Chapter 9 #2
It was only when she got out to the harbor that the wind, blowing in from the sea, hit her full force, tugging at her hair and whipping it across her face.
She began to wish she had taken up the offer of a coat.
It wasn’t worth going back and risking getting drawn into work again, though.
Aunt Flo was right, she had been spending too long huddled in a gloomy office.
Clouds were scudding across the sky, periodically blotting out the lemon-yellow sun, which gave little warmth.
Jules picked her way down the uneven stone steps set into the harbor wall, jumping off the last two to land on the shifting shingle of the beach.
At this time of day, it was possible to walk across the shingle all the way to the cliffs at the east of the town, and Jules was soon marching, reveling in being a little out of breath, marveling at the shifting shadows of the clouds reflected on the surface of the water, which was being whipped into foamy crests.
The wind was at her back now, tugging and tussling, driving her on, and in what felt like no time, she was out beyond the town, alone except for the sea birds, wheeling above or bobbing on the sea, their lonely cries the only sound besides the hypnotic suck and crash of the waves.
Jules glanced at her watch and saw, with mild concern, it was later than she had thought. Turning to head back the way she
had come, she was taken aback to see the scraps of white clouds in the pale blue sky to the west had given way to heavy purple
rain clouds bearing down on the coastline ahead of her. The sun still shone, casting a low golden light that made lunchtime
feel like evening, but Jules could see a gray blur of rain, like a distant swarm of bees, falling on the headland perhaps
a quarter of a mile in front of her and heading her way. As she walked, pushing forward against the wind, a vivid rainbow
and then another—a double arch—materialized out of the mist. With one end on the headland and the other rising up out of the
sea, the glorious double band of color was mesmerizing, and Jules cursed herself for not remembering her phone: she could
have done some #blessed schtick for the Capelthorne’s Insta account, which would have been a welcome tick on her to-do list.
And then she was glad she didn’t have it. This marvel was for her and her alone—all the more precious for not being shared.
It was a shame the old wives’ tale about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow wasn’t true, though.
Quicker than she thought possible, the rain bearing down on her arrived.
One moment she was just doing battle with the wind; the next moment it felt like someone had directed a cold-water showerhead at her face.
The raindrops were huge, freezing, and immediately drenching.
She was caught too far from home for there to be any point making a run for it or even walking with her head down.
Instead, Jules stood for a long moment, tipping her head back, eyes shut, arms out to the side, and embraced the elements.
If that wasn’t a lesson in facing your troubles head-on, she didn’t know what was.
The downpour was so fierce and sudden, rain was running down the center of the road by the time she left the beach, and the
cloudburst had entirely cleared the streets of tourists. Jules pushed open the door, hopeful a few visitors might have ducked
into the shop for cover and stayed to buy something. What she found instead was Charlie and Flo sitting together and splitting
their sides with hilarity. Flo was doubled over her stick laughing silently, with tears of mirth streaming from her eyes.
Charlie was making heroic efforts to stop, but going into fresh paroxysms whenever he caught Flo’s eye.
“What?” asked Jules, smiling at the sight of them both and pushing her dripping hair back off her face.
Charlie flapped his hands helplessly and then, after several attempts, straightened up and began to explain, but then Flo
interrupted. “Just customers being ridiculous,” she said, waving it away. “They never cease to entertain. You are completely
soaked, child,” she went on. “You’ll catch your death. Why don’t you run upstairs and have a hot bath. I’ll bring you a cup
of tea.”
“I’m fine,” said Jules, raking her wet hair with her fingers. “Did those deliveries come in?”
“Yup,” said Charlie. “I put them in the stockroom, is that okay?”
“Perfect,” said Jules, too intrigued to see her remaindered stock to follow her aunt’s instructions about a hot bath.
Twenty minutes later, she was delightedly bringing stacks of books into the front of the shop.
“Look at all this stuff,” she told Flo delightedly. “Sports memoirs—hardbacks too—and these psychological thriller paperbacks are mostly biggish names...” Jules was plonking stacks of books onto the till counter. “And see this cookbook? This was huge a couple of Christmases ago.”
“Beautiful!” said Flo, picking one up and flicking through it. “Lovely photography. I do adore a good food photo, don’t you?”
“I tell you who would like that,” said Jules slyly. “Your budding master chef gentleman friend, that’s who.”
“I don’t know about ‘gentleman friend,’” said Flo, but Jules didn’t fail to clock her aunt’s secret smile at the thought of
him. “How much did we pay for all this, though?” asked Flo anxiously.
“You’d be staggered at how little,” Jules reassured her. “We can afford to sell at really discounted prices and still make
a very decent margin. If it would just stop raining, I’ll do a little display outside the shop with prices on those fluorescent
star cards we’ve got in the drawer.”