Chapter 5 #2
While Liam started getting his camera ready, I carefully tucked my own book parcel under my arm and stepped back to what I thought might be a better filming position.
‘Ow,’ said someone in a voice that I instantly recognised. Mr Judgemental himself.
I turned round and glared at the aristocratic-looking guy dressed in casually chic linen whose toes I’d just trodden on.
‘Is something the matter?’ I asked, my tone icily polite. With anyone else I’d have been rushing to apologise, but the wicked side of me was glad that I’d been able to exact some kind of revenge for his earlier dismissive comments.
‘That’s the second time I’ve been trampled on this evening,’ he said, each syllable clipped and annoyed. ‘That horse masquerading as some kind of dog managed to get the other foot.’
He gestured towards Hilda who’d wandered over to say hello in her usual friendly manner.
I bristled in indignation at the implied insult to my beloved pet.
He was far from the first person to make the comparison, but this arrogant, brooding guy had already been rude about my event.
I certainly wasn’t going to let him be obnoxious about my beautiful girl as well.
‘Hilda’s not a horse; she’s an Irish wolfhound. And it’s her boat, so she has the right to put her paws wherever she wishes,’ I told him.
I clicked my tongue, hoping Hilda would move obediently to my side, but instead she stayed put, staring up at the man.
‘A horse who knows her own mind. When I signed up to this event, I expected my match to be human, rather than animal,’ he said, the sarcasm dripping from every word.
I frowned. ‘She’s not a horse,’ I repeated, even though I knew it was foolish to rise to his bait. ‘Do you happen to have food in your pocket? Because that’s probably what she’s fixating on, rather than your oh-so-magnetic personality.’
His hand brushed past Hilda’s ears, and she pressed her head towards his palm to prompt him to scratch her.
Instead of doing what any decent human being would have done and stroking the dog, he made a great show of checking his pockets and waving his expensive-looking leather wallet around. ‘No food in here. Just a collection of random cards I’m afraid.’
Alright Richie Rich, no need to show off, I thought.
‘Maybe you walked in something smelly on your way here,’ was my disappointingly childish retort.
‘I think not,’ he said, lifting one foot, then the other to show off the pristine soles of his designer deck shoes.
‘Good for you. I’d best be off. It’s been lovely to have found the time to chat despite the complete chaos and the presence of the “hoi polloi”.’ I managed to get the dig in, but he showed no shame at having his rude words echoed back to him.
‘It’s actually just “hoi polloi”,’ he corrected me instead. ‘“Hoi” means “the” in ancient Greek, so if you say, “the hoi polloi”, you’re really saying “the the masses” which of course is tautology and more to the point, doesn’t make any sense.’ He smiled in a manner I could only describe as smug.
For a few seconds I was speechless, outraged at his arrogance in correcting my turn of phrase, and livid with myself for allowing him to make me feel foolish by getting it wrong in the first place.
‘Great, next time I have a conversation in ancient Greek I’ll be sure to remember that supremely useful fact,’ I said, knowing I would wake up in the middle of the night with a much better retort and kick myself for not having used it.
However, he seemed completely unaffected by my sarcasm, his smile growing wider.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a big reveal to film,’ I said, preparing to sweep off with what little of my dignity I could scrape together.
His expression turned grumpy again. ‘Nothing screams true romance like documenting it for social media. I suppose I’ll see if I can battle my way through the hordes below deck again. With my four-legged date.’
He could have injected a bit more enthusiasm into his voice at the prospect of book shopping.
Much to my disappointment, Hilda trailed after him into the cabin.
Maybe she could make up for her betrayal by trapping him in there until he bought half my stock, although I disliked the man so much, I’d happily forgo his business.
I turned round to find that Liam and Flick had disappeared off at some point during that exchange.
My best friend wasn’t wasting any time there.
Hoping that Liam didn’t get so distracted that he forgot to get the footage for the video he’d promised to make, I returned to my station by the refreshments table.
Whoever was my book match would have to come and find me here.
As long as Mr Judgemental was lurking in the cabin, I would be staying out in the fresh air.
Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, because he’d struck me as the sort not to appreciate books, his browsing session did not last long. Dusk was beginning to fall, but his shadow appearing beside me made it seem like night had already arrived.
‘We didn’t introduce ourselves properly.
I’m Jack Siddall. Having definitively ruled out all other options, I am convinced we must have matching books,’ he said, sounding far from pleased about it.
I mean, that was absolutely how I felt myself, but it was plain rude of him to make his contempt for me quite so obvious.
I grimaced, not bothering to hide my irritation.
‘Molly Bramble,’ I reluctantly told him my name. ‘Well, Jack Siddall, I guess we’d better resolve this one way or another. Is this your book’s twin?’
I removed the wrapped book which I’d been carrying tucked under my arm for half the night and placed it in his hand.
He compared its weight to his own wrapped volume, then read the clue out loud.
‘Yes, that definitely matches mine.’
He passed his book across to me for inspection.
‘And the book behind the wrapping is?’ I prompted.
‘I haven’t got a clue to be honest,’ he said unashamedly.
‘Really?’ I paused, trying to work out if this was his bad idea of a joke. ‘It’s Pride and Prejudice.’
I waited for the nod of recognition, the gasp of ‘How can I have been so stupid as not to have realised that?’ followed by a comment demonstrating the average person’s awareness of Jane Austen’s arguably most famous novel.
But instead, he frowned slightly. ‘Pride and Prejudice? Never read it. I think I’ve seen a screen version at some point. It was alright, I suppose.’
‘It was alright?’ I repeated with horror.
What kind of a charlatan was he? His presence at an event in a bookshop for people who liked literature seemed inexplicable given his behaviour all night.
He hadn’t read the novel, but couldn’t he have at least made some kind of positive comment along the lines of he’d always wanted to read it?
To instead offer a mediocre rating of a screen adaptation was frankly offensive given his surroundings.
And to cap it all, he hadn’t even specified which screen version he’d found merely ‘alright’, which would have given me something to respond to, because like any other self-respecting Austenite, I have strong opinions about particular adaptations.
‘Can I ask what made you decide to sign up for a dating event designed for book lovers when you’re clearly not one yourself?’ I questioned.
His nose wrinkled as he frowned in thought. ‘I’m interested in your implication that not having a view on Jane Austen equates in your mind to not liking reading.’
I would have responded, but he didn’t give me a chance.
‘The event was one of those things that popped up in my timeline, and I guess I thought, why not?’ he continued. ‘I’m new to the area.’
He waved his arm around vaguely.
‘Lucky old Oxford to have you gracing it with your presence,’ I said, wondering if he expected me to be flattered that he’d selected my little event as his introduction to the city.
‘Thanks, but I’ve lived in Oxford for yonks,’ he corrected. ‘Or rather, I used to own a flat here which I rented out while I worked in London. I’ve sold it now to fund my next venture. It’s this area in particular that I’m new to.’
‘You mean Jericho?’ I pressed.
‘No, the Oxford Canal itself. I should have explained before when I introduced myself. I’m your new neighbour. I’ve bought a narrowboat and I’m planning to open a wine bar next door.’