Page 94 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

‘Because she made you give up your hermit-like existence?’

‘Exactly. Then last year there were even more people; it snowballed – literally – but it makes sense with all the room we’ve got.’

‘It’s like this house isn’t just yours and Sophie’s: it’s become part of the village.’

‘It has, in a way.’ Harry gave her a questioning look. ‘What do you think about that?’ He said it casually enough, but Daisy’s breath hitched. Why would he care what she thought? Why would it matter, if she was swanning off to London again? Did he like having her around?

‘I think it’s perfect,’ she said. ‘This place was so quiet, so sad, after Mum died. It deserves to be full of life.’

‘Good.’ Harry put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

‘I think something else as well.’ Her pulse picked up even saying these first, vague words.

‘What’s that?’

She smiled. ‘We’ve got a lot to do to get ready for this evening. Why don’t we go and get a bacon sandwich from Dexter’s, something to fortify us for the hours ahead, and I’ll tell you all about it?’

The sun was out and the sea was glittering, like the fabrics Daisy had bought for the ball but a lot more impressive. Last year – she had heard from just about everybody – there had been a snowstorm, but today the pale light picked out the whorls in Avery’s sculptures, and somewhere a wreath hung with tinkling bells was being buffeted by the breeze, evoking the sound of Santa’s distant sleigh.

Daisy bit into her bacon sandwich as she and Harry walked down Perpendicular Street, the ketchup oozing, the saltiness as moreish as the crunch of the bread. Fresh air and thick local bacon were exactly what she needed to boost her spirits, and she decided there was no point being tentative about this, especially not with Harry.

But she had forgotten that they would reach the Stationery Emporium before they got to her destination. Harry handed her his sandwich and disappeared inside, Daisy heard a screech, then smiled as she watched her brother give his wife an impromptu, heartfelt kiss, pressing her up against a shelf of iridescent notebooks.

He returned a few minutes later, and Daisy handed his sandwich back. ‘Got that out of your system?’

Harry grinned. ‘For now. She’ll be home in half an hour anyway. Jazz is covering the shop while we get the manor ready. Was that what you brought me here for?’

‘I did not bring you here so I could watch you canoodling with your wife. That would make me a total weirdo.’

‘Fair enough, so what are we doing? I have my outfit for the ball picked out.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘And it’s not outfits. It’s this.’ She stopped walking, took another bite of her sandwich, and waited for Harry’s reaction.

‘The bookshop.’

‘The Book Ends,’ she corrected. ‘Standing empty for so many years.’

‘You know why that is,’ he said quietly. ‘I couldn’t … do anything with it when I first came back. Dad was so ill, and I was still angry, and I—’

‘I left it all up to you,’ she finished. ‘I didn’t come here, not nearly often enough. I decided I was done with it all.’

‘And now?’

She ignored his question. ‘You run the manor, you do your consulting work for various firms, but you mostly do it from home. Don’t you ever have the urge to open this place again? To stock it with beautiful books? To fill all the nooks and crannies, to be more organized than Dad was about it, but to have it full of life again, like you’ve done with Mistingham Manor?’

Harry finished his sandwich, balled his paper napkin up. ‘I do. I have been … binding books, at home.’

‘What?’

‘I haven’t shown you because I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, and it seemed like such a small thing compared to everything you were dealing with. But some of Dad’s old stock – when I had to empty this place – came back to the manor. I’ve been rebinding the old, tatty classics. I did a course in London so—’

‘You did a bookbinding course! Harry, what the fuck?’

He laughed. ‘I know. I walked away from Mistingham, from this place too. But it turns out I couldn’t really leave it behind.’

‘So then …’ She thought of her beautiful copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Was it one of Harry’s? Had he secretly given it to her? But she didn’t want to get off track. She would show it to him when they got back, but she didn’t want to lose her nerve. ‘You’re creating stock for the bookshop.’

‘Not really. I’m so slow, it would take me a hundred years to bind enough books to fill this place.’