Chapter 2
2
Holding Lili’s cold little hand in hers, Adeline stepped forward and pushed open the glass checked door, nudging the little brass bell that hung on a spring attached to the frame, tinkling their welcome.
The smell of ink on paper was unmistakable; reminding her of libraries, the scent of newsprint as she’d packed newspapers in a bag for her paper-round in her early teens, the fragrance of dusty volumes piled high on her desk in the university before she’d left that life behind. There was nobody behind the counter and for a moment she was glad – it gave her a chance to get her bearings, take a measure of the place.
She heard his voice again in her head saying she was crazy – taking a job in a place she’d never been to. But something about the shop already said ‘home’ to her. Its shelf-lined walls with books spine-out displaying their titles, the tables stacked with volumes of various genres. It was ramshackle, a mixture of old and new. Needed a tidy as well as a dust, but it was a pleasant chaos. Something that spoke of a love of books, a need to overstock the shelves and pile the flat surfaces high rather than deny any volume its place. She hoped Lili wouldn’t remark on the need for a good old-fashioned clean here too.
‘ Coucou !’ she called. ‘Is anyone here?’
Her voice sounded loud on the empty shop floor – but surely if someone was here, they would have heard the bell? Should she have come in at all? Perhaps she’d missed a notice on the door – ‘Back in ten minutes’, or ‘Closed for the morning’. But surely Monique was expecting them?
Then there was a sound of high heels on wood and a woman’s legs became visible descending the wooden staircase at the back, behind the counter. The movement of colourful fabric, the swing of a skirt, a waist, bodice and finally the whole of her – her slim frame, sun-tarnished skin, hair in a loose chignon. Adeline noticed a pen tucked behind the woman’s ear and another in the chignon, and a white-blue stone on a golden thread at her neck.
The woman turned. ‘You are here!’ she said, sounding delighted as she climbed down the final three steps onto the shop floor. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would come.’
It was the first time Adeline had seen Monique, but she recognised the voice from the telephone. She smiled, reached out a hand. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’
Monique shrugged playfully. ‘Not many people from London want to work in St Vianne. I thought you might change your mind.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Adeline countered, smiling. ‘I think many people in London would dream of living, working in a place like this.’
‘Ah, they dream!’ Monique said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘But they do not come. They are too frightened.’
Her words reminded Adeline of Kevin’s words – only his had been said in a derogatory way, trying to dissuade her. ‘It’s the kind of dream that should stay a dream,’ he’d argued. ‘People don’t actually do things like this.’
She smiled. ‘Well, I suppose I am a person who does.’ She didn’t feel brave though.
‘Yes, I suppose that you are too,’ Monique said, clearly amused. ‘And you must be Lili.’ She crouched down so she was eye level with the little girl. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Lili.’ She looked up at Adeline. ‘Does she understand French? Should I speak in English?’
‘No, she understands,’ Adeline said, feeling a swell of pride. ‘I’ve always used both languages with her.’ Adeline tried to move Lili forward, but the little girl remained stubbornly fixed, just behind her legs. ‘She’ll be going to the school tomorrow, I hope.’
Monique leaned forward, her face playful. ‘But there is no rush, Adeline. Your Lili will be happy here too, I think. As we discussed, she’s welcome in the shop when you are working.’
Lili’s hand tightened in Adeline’s as if to suggest anything but.
Straightening and stepping forward, making Lili scuttle even farther behind her mother, Monique passed them, a waft of floral fragrance in her wake, and moved over to a wooden box on wheels filled with picture books. She crouched down, her yellow dress ballooning around her legs, leaving just a sliver of heel visible, and rifled through the content. ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘Here!’ She lifted out a book with a picture of a cat on the front. ‘For the girl who loves kittens,’ she said, straightening and holding it out.
Adeline felt herself tense as she willed Lili to reach forward and take the book, not to snub Monique’s gesture of friendship. But she needn’t have worried. Lili dropped her hand and reached shyly for the volume; as soon as she gained purchase, she hugged it to herself as if frightened Monique might change her mind and take it back. ‘You can sit,’ Monique said, gesturing to a small table with chairs in the corner, its surface covered in stumpy wax crayons and discarded paper. ‘Read, if you want.’
Lili gave a short, curt nod, a half-smile and made her way over, still clutching the book to her chest. She sank into the chair and began turning the pages, her blonde hair falling slightly over her face as she dipped her head to read.
‘Thank you,’ Adeline said. ‘You’re right. She does love kittens.’
Monique shrugged. ‘It is nothing. She will be happy for a little while with the book I think.’
Adeline nodded. ‘So,’ she began, gesturing with her arms.
‘Yes. So,’ Monique replied, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Perhaps we should start.’
Adeline nodded. In all honesty, she hadn’t asked much about what the job would entail when she’d answered the advert; had expected an interview, a discussion before taking it on rather than just the acceptance she’d received. But she assumed she’d need to be able to operate the till, become familiar with the stock, hopefully learn how to order books for those who couldn’t find what they were looking for. Monique would need to train her, but she’d soon get up to speed.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like I mentioned on the phone, I’ve worked in a shop before. But not for a good few years.’ And a world away from this place, she thought – remembering the bright, stark shop floor lights, the bar-code scanner and the ill-fitting uniform she’d squeezed into for her Saturday job as a teen.
Monique gave another dismissive wave. ‘I think you will find things a bit different here.’
‘No doubt.’
‘And certainly worlds away from being a teacher,’ she said, referencing Adeline’s most recent job .
Adeline laughed. ‘Do you promise?’ she joked.
Monique looked at her askance. ‘ Oui , it is sure,’ she said, all seriousness.
Adeline’s smile faltered. She nodded. ‘Well, great,’ she said, weakly. Perhaps in France, teachers weren’t quite as maligned as they were back home – whenever she made a chance remark about leaving the profession in London, people would roll their eyes and drop anecdotes about young people today, or remark that they’d never be a teacher, or tell her ‘hilarious’ stories about the awful things they’d done in their own schooldays. The more daring of them sometimes commented on the long holidays and be much closer to a knuckle sandwich than they might imagine.
‘Come. I will make us coffee. We should talk,’ Monique said, gesturing to the stairs.
Adeline shot a look at Lili.
‘Ah, she will be fine. The bell will tell us if someone comes. And we will be able to hear if she calls.’
‘OK,’ Adeline replied doubtfully, hoping they wouldn’t come back to find half the stock sold to the next customer for a couple of coins or a handful of sweets. ‘Mummy’s just popping upstairs,’ she said to her daughter who nodded her head, eyes still fixed on a picture of a white kitten playing with a ball of wool.
Adeline followed her new boss up the wooden stairs into a small corridor and then into a pretty room that opened out to reveal a glossy rosewood table with carved wooden seats, a faded chaise longue stacked with books, an armchair with a floral cover. Light from the large windows streamed across the worn wood of the table’s surface, highlighting its uneven patina, brushing the upholstered backs of the chairs with a pinkish light.
‘Espresso? ’
‘ Oui, merci ,’ Adeline said, although she wasn’t really a fan of the strong, bitter and all-too-short beverage. It just felt right to agree.
‘Because I have tea also?’ Monique called, her voice more distant. Adeline turned and realised she must have slipped from the room to prepare the drinks. There was a laugh in her voice again, as if she realised that Adeline had agreed to espresso out of politeness.
‘No, thank you,’ Adeline doubled down. ‘Espresso will be lovely.’
Her eye alighted on a shelf, on which there stood a collection of jars filled with coloured powders – perhaps bath salts? But no. Now, looking closer, she saw one had a leaf curling around the glass of its interior, another contained a coin resting on a dark powder.
Moments later her host returned with a tray on which sat a large, porcelain coffee pot and two tiny cups. Little biscuits wrapped in twists of paper garnished the saucers and she placed a delicate cup in front of Adeline with a smile. ‘I have some juice for your Lili when she wants,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ Adeline lifted the cup to her lips and was surprised by the mild, rich taste. ‘I like your jars,’ she said, nodding at the shelf.
‘ Merci ,’ Monique answered. ‘They are pretty, non ?’ Her eyes searched Adeline’s face for a moment, before she looked away and took a sip from her cup.
Adeline longed to ask more, but couldn’t quite find the words. ‘So, I meant to check what my hours will be? And do you use Excel or another programme for the accounts?’ she said instead.
To her surprise, Monique laughed – throatily – reaching a hand forward to steady herself against the table. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘It is rude of me. It’s just… you are so very British.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. Or perhaps I should say, so very métropolitaine,’ Monique continued. ‘Ah, it is not an insult,’ she added quickly. ‘It is just that we do things very differently in St Vianne.’
‘You don’t… have set hours?’
‘ Non , mon coeur , it is not that. What I mean is that your question is so very practical. And this is not a practical shop. It is a shop that sells stories.’ Monique swept her arms out wide as if to indicate the enormity of this task. ‘Stories do not fit neatly into a spreadsheet. They fill the space they need, in our hearts, our heads, our imaginations. Yes, of course, we must deal with money and opening hours and all the things like taxes that are necessary. But what is necessary is not always important. When you prepare for a role in my store, the first thing I want to learn about you is the content of your heart.’
‘My heart?’
‘Yes. Why do you love books? Why do you choose to come here to work? What makes your heart beat faster?’
‘I… well, I like books, I guess. Love them, I mean.’
This too seemed to amuse Monique. ‘But of course. But what is your passion ?’
‘Well, I’m here to improve my French. To… I started a Master’s years ago and… well, it didn’t work out,’ Adeline felt herself stumble over the words. ‘I did teacher training though, then taught French…’ she trailed off.
Monique was silent for a moment, studying Adeline’s face. Then she nodded as if coming to a decision. ‘Well, this is a start. A purpose. We can talk more in the future. When you are ready. Or perhaps when you know yourself a little better.’ She sipped her espresso. ‘And you can recommend books to people? ’
‘Yes, of course. And I’ll try to read more while I’m here. I’d like to…’ Adeline wanted to ask Monique what she meant about knowing herself better . Was it a slight? Or had she misunderstood Monique’s rapid French?
Monique leaned towards her, the moonstone swinging on its delicate chain. ‘Yes, yes, this is all good,’ she said. ‘But what I hope you will learn is not simply to fulfil orders for people or to find – perhaps – the latest crime thriller or a book they must read at school. I hope you will start to find out how to select the right book for customers,’ she patted her bosom with the flat of her hand. ‘From here. From the heart.’
‘Oh. Well. I mean. Of course. I’ll try to…’
‘ Non ,’ Monique said firmly. ‘You must not try . You must feel .’ She looked at Adeline’s face, a little mischief in her eyes. ‘I can see that you try, that you want so much for things. It is an effort, yes? But here, I hope you will learn not to try, to force , but to live , to be , to tune in.’ She tapped a finger against her head to emphasise the point, found one of the tucked-in pens, removed it.
‘OK…?’ Adeline began to wonder whether she might have made a bit of a mistake. Clearly, she knew the little independent bookshop in an obscure French village wasn’t going to operate like Waterstones. But she had thought she would understand what was expected of her.
Monique was delighted by her hesitant response. ‘Ah, you are like the others! When I first came here, many years ago, they called me a witch. Said I was crazy. But they have come to understand that the right book is more than just a tale to entertain, non ? The right book can heal us, can speak to us and help us to be well.’
‘It can? I mean, yes, I’m sure,’ Adeline stuttered.
They both sipped their coffee, eyeing each other over the porcelain. ‘And they said,’ Adeline added, rather nervously, ‘that you were a witch?’ She tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was more like a monosyllabic whimper. ‘Why… why would they think that?’
Monique’s eyes sparkled. ‘People think what they wish. It is their right.’
‘Of course, but…’
‘Ah, you will see.’ Monique stood and Adeline followed suit. ‘Some of my methods are perhaps a little unusual. But they work. Maybe some people would call them spiritual, unusual, even strange,’ she leaned forward a little. ‘And yes, sometimes there is a little magic involved. But eventually people have come to realise that whatever I do, it is good, it comes from a place of love. Because in La Petite Librairie we do not always give our customers what they want. But we always find them what they need.’