‘Thanks again for filling in.’
‘No problem.’ She smiled. ‘I enjoy it here. And I’m happy to serve the customers with dogs. I don’t mind animals, but don’t I remember you told me you can’t bear them?’
He felt his cheeks redden. Somehow it didn’t seem politically correct to admit that he’d had a lifelong dread of man’s best friend, but at least Cassie wasn’t offended. ‘It’s only dogs that I can’t bear to be near. When I was seven years old, I was bitten by a German Shepherd. The pain was appalling, I thought I was going to die. Of course, it was all right in the end, but these childhood traumas leave a mark, long after the actual scars have healed.’
‘You’re so right.’ Her eyes widened. ‘What a terrible experience.’
Thank God she didn’t think him a coward. All the same, he didn’t feel comfortable admitting a weakness, and he was quick to change the subject.
‘So, what are you getting up to this afternoon?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Sorry.’ He wasn’t sure how to play it. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘No, no, I wasn’t suggesting…’
‘It’s just that…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m meeting a dealer in Carnforth this afternoon. He’s disposing of a collection of Wainwright firsts and he’s offered me first refusal. If you were interested, you could come along, get an idea of pricing stock.’
‘I sold that quilting book too cheap, didn’t I?’
‘No, I didn’t mean-’
‘You’re being kind. I saw the look of triumph on her face. She knew she’d got it cheap. I’m so naive!’ Crestfallen yet gorgeous was nearer to it, Marc thought. ‘I bet she waited till you were out of the way before asking how much I’d take for it. I should have-’
‘Listen, don’t worry. But if you come to Carnforth, you’ll have a chance to see the bigger picture. There’s more to selling books than standing behind a counter.’
‘I’d love to…oh, shit.’
‘What’s the matter?’
She shook her head. ‘I just remembered. I have a dental appointment this afternoon.’
He felt as though his own teeth had suddenly started to hurt. ‘Toothache?’
‘No, just a check-up, but I’d better not cancel. National Health dentists are as rare as signed Wordsworths, and I don’t want to be kicked off his list. Hope I don’t need any treatment, my boyfriend is supposed to be taking me out for a meal afterwards.’
‘Some other time.’ He could scarcely contain his disappointment.
‘I’d really like that.’
Her eagerness cheered him. Impossible not to feel a twinge of jealousy of her boyfriend. Though Marc still wasn’t sure if he really existed, or was just a convenient alibi to avoid close encounters when it suited her.
‘If once a man indulges himself in murder,’ Arlo Denstone proclaimed, ‘very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbathbreaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination.’
He paused and checked Daniel’s expression for approval. He might have been hired by the Cumbria Culture Company for his literary expertise, Daniel thought, but there was a large dollop of showmanship there too.
‘Once begun upon this downward path,’ Arlo continued, ‘you never know where you are to stop. Many a man has dated his ruin from some murder or other that perhaps he thought little of at the time.’
Daniel mimed applause. ‘Word perfect.’
Arlo stretched out his legs and lifted the coffee mug from the little table beside his armchair. His white T-shirt revealed long, bony arms. He was one of the skinniest men Daniel had met, borderline anorexic, a reminder perhaps that he was a cancer survivor. Dark, long-lashed eyes kept flicking around as he weighed up his surroundings. A log fire crackled and spat and gave off plenty of heat. Outside the cottage, the sky was morose and rain slammed against the hatchback of the Micra he’d parked next to Daniel’s car.
‘It’s my favourite De Quincey quote. Though he wrote so many wonderful lines. Remember how he bemoans the way people will not submit to having their throats cut quietly, but will run and kick and bite? “Whilst the portrait painter often has to complain of too much torpor in his subject, the artist, in our line, is generally embarrassed by too much animation”? Masterly. Is any other writer of genius so criminally underestimated?’
‘Except here in the Lakes?’
‘Especially here in the Lakes! We hear more than flesh and blood can bear about William Wordsworth, and plenty about Coleridge. Even Southey, and not forgetting dear old John Ruskin. Poor De Quincey scarcely gets a look in. I hope our Festival will change all that. I’d love people to realise there is so much more to De Quincey than eating opium and living in Dove Cottage. Who knows? The Festival may be the start of something big. Next stop, a De Quincey Trail across the county? He could be the Lakes’ new Beatrix Potter.’ The long lashes fluttered conspiratorially, encouraging Daniel to share the joke. ‘In the meantime, believe me, I can’t wait to read your lecture.’
‘Right now, I’ll be thrilled to finish the first draft.’
Arlo chortled. ‘Good to hear that even Daniel Kind sometimes struggles to string a few paragraphs together. When I was an undergraduate, my ambition was to write a novel, but I never made it past the first five thousand words. Now I satisfy my creative energies through writing press releases about literary festivals. It’s not quite the same.’
‘Enjoying your new job?’
‘The chance to return to the Lakes was a dream come true. Trust me, I didn’t come for the money. But the people here have been marvellous…well, mostly.’
He paused, like a born gossip hoping to provoke curiosity.
‘My sister said she met you at Stuart Wagg’s party.’
‘Louise, yes. Such a lovely lady. She’ll have told you about the little…contretemps?’
‘The woman who threw wine over you? Yeah, she did mention it.’
‘I bet.’ Arlo uttered a theatrical sigh, but Daniel guessed he relished his fifteen minutes of fame. ‘Not back in the Lakes five minutes and already I’m making waves. Not my own choice, I can assure you.’
Years spent negotiating the minefield of Oxford college politics had taught Daniel the value of discretion. Adopting a sympathetic expression, he clamped his mouth shut. If Arlo wanted to natter about the incident with Wanda Safell, that was up to him.
‘You’ll have heard that her husband died before Christmas?’
‘Burnt to death, Louise told me.’
Arlo squirmed in his chair. ‘Yes, horrible.’
‘His boathouse went up in flames?’
‘By all accounts, it wasn’t your average boathouse. A place where he kept his rare books, apparently, a bolt-hole up on Ullswater. Wanda was his second wife and I dare say he found her a handful. I met them at the first event I attended, a few days after I took up my post. She’d had a few drinks and…well, she made it clear that it wasn’t just the Festival she was interested in. Very flattering, but needless to say I made my excuses and left.’
Arlo did his best to look embarrassed, but Daniel wasn’t convinced. Maybe he wasn’t gay, and the faintly camp manner was just a pose. Or a defence mechanism.
‘Tricky.’
‘Next thing I knew, she was on the phone every other day. She runs a small printing press and produces the occasional limited edition. Including a new book of poetry by a friend of hers that focuses on De Quincey, which she was keen to promote. I was happy to help, but she misread the signals.’
‘And then her husband died?’
‘Such a shocking tragedy. I thought Wanda would cool down, but on Christmas Eve she called me again. I suppose I was abrupt with her. I didn’t mean to be rude, but she caught me at a bad moment. When I saw her at the party, I wanted to apologise, but she wasn’t in the mood for a rapprochement. She’d obviously got stuck into the booze at home before she set off for the party. Understandable, I suppose. Perhaps she felt guilty about her husband.’