CATHERINE GEORGE - No More Secrets

She beckoned to Clare. ‘Would you take over from Gail for ten minutes, please? Gail, see if Ms Fletcher needs a drink yet, then take a break.’

Gail relinquished her place to Clare eagerly, and went over to Quinn Fletcher, who shook her head, smiling, apparently quite unconcerned when her husband turned the full battery of his charm on the pretty blonde bookseller.

Kate turned away to deal with a customer, deeply sorry for Quinn Fletcher. The husband was a menace to anything young and female, obviously, pregnant wife or not.

After an hour Kate went over to the table.

‘Time for a break? You look tired.’

‘I think she’s had enough,’ put in Ben Fletcher, ‘though she won’t admit it while there’s someone brandishing a book at her.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Quinn firmly, and smiled across the table at the elderly lady holding out a book. ‘Hello; how nice of you to come.’

It was another half-hour before the last fan had gone happily away. Ben Fletcher helped the author to her feet with a solicitude which set Kate’s teeth on edge. Hypocrite!

‘Honestly, Cass,’ said Ben Fletcher, frowning, ‘you look done in. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

Quinn Fletcher’s smile was warmly reassuring, despite the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. ‘What I need first is a visit to the loo, then a sit down in a comfortable chair. Then you can drive me home.’

Kate led her to the staffroom, showed her the Ladies’, checked the coffee was fresh and hot, then waited until Quinn Fletcher emerged, and pulled forward a solid leather chair. ‘We all fight over this one, it’s so comfortable. Coffee?’

‘I shouldn’t, but I will.’ The novelist sat down, leaning back with a sigh.

‘I hope all this wasn’t too much for you,’ said Kate, pouring out. ‘I didn’t know you were pregnant.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. A book-signing session won’t do me any harm.’ She smiled. ‘My small son wears me out far more. Angus is three and gorgeous, but lord is he energetic! How I ever got this book finished I’ll never know. Luckily I’ve got a brilliant girl who comes in for a few hours a week to give me a hand with young Angus after nursery-school hours, otherwise I’d never have made my deadline.’

‘Ms Fletcher—’

‘Call me Cassie. Quinn’s my pen name.’

Kate smiled warmly, very taken with the author’s charm. ‘I just wanted to say I’m one of your fans. I’ve read all your books, but I left my copy of this one at home. I read it over the weekend. Some time, when you’re in town, would you mind calling in to sign it for me?’

‘Of course; I’d be glad to.’ Cassie Fletcher finished her coffee and got to her feet carefully. ‘Right, then, Kate Harker, I must be off. Could you round up Ben for me?’

Ben Fletcher was discovered in a far corner of the store, handing up books for a very excited, pink-faced Gail to stack on a high shelf.

‘Incorrigible,’ said Cassie, looking resigned rather than annoyed.

Kate, annoyed for her, moved over to the industrious pair, who were so absorbed with each other that neither noticed her arrival. ‘Ms Fletcher is ready to leave now,’ she said crisply. ‘Gail, if you’ve finished there the children’s corner could do with some tidying.’

‘Yes, Kate,’ said Gail, and went off precipitately, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Ben Fletcher watched her go, frowning. ‘I hope I didn’t get her into trouble. I was just giving a helping hand.’

‘Not at all. Very kind of you,’ said Kate politely, and walked ahead of him to the signing table, where the author was taking leave of the manager and the other members of staff.

‘Ah, there you are, Ben,’ said Cassie Fletcher. ‘Sorry to keep you hanging round so long.’

‘My pleasure, love.’ He grinned. ‘I found ways to pass the time.’

There was a chorus of farewells as the writer promised to come back the following year when her next novel came out. Ben Fletcher bestowed his dazzling smile on everyone except Kate, who won an oddly wry, questioning glance before he escorted Cassie to the car parked outside.

Mrs Harrison congratulated Kate on a very successful signing session, and the others returned to their various tasks—except for a rather wary Gail.

‘Kate, I’m down for early lunch today, but could I go late instead, please?’

‘I’ll swap,’ offered Harry promptly. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Yes, fine,’ said Kate rather coolly. ‘Stay at the till until one, then, Gail. Harry, put the table and chairs away first, then off you go.’

The staffroom was a comfortable, untidy place where all of them were glad to rest their tired feet, eat sandwiches and drink coffee, chat, read the paper, or just relax for the hour’s break. Harry usually went out to join cronies for a pizza, but the female section of the staff tended to congregate together, glad to sit down.

Today Kate was not glad to sit down. For some reason she felt restless. Gail went out shopping, Mrs Harrison and Clare were grappling with The Times crossword, and after swallowing a sandwich and half a cup of coffee Kate excused herself to dash out and buy some shampoo. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say she just needed to be out in the open air, though the sleet showers had given way to chilly sunshine by this time. She walked briskly, guilty enough about her excuse to walk to the other end of town and buy shampoo she didn’t need. On her way back past public gardens bright with early daffodils, Kate eyed the tempting cakes in the corner coffee-shop with longing, wishing she had Clare’s metabolism. Suddenly her eyes widened. At one of the tables inside the coffee-shop, clearly visible through the shelves of Danish pastries and cream buns, sat Gail, her eyes like stars as she gazed at the man with her. His back was turned to Kate, but it was all too easy to see that Gail’s companion was Ben Fletcher.

The louse! thought Kate fiercely. Cassie Fletcher was at home, pregnant, coping with a boisterous toddler into the bargain, and here was Ben Fletcher chatting up young Gail, who, seemingly, was so taken with him she was prepared to overlook his married status.

Kate turned away sharply. It was none of her business. Not even Gail. Unless the girl’s work suffered because of it her private life was her own affair, however she chose to conduct it. Kate cut across the gardens, taking the longest route possible back to the shop to calm down. It was Cassie she felt for. A warm, lovely lady like Cassie Fletcher deserved something better than a blond Romeo who reacted to every woman in sight. Well not every woman, amended Kate with painful honesty. She was the only one he hadn’t smiled at on leaving, so it was obvious she didn’t merit the Ben Fletcher gold seal of approval.

The afternoon was busy, as usual. Kate spent a large part of it with a publishing rep, discussing new titles for the summer list, then did some chasing up on book deliveries to make sure they arrived for various special displays she was organising. In between she helped customers find titles they were looking for, tidied up the children’s corner after the usual post-school surge of mothers and offspring and kept a general eagle eye on everything going on in her department. By the time her shift ended just before seven Kate had managed to push thoughts of the Fletchers to the back of her mind, even able to bid Gail a fairly affable goodnight instead of wringing her neck, as she’d wanted to earlier.

It was almost dark and raining again when she set out to walk to the older part of Pennington. Kate pulled the stitched brim of the now dry wool hat low over her eyes, buttoned her raincoat to the neck and set off at a brisk pace.

Shortly after her arrival in Pennington she’d answered an advertisement which required ‘a young professional lady for a small flat in a house off Waverley Square’. Kate had gone to inspect it without much hope, but had been charmed by the house, which was small, flatroofed, and one of a pair in a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away behind a row of imposing Georgian mansions. Waverley Lodge had a small front garden with shrubs and a lilac tree, and the flat, Kate had learned, was the entire upper floor of the house. Mrs Beaumont, the owner, was a sprightly lady in her late seventies, with curly white hair and shrewd dark eyes. She leaned heavily on a stick and could no longer manage stairs, she’d explained.