Chapter 11 #2
At this precise moment, Jules observed, Aunt Flo was having a gently flirtatious chat with the cookbook man.
There was nothing salacious going on, Jules had to admit; she could just about make out his soft voice diffidently describing his recently acquired skills in making hollandaise sauce, and Flo was extolling the virtues of the season’s first asparagus to go with.
Idly, Jules examined their body language. They were standing at a forty-five-degree angle to each other, each with one foot
pointing directly at the subject of their preoccupation. Very promising. He was much taller than Aunt Flo, making it necessary
for him to stoop down to her a little, leaning in solicitously. Every now and then, Jules would hear them both chuckle in
tandem, and once Aunt Flo reached out and touched him lightly on the forearm.
“You should ask him out on a hot date,” she told her aunt when he had, at last, left.
“No need,” Flo said, looking smug. “Graham happens to have already requested that I join him for a light lunch next Thursday.”
“Wow! Go you,” said Jules. “Graham, eh? That’s progress. Where’s he taking you? Freya’s hopefully.”
“Better than that, he’s going to cook for me.”
“What? You’re going to his house?” snapped Jules anxiously. “Isn’t that a bit dodge? He might be an axe murderer. Should I
maybe chaperone you?”
“No thank you,” said Flo firmly. “I do not require a third wheel tagging along, and you’ve got enough to do here, especially
with me out. It is perfectly proper that we should have lunch at his house. Dinner would have been another matter, naturally,
but he would never do anything as inappropriate as to ask that anyway. Graham is the very soul of propriety. He’s got a little
cottage just north of Middlemass, at the top of the hill. I think I know the one. I’ll have to get your mother to give me
a lift.”
“Good luck with that,” muttered Jules. Surely Flo knew better than anyone that Maggie did no good deeds for anyone if she could help it, and they hadn’t seen her for dust over the last few weeks.
She had, remarkably, persuaded the council to give her an admin job that paid better than the pub, allowing her—just about—to go part time.
“Finally, some me time,” she had improbably declared, it apparently not occurring to her that Flo—or even Jules—might need some help.
Jules had already decided she would book and pay for Terry the local taxi to get Flo to her hot date.
Bless her, Aunt Flo deserved a treat, and this Graham bloke did seem lovely.
Jules’s phone pinged: Free for a quick meetup at Belinda’s after closing? Freya’s text asked. Got something to show you.
Jules texted a thumbs-up. What else did she have to do that evening? Her and Flo’s idea of an excellent evening was supper
on their knees and Netflix, and Jules liked it that way. A minor adventure with Freya at Belinda’s, the local pre-loved clothing
shop, would be the event of the week. Just then, the bell on the door announced an arrival, and Jules came out to find Flo
greeting a slick young man in a shiny suit that was too big for him and with hair that looked as if it had been plastered
flat by an overzealous nanny.
“James!” Flo greeted him. “Long time no see! This is my niece, Jules, who is dealing with stock orders. Jules, this is James,
who used to be our Gardners agent but who has not graced us with his presence for a considerable time. You were missed,” she
told him sternly.
He ducked his head apologetically at the same time as holding out his hand for Jules to shake.
“To what do we owe this exceptionally rare pleasure?” Flo went on, clearly determined not to let him off the hook easily.
“I was in the area,” he admitted, seeming to shrink slightly under Flo’s censorious gaze.
“Visiting the enemy across the road, I dare say,” said Flo.
The tips of James’s ears had gone pink. His silence spoke volumes, although his discomfort was so intense, Jules ended up feeling a little bit sorry for him.
“Let me make you a cup of tea,” she suggested. “Then you can tell me what’s hot and what’s not. Flo’s got me in charge of
purchasing these days.”
Merlin had done James the honor of choosing to sit on his knee, and the poor man was now carefully staying completely stationary
and awkwardly holding his mug high over Merlin’s head so as not to put him out in any way.
Being nice to the cat counted for a lot in Jules’s eyes.
“We’re doing a big push on the latest Cressida Cornworthy at the beginning of the month,” he told Jules once they had exchanged
the usual niceties.
“There’s an excellent readership for that here,” Jules said. She had, just that morning, been looking at the surge in backlist
sales when the previous one came out. “Plus, it’s still the Easter holidays for most of the kids, so we’ll have lots of holidaymakers
around. If there’s rain, giving the kids something new to read will be hugely popular with the parents.”
“I’ll put you down for fifty copies then,” said James, poised with his pen and notepad.
“Make it a hundred,” said Jules. “And I assume there will be some good point-of-sale kit for the displays?”
“For sure, and a big national media push too,” James enthused. “The London chains are expecting queues camping out overnight.
You could maybe hook up with local media with a similar story?”
“Dunno about camping out,” admitted Jules, “but I reckon we can generate a picture of a decent queue. A picture paints a thousand words and all that. Plus, we’ve got a strong social media following here.
” That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but the Instagram followers had been rising exponentially, and Jules had even been seriously thinking of doing some TikToks.
She was well aware BookTok was huge, although Flo, naturally enough, could not be persuaded to take an interest. “And I imagine you’re providing similar support to Portneath Books too?
” Jules pressed mercilessly, feeling only a little bit mean.
James flushed again, his eyes beseeching her not to ask.
“How many copies are they ordering?” she demanded.
He sighed. “A hundred.”
“Ha! Good,” said Jules. She would show him.