10
When Nancy arrived at the bookshop the following morning, Madame Dubois looked her up and down, raised an eyebrow, and suggested that she tidy the books on the second floor. Nancy smiled appreciatively. Her head was throbbing, and sudden movement or loud noises were not what she needed this morning. An hour earlier, she’d not been convinced that she would actually manage to get washed and dressed, let alone walk to work. The relative peace and quiet of the history section would be a perfect place to recover from last night’s excesses.
She slowly climbed the stairs and walked through the archway into Floor 2’s sales area. It was smaller than the lower floors. Nancy assumed that Madame Dubois’s private rooms took up more space up here. The table of recommended books in the middle desperately needed tidying, but if she tried that now, she was sure her brain would explode through her eye sockets. It would have to wait until her hangover had eased sufficiently to allow her to look down without being in pain. Nancy headed for the bookshelves at the back of the room. She’d concentrate on sorting the books at eye level until the aspirin Olivia had given her at breakfast kicked in.
She had settled into rearranging the Ancient History section into alphabetical order when she heard a polite cough.
Nancy turned to see a tall man leaning casually against one of the bookshelves near the stairs. He looked amused. He was about Nancy’s age, possibly a little older. It was difficult to be sure as he was dressed quite conservatively in a suit and tie. The suit didn’t fit him very well, and his hair was unusually short. He wasn’t a follower of fashion, obviously.
‘Can I help you?’ Nancy asked abruptly, put out that he seemed to find what she was doing entertaining.
‘Possibly.’ He gave her a lopsided grin and walked over to the table. ‘I’m looking for a copy of Bleak House.’
His words were perfect, but he had an accent. Not French. Dutch maybe?
‘Charles Dickens?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Is there another one?’
‘No. I just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same book. I’m afraid you won’t find it on this floor. It will be downstairs in classic fiction.’
‘Perhaps you could show me.’
‘Of course.’ Nancy led the way down the stairs, concentrating hard to keep her head level. She could feel him looking at her as they walked down to the ground floor. It ought to feel creepy, but somehow it didn’t. He grinned at her again as she pointed to the shelf near the shop’s front door. ‘Do I amuse you?’ she asked him directly.
‘I find you pleasing to look at.’
Nancy wasn’t sure how she felt about that, though as she’d only spoken a few words to him, he was hardly going to say it was her witty repartee that attracted him. With his sparkling blue eyes and strong jawline, Nancy was finding him pleasing to look at, too.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he said.
‘No. Should I?’ Nancy was puzzled that she couldn’t recall him at all. She prided herself on having an excellent memory for faces.
‘I’m somewhat disappointed that you don’t.’
Nancy tried to concentrate. He carried on before she could reply. ‘I was at Ingrid and Christa’s party last night.’
Oh God. He must have turned up after she had downed that lethal blue cocktail. ‘Were you? I don’t remember seeing you there.’
‘We had a conversation about horses while I was helping your friend to get you back to your apartment.’ He looked slightly abashed.
That explained it. Nancy had no recollection of how she’d ended up back in her own bed. She’d assumed Olivia had guided her there alone, but it sounded as if she’d needed help.
‘I’m afraid I don’t remember much at all after Christa’s rather generous cocktails.’
‘I’m pleased to see you’ve recovered,’ he said. ‘Mostly,’ he added as she winced when the shop door slammed shut behind a customer on their way out.
‘I underestimated how strong some of the drinks were. I assume you didn’t.’
‘No, I don’t usually drink,’ he said.
‘That’s very sensible. I should probably give it up, too.’ Nancy felt uncharacteristically flustered in his presence. ‘Let’s see if we can find Bleak House for you,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘It should be here.’
She headed towards the shelf of Victorian novels. They looked at the spines together. Now he was standing close to her, she could smell him, too. No aftershave, but a pleasant manly smell mixed in with soap. It reminded her of Billy. No, don’t think about Billy. She started to feel a warm glow in all the right places.
‘I can’t see it,’ he said.
‘Neither can I. It looks as if we’ve sold out.’
‘Perhaps you could order me a copy?’
‘Yes, of course. Follow me.’ The warm glow had been getting stronger - Nancy was glad of the opportunity to move away from him. She headed for the cash desk.
‘Everything ok?’ Madame Dubois asked.
‘Yes,’ Nancy replied. ‘This gentleman would like to order a book.’
Madame Dubois smiled. Usually, she dealt with any customer admin, but today, she handed Nancy the order book. ‘I need to make a phone call. You can deal with it, Nancy,’ she said, turning around and heading to the back of the shop before Nancy could object.
Damn. That would involve looking down to fill out the order pad, which would still be painful. Nancy was going to have to tough it out.
There were three sheets for every order: the customer copy on top, the warehouse copy underneath and finally, the bookshop copy at the bottom, which remained in the book. She knew how odd it must look as she peered down her nose, trying to get the flimsy blue sheets of carbon paper in position without tilting her head forward.
‘Would you like me to do that?’ the man offered.
He must think she was a fool. ‘No, I’ll manage, thank you.’
The throbbing pain was so intense it made her feel sick. She took a deep breath in a bid to make the nausea go away.
‘Perhaps if I wrote my name and phone number for you,’ he said.
Nancy gratefully handed him the book and pen. He neatly printed his details and handed it back to her.
She glanced at what he’d written. Hans Schmidt. That sounded German rather than Dutch.
‘We share the same surname,’ Nancy said.
‘You’re German?’ Hans looked puzzled.
‘Nein,’ Nancy replied, using one of the few German words she knew. ‘I meant I have the English equivalent.’ Why are you telling a complete stranger your name?
‘Of course, I understand,’ he nodded. Nancy was jealous of his ability to move his head so painlessly.
She managed to fill out the book title, but finding the price in the catalogue was going to be more challenging. She felt around under the counter for it. It should be the thickest book. She was in luck - it was on the top of the pile. She pulled it out without bending her neck, hoping that nothing was on top of it, then gently put it down on the counter. Mission accomplished. But how was she going to look through the long lists of books without learning forward? Fortunately, Hans sensed her dilemma. ‘Shall I look for you?’
‘That would be very kind.’ She eased the catalogue across the counter towards him. ‘The fiction section is at the back. The books are listed alphabetically by author’s surname.’
Hans efficiently flicked through the catalogue and found the entry for the paperback edition of Bleak House. He held it up at Nancy’s eye height, pointing to the catalogue number and the price.
‘Thank you so much.’ She smiled in relief. He smiled back.
The order form was complete now. Thank god that was over. There was just the loud ring of the till to deal with when she took his payment. He produced his wallet, counting out the exact money in francs. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about getting the correct change out of the till drawer.
‘Merci beaucoup, Nancy,’ he said as she handed him the top copy of his order. ‘You will give me a telephone call?’
That was a bit forward. She liked the look of him, but expecting her to call him was presumptuous.
‘When the book arrives,’ he clarified, looking amused again.
Of course. You stupid woman, Nancy! ‘If it’s in stock at the warehouse, it usually takes two to three working days to arrive, a little longer if they have to order it in. We’ll phone you when it’s here. Is that an office number or your home number?’ she asked. ‘Just so we know when to phone,’ she added in case he thought she was prying.
‘Home. But you can always knock on my door in the evening.’ He grinned again. ‘I live in the apartment below yours.’
‘Oh. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you.’
‘I’m out working a lot. I’m sure we will bump into one another on the stairs eventually.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be in touch.’
‘I shall look forward to that. Auf Wiedersehen, Nancy.’
‘Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Schmidt,’ she said, her eyes drawn to his pert backside as he walked confidently out of the shop.
‘And how are you feeling now?’ Olivia asked as Nancy walked into the apartment.
‘A lot better, thank you,’ Nancy said as she removed her shoes. ‘Though it would be difficult to feel much worse than I did this morning.’
‘It definitely looked that way at 8 o’clock this morning. I’m impressed you managed a whole day at work.’
‘Madame Dubois took pity on me and gave me light duties.’ Nancy hung her coat on the back of the door.
‘Did you manage to talk to the Saturday girl?’
‘Carol? A little, once the worst of my hangover was over but she knows nothing. Madame Dubois didn’t have any special visitors today. And even if she had, I doubt Carol would have noticed. She spent more time with her head in a book than doing any actual work.’
Nancy sat down on the sofa. ‘Something interesting did happen today, though. Something you might be able to shed some light on.’
‘Tell me more.’ Olivia handed Nancy a cup of tea.
‘Did a German man help you to get me home last night?’
Olivia grinned. ‘So you do remember something. Yes, the lovely Hans. He and Pierre helped carry you back home. Don’t worry. They were both perfect gentlemen when it came to getting you into the apartment.’
‘He said he lives downstairs?’
‘Yes, he does with his friend Dieter. Surely you remember Dieter and Ingrid last night?’
‘Yes, I remember them arriving late, but not Hans. After drinking that lethal blue cocktail, last night was just a blur, but he came into the bookshop this morning.’
‘How did he know you worked there?’
‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps he didn’t. I thought he was rather nice, though,’ Nancy said, trying to sound casual.
‘Billy’s level of nice?’ Olivia’s interest was piqued
‘Possibly. He had the same twinkle in his eye. But I’m not getting involved with anyone here, remember.’
Olivia raised her eyebrows. ‘Are we going to have to work out a system to notify one another if we have a guest?’
‘Why? Are you about to give in to Pierre’s attentions?’
‘Who says I haven’t already?’ Olivia grinned.
‘What, last night?’
Olivia pulled a face. ‘It won’t be happening again. It turns out not all Frenchmen are fantastic lovers.’
‘Was it bad?’
‘Let’s just say one of us enjoyed it, and it wasn’t me.’
‘That’s lousy.’
‘Well, he was pretty drunk, but all the same. So what about Hans, then? Will you look into his twinkling eyes again? I gather they often twinkle for Christa.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s got the hots for her. Takes her out for expensive meals. But the feeling’s not reciprocated.’
‘Why does she go out with him then?’
‘Free food.’ Olivia looked in the kitchen cupboards. ‘Perhaps you should make a play for him because we’re still on bread and cheese until payday next week.’
‘And what about Christa?’
‘As I said, she’s not that bothered about him. I don’t think she’s going to throw you in the Seine like some scorned lover.’
Nancy shook her head. ‘If Hans has got the hots for Christa, I’m not getting involved. I don’t need a cheater. There are plenty of attractive men around if I do decide to give in to my baser urges.’ Though she had to admit, Hans was the first one who’d had the same effect on her as Billy.
Olivia wasn’t going to be persuaded to give up on the idea that easily. ‘But he came to see you at the bookshop.’
‘He wanted to order a book. It’s not that surprising.’
‘A German wanting a book written in English when he lives in France. That’s unusual, I’d say.’
Especially as, despite wanting a fiction book, he’d walked upstairs to the history section. Don’t read too much into that! Nancy decided not to share that with Olivia either. ‘His English might be better than his French? Perhaps it’s for work.’
‘I’m sure Christa said he’s a biologist working for a research agency. What did he want to buy?’
‘Bleak House.’
‘Unless he is researching English social history in his spare time, I’d say that was very unusual.’
‘It’s good to have a hobby.’
‘So, will you be seeing him again?’
‘Not in that way. But I’ll have to contact him when the book arrives.’ Nancy was surprised at how happy she felt at the prospect.