Raphael looked nonplussed, then rather cunning. ‘What did you earn in your previous job?’
Jemma wondered whether her answer would give him a heart attack, then decided to be truthful. Perhaps he was an eccentric millionaire who kept the shop as a hobby.
From Raphael’s reaction, he was not an eccentric millionaire. He goggled at her. ‘What on earth are you doing here, then?’
Jemma was prepared for this. ‘I decided it was time for a change of focus,’ she said grandly. ‘I enjoyed my previous job, but it was taking up too much of my life. I want to shift down a gear and engage in a role I can give my heart to.’ She remembered all the nights she had worked late, polishing reports for Phoebe, and crossed her fingers. ‘I would be prepared to take a pay cut’ – she named a figure which was approximately half of her previous salary – ‘with the understanding that I would be rewarded appropriately for improving the bottom line of the shop.’
‘The bottom line?’ said Raphael, leaning down to look at the skirting board.
‘The profits,’ said Jemma, wondering if this man had ever read a business book in his life. Actually, she was pretty confident that he hadn’t.
‘All right, so that’s salary,’ said Raphael. ‘What other questions do you have?’
‘How many weeks’ holiday will I have per year?’ asked Jemma. ‘What will my working hours be? Do you open on Sundays? Do you ever open in the evenings?’
Raphael held up his hands to ward her off. ‘The shop hours are nine till five, Monday to Friday,’ he said.
Jemma couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Not Saturdays? Not the busiest shopping day?’
‘Not Saturdays,’ Raphael said firmly.
Jemma shrugged. ‘Fair enough. What about holidays?’
The cunning look came over his face again. ‘What did you get in your previous job?’
Jemma told him.
‘The same, then,’ he said.
Jemma gave him a mental tick. ‘Do you have a benefits package? Discounts, pension scheme, luncheon vouchers?’
‘I could give you ten per cent off the books,’ said Raphael. ‘But to be honest, you can read those for free when it’s quiet. Which it generally is. And I expect I’ll buy you a coffee occasionally.’
Jemma sighed. ‘That’ll do,’ she said. In any case, when more branches of Burns Books opened, she would be able to pay into her pension.
Raphael waited. ‘Do you have any more questions?’ he asked, as if opening the door to a tiger’s cage.
Jemma considered, then decided she had probably put him through enough. ‘Not just now,’ she said.
‘Well, in that case,’ said Raphael, ‘I suppose you can start.’ He extended a hand carefully over Folio, and Jemma shook it again. ‘I’ll go and find you an apron.’ He eyed her. ‘It might be a bit big for you. The previous assistant was taller.’
‘Oh, that’s a question I should ask,’ said Jemma. ‘Why did the previous assistant leave?’
Raphael looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘He found that the post didn’t agree with him.’ His eye fell on Folio.
‘Oh,’ said Jemma, ‘was he allergic to cats?’
‘Yes,’ said Raphael. ‘Or something like that. It was more that Folio was allergic to him. He was a nice chap, too. But not everyone is suited to a bookshop.’ He regarded Jemma thoughtfully. ‘In fact, I think we should begin with a week’s trial. To see how you get on with the shop, and how the shop gets on with you.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Jemma. After all, she thought, if it’s as boring as he says, a week might be plenty. ‘So, until Friday?’
Raphael looked as if he were solving a complicated sum in his head. ‘Yes,’ he declared, eventually. ‘Until Friday. I’ll go and find that apron.’ He uncurled himself from the chair and disappeared into the back room.
Jemma gazed down at Folio, who had fallen asleep in her lap, bits of paper caught between his claws. I’m in, she thought. I’ve done it. I’ve landed a new job. And if I have anything to do with it, there will be changes around here.
Folio purred in his sleep, stretched out a lazy paw, and sank his claws into her thigh.
Chapter 3
‘Do I have to wear that?’ asked Jemma, eyeing the brown apron which Raphael was holding up. It would probably cover her from neck to ankles, not to mention twice round.
‘Well no, you don’t have to,’ said Raphael. ‘But you might get a bit dusty otherwise.’
‘Clothes are washable,’ said Jemma. ‘I mean, you don’t see the assistants in Waterstones wearing—’
‘Perhaps I should take this opportunity to mention,’ said Raphael, ‘that we’d rather you didn’t talk about…’ He lowered his voice. ‘Other bookshops.’
Jemma stared at him. ‘Why ever not? They’re our competitors.’
‘Yes, yes, competitors is fine,’ said Raphael. ‘Rivals, also good. But don’t name names.’
He probably finds it embarrassing, thought Jemma. ‘Is it a sensitive point?’ she asked, with a sympathetic smile. Then she wondered if her sympathetic smile looked the same as Phoebe’s, and put it away.
‘It is,’ said Raphael. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ said Jemma. ‘But I’d rather not wear the apron, if you don’t mind.’
The letterbox rattled. ‘Aha, the post!’ cried Raphael, and dived for the doormat. He gathered up five or six envelopes and leafed through them. ‘Bill … bill … junk mail … bill…’ Jemma noticed that several of the envelopes had red ink on them. He opened a plain white envelope, unfolded the sheet within, scowled at it, then crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘And that was the post,’ he said, going behind the counter, opening a drawer, and dropping the rest of the envelopes in unopened. ‘Now the day can begin.’
‘Shouldn’t you open the bills?’ Jemma wondered when, or if, she would be paid.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Raphael. ‘I have a special time put aside for dealing with things like that.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Jemma, pleased to learn there was some sort of organisation to this enterprise. ‘When is that?’
‘When the man arrives to cut it off, usually,’ said Raphael. ‘No sense in dealing with these things before you have to.’
Jemma opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. This felt like a battle for another time. Besides, she was curious to learn how the bookshop worked. If it did.
‘When opening up,’ said Raphael, ‘the first job is to unlock the door. Which we’ve already done today, so we’re ahead of ourselves.’ He looked rather impressed with himself. ‘Then, we turn the sign around.’ He demonstrated. ‘Next, we raise the blind in the shop window, like so.’ He moved to the window, tugged on the cord, and the blind shot up. ‘Voilà. Finally, we switch on the lights. One at a time, please. You never know.’ He moved to a brass panel of toggle switches by the door, tensed himself, and pushed one down.