"No," says Mistral from the front counter as she checks in books.
No one can get hold of Bess. She's not answering her phone or her door. It's awful this not knowing how she's doing. I feel impotent. And guilty as hell. And just all round shit.
"Cafe's busy as normal, though," I add.
The scandal of a multi-million-dollar artwork being reduced to ashes by its artist as it closed at auction hasn't affected business at all. In fact, it might have drawn more people in for a Monday morning tea and scone. People wanting to get a whiff of the ‘why’ part of the story.
Eventually, I turn from the window. "I couldn't have known. How could I have known?"
Mistral looks up briefly from her task. "Honestly? None of us could have known."
"I made her fall in love with the man she most hates in the entire world. And on top of that, her scheme for buying out Theodore Pinkerton is in ashes. She's right back at square one." Writing her love letters from Basil Everett is one thing, but taking away her only shot at independence from The Odour is catastrophic. It affects so many other people.
"And it's only a couple of days before he raises the rents," adds Mistral helpfully.
“Don’t,” I say redundantly, because she’s already said it, and walk back into the office area to sit heavily in my chair.
Mistral’s scanner issues a final beep and she returns to her desk. "It's all really really horrible, isn’t it?"
It is, indeed, truly horrible.
I attempt to distract myself by answering emails, but don't hear the sound of fingers rapidly tapping on keys from the other workstation. After several moments, she says, "We'll have to come up with a Plan B."
"No!" I swivel in my chair to face her. "No more scheming. No more subterfuge, no more secrets. We support her and the rest of the artists with whatever they can afford financially to do next. If that only means lifting and shifting boxes of art to a new location, then that is only what we do."
"But that can't be it."
"They don't have any other choice, Mistral. And let me stress that word 'they'. This is not our fight. Not any more."
She eyes me through narrowed lids. "I'm not sure you deserve her if you think like that."
Ooph. I place a hand on my chest over my heart as if I can protect it from her words. As harsh as they sound, I can't be angry at her. She's only vocalising what I already think.
"Of course it's a 'we'," she says more gently. "This is your community, too, Ed. Are you really just going to lie down and die?"
"I'm conscientiously bowing out before I do more damage. There's a difference. I'm surprised after what's just happened that you don't realise you need to do that, too."
"Alright, my loves?" Jeanette stands at the counter with two coffees in hand.
"No. It's shit," says Mistral.
"Agreed." She beams, which in true Jeanette fashion is totally incongruous with her words and the atmosphere of gloom pervading the library office. She holds up the coffees. "I thought you could do with a pick me up."
"That's very nice of you," I say.
Mistral says, "Shouldn't you be helping with the rush?"
"Oh probably. But you're more important. One of the weekend staff is helping out today, so...I thought I'd take my break and check up on you."
Jeanette. Always sweet-natured, whatever the crisis and wherever the chaos.
I stand and walk over to the front counter to accept her offering. "How areyou, Jeanette?"
"Oh, well. The whole thing's taking a bit to get your head around, you know?" She laughs. "We'll muddle on through. I think we just need to let the dust settle a bit before we decide on the next thing."
"But there's only days before you have to move out," says Mistral.
Jeanette shrugs. "Or start paying the new rent. Maybe we can find another way to bring in the amount of customers the TikToks did. Even half that number might be enough."
