested a very specific manuscript—’

I’d heard enough. I straightened my blouse and was struggling with the doors of the cage when I felt his arms around me.

‘Please, Mon Opale, there’s no need for such hysteria. I’m here now. Let’s not ruin it.’

I sighed deeply, then turned around to face him.

‘I have something to tell you,’ I said, unsure of how exactly I was going to do it.

‘Marvellous, we shall meet tonight for dinner. But now I have work to do.’

He looked so pleased with himself and I realised how much I liked being the one to make him happy.

Perhaps he would want the baby after all.





I arranged that he should come to the shop for an aperitif. My excitement made me giddy and ditsy – I dropped a glass and scratched one of my favourite records while preparing the shop for his arrival. It was overwhelming, Armand being in Ireland. I wanted him to love it as much as I did, so everything had to be exactly right.