Valentine’s Eve
Thursday was supposed to be a normal day. Harri had promised himself it would be. It had started that way, with him brewing vanilla iced lattes, a nod to the sunnier weather that was settling in over the village. He’d been sure to make it the Italian way with equal proportions of espresso, milk and light foam. Annie wasn’t going to drink any washed-out insipid, milk-drowned latte on his watch.
Annie had floated into the cafe in a long white dress and her white cowgirl boots and carried the glass away to the bookshop where she switched everything on like it was second nature now.
‘You look like a swan,’ Harri said as she glided away sipping her coffee. She’d shaken her tail feathers as she left in acknowledgement.
She lit the fire and opened the door, just as William arrived, dropped off by Bella on foot from the Siren. He had a mind to sort through the shop’s Shakespeare titles and since neither Harri nor Annie had any strong feelings about it, that’s exactly what he did.
Harri emerged from the cafe having served his first few customers and wiped down their tables after they left, carrying with him a chalkboard and a thick white marker he’d found while organising the pantry.
‘Hey,’ he said, ease in his voice and everything simple, even when his emotions after yesterday’s holiday-sexual-tension-truce were far from simple. ‘I found this. I was going to write mycoffee of the dayon it, but we could also have a special book quote? It’s big enough.’
‘There’s a bookshop I follow on Instagram does that,’ said Annie, keeping an eye on the couple browsing the stacks. ‘They post a bookish quote of the day.’
‘What would we write on ours? Something Valentine’s themed?’ suggested Harri. ‘To go with the Valentine’s book display.’ He looked at it now. Many of the books were gone, and all but two of the Valentine’s cards. They’d have to set up their own display to leave in place for the next holidaymaker-booksellers. That would be a job for tomorrow, their last full day here.
William, who usually ignored the goings-on in the shop, preferring to shuffle around doing his own thing, immersed in his own thoughts, spoke up. The idea of the board had caught his attention.
‘I have many a pertinent line in mind,’ he said, grandly.
Harri surrendered the liquid chalk marker to him, and in moments, and without having to check it, William had written in the most lavish script the line:
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day, all in the morning betime, and I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
William held the sign to his chest for Annie to see.
She pulled an impressed face. ‘That’s very romantic, William.’
‘Hamlet,’ he said. ‘Act four, scene five, when poor Ophelia loses her wits to love.’
Annie nodded. ‘Course she does. Well, let’s put it at the door, since it’s not raining. Folks can see what you’re serving up today.’ She directed this to Harri, who quickly took the marker and board, adding:
Single origin Brazilian espresso dark chococcino, £4
As Annie carried it approvingly outside, she remarked how if Ophelia had stuck to artisan coffee and steered clear of troubled princes she’d never have ended up in that brook. William had agreed sagely that this was too true.
The morning would have continued in this peaceful vein, and Harri and William may well have set about emptying out the last box from Castle Lore, if there hadn’t arisen an alarm across the village, with voices raised from door to door, and notifications and alerts pinging, all carrying the news that a search was underway to find Mrs Crocombe who hadn’t returned to her home above the ice cream shop for another night. It was Jude – accompanied by three greyhounds on a single tether – who brought word to the bookshop.
‘Those of us with cars are setting off down the country lanes looking for them,’ she said. ‘The Big House people are combing the woodland and the fields. I’m heading down the cliff path with the dogs.’
‘Are the police involved?’ Harri asked, already looking for his coat.
‘Mrs Crocombe’s daughter reported her missing but since Mr Bovis hasn’t been seen either, and his Land Rover’s not in his driveway, they said they wouldn’t investigate yet, not unless anyone had suspicions.’
‘About Bovis?’ Annie asked, looking for the shop keys.
‘You just never know with people, do you? And Mrs Crocombe has been known for her flighty behaviour, what with her and that sea captain. She’s not the best judge of character. But still, I don’t think our Bovis is capable of kidnap, or anything else for that matter. He’s the most devoted lapdog to Mrs Crocombe, and has been for some time.’
Harri was at the door, joining Annie. ‘Somebody will have to stay here,’ he said, turning to Annie. He nodded silently in William’s direction. ‘Look after the shop?’
She seemed deflated, to be denied the opportunity of dashing around the countryside like this was a BBC police drama but she agreed; someone had to stay behind.
Harri bounded out the door with Jude and the dogs, saying he’d help in the search along the cliff path, and looking not a little relieved to get out of the strange atmosphere in the shop since yesterday. Strange, not because things were tense or awkward, but because they were so laid-back, at least, on Annie’s part they seemed to be, and he had to keep up his side of the agreement.
Annie had busied herself all afternoon in the shop yesterday and in the evening she’d kept her eyes on the laptop screen, reading up on individual cases of book banning and library protests. There were so many they’d kept her silent, taking notes and yawning, late into the night. Harri had served up beans on toast and, later, headed to bed, but stayed awake until he heard her climb the staircase.
He was cross with himself for not being able to keep the promise he’d made Annie the day she arrived here, of keeping her safe and secure in their friendship. He’d risked it all. He’d lapsed into lust and selfishness. He’d wanted her so badly. Now the need was burning in his stomach, but he was doing a good job, he thought, of being a friend. Everything, as far as Annie was concerned, was chill. As it should be. He wasn’t going to be the creepy, disrespectful male friend who wouldn’t let a tiny transgression between them lie. Annie had forgotten it, dismissed it out of hand as a mistake, and he had agreed, like a good friend should. She was happy now, and thinking more and more about what awaited her back home. His job was to support her in that.
