‘You’ll start reading your horoscope next,’ she said aloud, and snorted. Actually… The newspaper was folded on the counter where Raphael had left it. Jemma opened it and found the horoscope section.
TAURUS: Today will be a day of ups and downs, but beware of jumping to conclusions. A mysterious stranger will bring you something of value.
Jemma harrumphed, refolded the paper, and put it back. That was probably Raphael bringing me a panini. I bet they’re expensive. Or could it mean Mr Tennant from the Charing Cross Retail Association, who had brought that newsletter? She rummaged in the bin, and began to piece it together.
She was reading the newsletter when Raphael returned, looking much happier. ‘Any customers?’ he enquired.
‘None, actually,’ said Jemma. ‘I’m just reading that newsletter you ripped up.’
A pained expression passed over Raphael’s face. ‘What rare gems have you discovered?’ he asked.
‘They’re talking to landlords about lowering shop rents,’ said Jemma. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘It would be,’ said Raphael. ‘But I happen to own the shop, so that doesn’t apply to me.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jemma. ‘I forgot.’ She eyed Raphael. ‘So, how long have you been in charge of the shop?’
‘Oh, years,’ said Raphael. ‘Ages.’
‘Like, in the last century?’ asked Jemma. She studied him. There wasn’t any grey in his sandy hair, but he didn’t seem young. And she couldn’t get any clues from the way he dressed. She suspected Raphael was one of those people who had always looked middle-aged, and always would.
Raphael laughed. ‘Are you trying to work out how old I am?’
‘No,’ said Jemma. ‘OK, maybe.’
‘That’s a bit cheeky,’ said Raphael, but he didn’t seem annoyed.
‘Sorry,’ said Jemma. ‘I suppose I’m curious because I don’t know anything about you.’
Raphael raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve told you my name, and you know that this is my shop, and I live above it. What else is there?’
‘All sorts of things,’ said Jemma. ‘What music you listen to, what you like to do in your spare time. What you did before you inherited the shop.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Raphael. ‘What do you like to do in your spare time?’
‘Oh, well…’ Jemma thought for a while. ‘I suppose I don’t really have any.’
‘How come?’ Jemma wondered briefly if Raphael was attempting to distract her, but he appeared genuinely interested.
‘Well, in my last job I got into the habit of working long hours, and…’ She tried to think of a way to put a positive spin on her lack of a private life. ‘I’m very driven, you see,’ she said. ‘Even when I’m not in the shop, I’m thinking of ways to improve the shop. New initiatives, exciting window displays. That sort of thing.’
The pained expression returned. ‘You don’t have to try so hard, Jemma,’ Raphael said gently.
‘But what’s the point of having a shop if it isn’t successful?’ Jemma asked. ‘I mean, look how your sales have increased! Look how much money there is in the till! When I first came, you weren’t even making fifty pounds a day.’ She opened the till, took out a wad of notes, and shook them at him.
Raphael didn’t quite recoil from the money, but he regarded it with a troubled air. ‘How much have you got there, do you think?’
Jemma began counting the notes. When she got to four hundred Raphael said quietly, ‘That will do.’
‘See?’ said Jemma, putting the money into the till. ‘You won’t even let me implement my plan fully, but it’s working. The shop is doing better than – probably than it ever has. But I feel that I have to make the effort, because you won’t.’ There, she thought triumphantly. I’ve said it. If that doesn’t get him on board, I don’t know what will.
‘But before you came, the shop had been here for generations,’ said Raphael. ‘The shop existed before Charing Cross Road was built. That’s how old it is. In living memory, there has always been a Burns Books. So we must have been doing something right.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean you’ve been doing things wrong,’ Jemma said kindly. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. But—’
‘The shop has been here so long,’ said Raphael, ‘because it knows its place. Among the other shops, and particularly the bookshops. Every shop has its own character, its own specialism, and its own particular set of customers. It’s a delicate balance, and upsetting it might have consequences.’
‘Like a sort of business ecosystem, you mean?’ said Jemma. ‘I read a blog about that last year.’ She frowned. ‘So what is our specialism? I thought we sold all types of books.’
‘Oh, we do,’ said Raphael. ‘The distinction is subtler than that. When you’ve worked here a bit longer, you’ll be able to identify it for yourself.’ He smiled. ‘Tea?’ And without waiting for an answer, he went through to the back room.
Jemma gathered up the torn strips of newsletter and dropped them into the bin. It seemed pretty clear that, whatever the benefits, Raphael wasn’t ever going to join the Charing Cross Retail Association. She remembered his plea to her not to do the spreadsheety computery things. Her brow furrowed. ‘But if I don’t do those,’ she murmured, ‘then why am I here? Anyone could put books on the shelves, then put them into bags for the customers and take the money. If I can’t bring my own particular skill set to the job, then what’s the point?’
Folio leapt onto the counter and nuzzled into her elbow.
‘That’s very kind,’ said Jemma, stroking his head. ‘I appreciate it.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘Perhaps I should take up a hobby. Civil War battle re-enactments, or crochet, or something.’ She considered checking the Hobbies section, but Folio flopped down and lifted his chin for a tickle, and it would have been rude to ignore him.
‘Here we are,’ said Raphael, coming through with a tray. ‘The cup that cheers but not inebriates.’ He looked at Folio, who looked back at him upside down. ‘Good heavens.’
‘Maybe he does like me,’ said Jemma, and felt a little bit better. But as Raphael busied himself pouring out, two quite different thoughts popped into her head.
The first thought was that he hadn’t answered any of her questions. Not with anything you could call detail, or specifics.
And the second thought was that, even though she wasn’t happy with the idea of just being a normal shop assistant, and of course she could walk out and get a role more suitable to her talents whenever she liked, the thought of looking for another job hadn’t crossed her mind. Not once.
Chapter 10
Jemma was quiet for the rest of the day; so much so that Raphael asked if she was feeling all right.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Oh yes, just thinking.’
And Jemma was thinking. She thought as she walked down Charing Cross Road at five minutes past five, as she touched in at Embankment tube station, as she swayed from a strap in the train, and as she let herself into her flat.