The Lost Bookshop(66)
She seemed to be considering what I had said and it seemed like an age before she spoke again.
‘Much has transpired since you last saw her. I’m not sure if she’ll want to see you.’
‘Please, Madame Bowden. You’re right. I’ve never known or understood what it really means to love or be loved. I’m not going to blame my past, but we all have one and it follows us around like a prison, always keeping us from the person we truly wish to be. Martha is the bravest person I’ve ever met and she’s inspired what little bravery I have inside to listen to my heart for once. I don’t just love her for how she makes me feel, I love her because when she came into my life it was like the lights came on. Everything suddenly had meaning and I think, I hope, it was the same for her. We all have crap parts and good parts inside, but when you meet someone who makes you realise that it’s all okay, you think, what in God’s name did I do to deserve it? All of my life I’ve been searching for hidden treasure, fortunes outside of myself. But Martha, she found them in me. I’m not perfect, by any means, but I know I want to spend the rest of my life making her smile. So I’m damned if I will let her go without a fight.’
She swallowed audibly.
I was almost shaking with the conviction I felt in that moment. For the first time, I had heard myself speak the truth straight from my heart and it sounded as clear and bright as a bell.
After a pause, she raised her glass and, with a grin, clinked it against mine.
‘You might just do, I suppose.’
‘Thank you. I know Martha is still married but—’
The look on her face made me stall my glass mid-air.
‘You might want to take a seat.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
OPALINE
Dublin, 1923
Secrets are all very well and good, but having a fake name, a hidden pregnancy, a forgotten manuscript and forbidden feelings were all making for a very complicated and lonely existence. What compounded my isolation was the constant background fear of Lyndon coming to take everything away from me. It felt as though I were only living a half-life, shrouded in subterfuge. Every time I looked at Emily’s manuscript (which was often!) I ruminated over the unfairness of my situation. The most amazing moment in my life and I realised there wasn’t a soul I could share it with. Perhaps I could trust Mr Hanna, but how could I be sure he wouldn’t let it slip to the wrong person?
It was the loneliness I felt at that moment that spurred me to do something rash. I snatched a piece of paper from the drawer and wrote a hurried letter to Sylvia in Paris. I didn’t want to take the usual precaution of sending it through Armand. It felt wonderful and exhilarating to relay my news and I knew she would not tell a soul without my consent. I’m going to be a mother! I wrote before signing off, knowing that this would not be as exciting to her as the Bront? find. I told her to respond immediately, jotting down my phone number. I sealed the envelope and left it on my desk until I found a chance to walk to the postbox. Just knowing the excitement that Sylvia would share in my news gave me the strength to carry on with my day as normal and delay my decision on what action to take.
I had a busy afternoon and found myself tiring easier than usual. A group of students stopped by looking for a publication by a pioneering new writer, Virginia Woolf. When I bent down to find a copy of Night and Day on the lower shelf, I felt faint.
The atmosphere was heavy and humid, yet it wasn’t until I was about to close the shop that fat raindrops began to splash on the footpath outside, turning it from grey to black. I was replacing some books and tidying the shelves when I heard the bell go. I was surprised to see Mr Ravel standing at the door, his overcoat sparkling with raindrops.
‘Mr Ravel, what a lovely surprise!’
It was a lovely surprise, but I couldn’t help wishing it had been Armand. Despite everything, I still hoped he would come and find me; say it was all a big mistake and that he wanted us to be together after all. But here was a very nice man and I was determined to at least pretend that I was moving forward.
We kissed on both cheeks and he asked, rather redundantly, if it was all right that he had stopped by unannounced.
‘Well, of course it’s all right. If people didn’t stop by unannounced I’d have no customers at all,’ I said, ushering him inside.
He took a moment to breathe in the atmosphere of the shop, then turned to me with a meaningful look.
‘Mademoiselle Gray, your shop is like a treasure chest.’
Normally I batted any kind of compliments aside – it didn’t do to court approval. Yet his words meant very much to me at that moment on many different levels. I offered to make some tea and left him to browse the shelves.
As I carried the tray up the stairs from the kitchen, I called out to him.
‘In fact your timing couldn’t be more perfect, Mr Ravel. I’m celebrating some very exciting news.’
I thought perhaps we should be drinking champagne instead of tea and was about to ask his opinion when I realised that the door was wide open, rain pouring in and no trace of Mr Ravel. I put the tray down on my desk and went to look up and down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen. I closed the door and shook my head, mystified. Then I glanced towards the desk and my heartbeat slowed, then speeded up. The letter I had addressed to Sylvia was gone. I searched the floor in case it had fallen, but it was nowhere to be seen. I covered my mouth with my hand, my breath ragged against my fingers. What had I written? The book. The baby.