I don’t know enough about the resort yet, but I’m guessing that I’d have to make sure guests and locals alike know what stock we have here and offer some exciting events to get them in store. I can safely dip my toes back in social media in getting the word out for the Barefoot Bookshop.
His expression falters as if he forgets for a moment to wear his haughty mask. ‘No doubt you’ve heard the whispers that I’ve come back and made all these drastic changes that have upset the applecart, like some big, bad, money-obsessed CEO?’
I blank my features. Well, I try to but I’m a hopeless liar. ‘Umm…’
He lifts a brow and waits me out, and dammit I’m not great at keeping my mouth shut.
‘I’ve only been here a very short time. But OK, yeah, I’ve heard whispers. Apparently, you charge staff for damages? How can that even be legal?’
He scrubs his face. ‘Things on the island aren’t always what they seem, Harper.’
‘I bet.’ Why is everyone always so evasive around here?
‘Your role as manager would be to focus solely on sales and choosing the right stock. If we can add to the guest experience, even better.’
‘I can do that. I’ve got a lot of ideas about events and activities we can run from the bookshop. I can?—’
‘Email me a list for formal approval.’
‘OK.’ I resist a salute, but it’s hard. I’m used to working with the gang at Paddington’s, who were all very relaxed. And while the pressures are different here – this bookshop is failing, no question – the same issues crop up in London too every now and then when sales hit a decline for no discernible reason, and so we’d reshuffle stock and refashion displays to get more bodies inside. We’d try all sorts, like ramping up social media, offering VIP discounts to regulars, and hosting fun literary events; all of that I can try here too.
‘Do you have any questions, or can I get my office to send you an updated employment contract?’ He takes a set of keys and places them on the counter.
I sigh. ‘Well, yeah, I have questions, like, about a hundred of them.’
He glances at his watch. ‘Email me those too.’
‘Sure.’ He’s already turning away, as if the matter is closed.
‘Wait! The point-of-sale system, is it?—’
‘Everything you need is behind the counter. Call Mariola if you get stuck.’ He’s already got his phone pressed against his ear as he goes. The man is busy, busy.
I debate whether to ignore my rumbling stomach to explore the bookshop or grab a quick breakfast so I can settle in here for the day. Breakfast wins, but only just. I can’t wait to seek out every nook and cranny of the bookshop and familiarise myself with the range which, from a quick glance, seems like a treasure trove.
That makes my job easier; it’s not as though there’s nothing to sell. So why then aren’t they making enough money? Maybe I need to advertise more widely to the locals as well since they live here, and it would be good to learn what their literary tastes are and if they’d be interested in attending events and bookshop parties. I could look at hosting a book club for them. Perhaps there are authors on the island – an author talk would be fun for locals and guests. I’m energised by the task ahead. And while it’s not Bookstagram, I’m still surrounded by books and so I count that as a win.
It won’t be so terrible working here, not if Xavier leaves me to it. With the vanilla scent of books perfuming the air, and the sounds of waves rolling in outside, it just might be the perfect place to recover from the mess I made of my life.
I grab the keys from the counter, turn and freeze. Staring up at me is the biggest tortoise I’ve ever seen in my life. In fact, it’s the only tortoise I’ve ever seen but I’m sure they’re not usually this huge. Do these creatures bite? It blinks lazily at me, as if I’m the intruder and not the other way around.
‘What are you doing in here?’
Unsurprisingly there’s no response. After what feels like a long stare-off, the tortoise takes an age to shuffle away and heads back outside. I tiptoe slowly behind, not wanting to frighten the reptile.
It stops by a sandy sunlit corner where I see a plaque on the wall:
Turt Vonnegut, 86 years old. Please don’t feed him. Turt comes here to sunbake in peace and tranquillity and is perfectly harmless. Ask our friendly staff how you can help with Aldabra giant tortoise conservation or about tortoise tours available around the Seychelles.
‘Nice to meet you, Turt Vonnegut. I love the literary play on your name. I’m Harper and I just might sunbake outside with you on my lunchbreaks.’
‘You’re friendlier to reptiles than people, you know that?’
I turn to the voice. ‘Michel. What are you doing here?’
‘Jogging.’ He points to his running attire. ‘You’re all set for your first day, then?’
‘Sort of. I’ve got to grab some breakfast. But Gus has retired, so it’s just me.’
