Home > Double Booked (The Magical Bookshop, #3)(4)

Double Booked (The Magical Bookshop, #3)(4)
Author: Liz Hedgecock

‘Stocktake day?’ said Jemma, feeling like an inadequate echo.

‘Yes, Brian and I always went through the stock and checked that our flagship books were in good condition, and then he would review his acquisition plan,’ said Maddy.

‘Oh,’ said Jemma. ‘I see. Um … is there a system?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Maddy. ‘We developed it together. It is quite complicated, but I can explain it to you if you like.’ Her expression was kind.

‘That would be … great,’ said Jemma. She cast an imploring look at her laptop, begging her action plan to save her, and saw the little power light blink off. With that, the last of her resolve dribbled from the toes of her modestly heeled shoes.

‘I’ll make myself a drink,’ said Maddy, ‘then we can get started.’

At that moment Jemma’s phone rang. The display said Burns Books. ‘I have to take this,’ she said. ‘Hello, Jemma James speaking.’

‘Oh, hello Jemma,’ said Raphael, sounding surprised. ‘I don’t suppose you could pop round? I’m having a spot of trouble and I’d welcome your advice.’

Jemma could have kissed the phone. ‘Of course, I’ll come now.’ She ended the call. ‘I’m sorry, Maddy, but something’s come up at Burns Books. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to it.’ A sudden evil impulse led her to add, ‘Will you be able to manage on your own?’

Maddy’s face was absolutely expressionless. ‘Oh yes,’ she said.

‘In that case,’ said Jemma, ‘I’ll get going.’ And she shrugged into her jacket with a distinct sense of being let off the hook.

Jemma was almost at the bookshop when she began to wonder what the trouble might be. Had Folio gone on the rampage? Was the shop throwing a tantrum? At least it was too early to be customer-related. She found lights on when she arrived, and Luke sitting behind the counter, engrossed in The Rules Of Dating. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said. ‘Raphael’s downstairs. Everything’s in hand.’

‘Is it?’ Jemma glanced about her for signs of trouble, but none were apparent. The only difference from usual was that Luke had had a haircut, and his normally shaggy hair was neatly combed. It made him look as if he were in his late teens. ‘Doing research?’

Luke lowered the book. ‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘I’m going to a – a thing tonight, and I thought it best to be prepared.’

‘A thing?’ said Jemma. ‘What sort of thing?’

‘Speed dating,’ said Luke. ‘Downstairs at the Rat and Compasses. It starts quite early, so I’m going straight from work.’

‘Oh,’ said Jemma. ‘Well, good luck.’ All sorts of questions were on the tip of her tongue, but she suspected she might not want to know the answers. ‘I’d better go and see what Raphael wants.’

Downstairs, Raphael was sitting at one of the café tables, with a takeaway coffee cup from Rolando’s and a large notepad in front of him. ‘I need help,’ he said. ‘I’m stuck.’

Jemma sat opposite him and turned the notepad to see what he had written. At the top were the words Assistant Keeper: Westminster in Raphael’s beautiful copperplate hand, and the rest of the page was blank.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Let’s start at the beginning. Is the role permanent, or temporary?’

Raphael frowned. ‘It’s sort of both. It’s permanent if you can manage to hold on to it, and temporary if you can’t.’

Jemma sighed. ‘Maybe put “to be confirmed”. Who does the role report to?’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said Raphael, looking much happier. ‘The role reports to me. Keeper of England.’ He passed Jemma his pen.

‘OK,’ said Jemma, writing it down. ‘Salary?’

‘Ooooh, I know this!’ cried Raphael. ‘One thousand guineas per annum.’

Jemma’s pen froze above the paper, and she stared at him. ‘A thousand guineas?’

‘Yes,’ said Raphael. ‘It’s a nice round sum, that’s why I remembered it.’

‘Is that all?’ asked Jemma.

‘There are some special allowances,’ said Raphael. ‘One’s expenses are paid, for example.’

‘What sort of expenses?’

‘Well, you know.’ Raphael shifted in his seat. ‘Expenses incurred in the course of performing one’s duty. So if one happened to be at a meeting, and one required sustenance…’

Jemma grinned. ‘So all those coffees and pastries from Rolando’s go on expenses?’

Raphael shrugged. ‘Completely necessary,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had any trouble getting them signed off. And of course there is the book budget, which in the case of agreed acquisitions is unlimited.’

‘I see.’ Jemma thought for a moment. ‘And Gertrude?’

‘Company car,’ said Raphael.

Jemma wrote: Plus generous expenses including subsistence and company car. ‘Pension?’

‘Nooooo,’ said Raphael, as if the idea were ridiculous. And now that Jemma thought about it, a pension scheme for staff who were presumably immortal was rather unrealistic.

‘OK, got that,’ she said. ‘What about hours?’

‘Flexible,’ said Raphael. ‘But on call for twenty-four hours, seven days a week.’

‘Really?’ said Jemma.

‘Oh yes,’ said Raphael. ‘Keepers never sleep. Well, obviously we do, but in an emergency—’

‘I get it.’ Jemma considered the sheet of paper. ‘How would you summarise the job?’

Raphael drank some coffee, then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Jemma was just debating whether to poke him when he sat bolt upright. ‘The Assistant Keeper of Westminster,’ he declared, ‘is responsible for maintaining the knowledge sources in their care in good condition, and for acquiring new assets with the agreement of their superiors. They are also responsible for preventing any knowledge-related emergencies in the borough of Westminster, and if any do occur, containing same without involving outside agencies or the media.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ muttered Jemma, busy scribbling. ‘You’re asking them to do that for a thousand pounds a year?’

‘Guineas,’ Raphael corrected. ‘Plus allowances.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Jemma. ‘OK, let’s go to qualifications and experience.’

‘Hmm,’ said Raphael, stretching his legs out beneath the table. ‘The most important is that they must be able to read.’

Jemma laughed. ‘I would have thought that went without saying.’

‘Ah, someone got past me in 1850,’ said Raphael. ‘He lasted a good three months. Oh yes, and they need to be able to write, too.’

‘What about actual qualifications?’ said Jemma.

Raphael looked nonplussed. ‘That’s a bit tricky,’ he said. ‘You see, not all of us have had what you might call a formal education.’

Jemma decided not to ask for clarification. ‘All right, what about experience?’

‘We don’t ask for too much at this level,’ said Raphael. ‘This is a relatively junior position, so we’d be looking for a minimum of ten years running a book-heavy environment with no major incidents. We’d also be prepared to consider people with twenty years experience and one successfully contained major incident.’ He smiled. ‘In some ways those candidates are better, because they’ve had firsthand experience of disaster management. Oh yes, you can put that. Non-accountable involvement in one disaster or three minor incidents, with no loss of assets. Oh, or life.’

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