The Lost Bookshop(63)

Not long after the cuckoo clock announced that it was eight o’clock, I heard the handle of the door opening and the sound of his shoes scuffing the tiles. Mother had always said that punctuality said a lot about a person. I smoothed my hair behind my ears and climbed the stairs to the shop.

‘Opaline?’

‘Yes, j’arrive.’ I hadn’t spoken French in so long, it sounded strange and I blushed. When I reached the top of the stairs I saw him standing there in a dark suit, his hair damp from the rain outside. ‘Come in,’ I said, even though he was already inside. I was so nervous and I began rushing around and generally fussing with drinks and chairs and frothy conversation about the books on the shelves and Mr Fitzpatrick’s antiques. In a silly way, I suppose I wanted him to be proud of what I had accomplished.

Eventually he put his hand on mine and asked me to sit beside him. I immediately filled the silence with yet more casual conversation, as though we were two complete strangers.

‘So where are you staying?’

‘The Shelbourne.’

Of course. Only the best for Armand. Or rather his employers.

‘What is it? You are not yourself.’

I took a deep breath. I could no longer put it off.

‘There’s something important I have to tell you and I just don’t quite know how to put it.’

He smiled.

‘With words, of course.’

I returned his smile, but my doubts grew.

‘You know I had the impression you were hiding a great secret, ever since I met you in England.’

‘Really? Oh, Armand.’

Did he already know? Perhaps he had come to Ireland for me after all.

‘One can always tell,’ he said assuredly.

‘Can you?’ I covered my stomach.

‘Of course! You found the manuscript you were looking for, didn’t you? It doesn’t take a genius to work out why you were at Honresfield. It’s something to do with the Bront?s, is it not?’

My heart sank, but I kept the smile frozen on my face.

‘Oh. Why, yes. You know me too well.’

I sat there, smiling inanely like an idiot while he smiled politely back.

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Aren’t you going to show it to me?’

Wasn’t I going to show it to him? I repeated the words in my head. It was, after all, the discovery I had been simply dying to tell someone about. And here I was with one of Europe’s greatest book scouts, one of a small, select group of people who could truly grasp the significance and sheer luck of my achievement, and yet I hesitated. In that second, my conscience revealed to me the truth I had been trying to not see, ever since we’d first met. I didn’t trust him. And yet now, here I was, faced with a choice of telling him about the baby or the manuscript. I had to decide what I was willing to risk.

I chose the manuscript.

‘Wait there,’ I said, as I took the sewing box from the drawer. I insisted we both wear cotton gloves to handle it and while he examined the notebook, I told him the story of how I found Mrs Brown in London and that my last-minute decision to buy this piece of memorabilia resulted in the discovery of Emily’s manuscript. He wasn’t to know it, but his reaction would decide everything for me.

‘Non, mais c’est incroyable!’

‘I know,’ I said, pulling my chair closer to him and delighting in this shared moment. ‘Having studied their letters at Honresfield, I’m certain this is Emily’s penmanship.’

‘Bien joué, ma belle,’ he said, kissing me on the lips and I felt as though I were sitting on a cloud.

I’d never been so happy. I would tell him. Right away.

‘Armand—’

‘You must let me handle this for you,’ he said, cutting across me.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I will approach some of my collectors. I also have good contacts at the auction houses. Mon Dieu, where to begin?’ He laughed, he was so giddy with excitement.

I reached across and took the notebook and sewing box back from him.

‘There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of making the arrangements.’

He looked at me rather quizzically.

‘I have contacts in the rare book world too.’ I had intended to say it lightly, but I noticed a slight edge to my voice.

‘But this is of huge significance, Mon Opale. We must achieve the greatest price for this, it will secure our reputation for ever.’

It was astonishing how quickly he had begun to talk of ‘we’ and ‘our’. The elusive Armand had suddenly found it very easy to commit. I stood up and put the box back in the desk drawer, locking it with a key I replaced in my trouser pocket. I finally understood what it meant to have the wind taken out of your sails.

‘Thank you, Armand, but as you can see, I have been running a successful business for some time now. I found the manuscript and I will decide what is to be done with it. Besides, I’m not sure it belongs in private hands. It might be of greater value to a museum.’

‘Oh please, you cannot equate this little shop with the real world of rare literary antiquities. Opaline, you must see sense. I did not want to be forced into saying this, but you give me no choice. No serious collector will deal with a woman. Coming from you, they will never believe the provenance of the item and even if they do, they will know they can undervalue it.’