Chapter Three
‘G OOD MORNING , M R Richardson.’ Chloe waved to her elderly neighbour the next day.
His house was opposite hers, and he had lived there for as long as Chloe could remember.
When she and Gwen were children, he and his wife had sometimes looked after them and always gave them biscuits.
Mrs Richardson had died when Chloe was a teenager, but she was glad the old man still seemed well.
She always waved to him whenever they crossed paths, but so far Chloe had been in too much of a hurry to stop and chat. This morning, however, she decided to say hello to him properly.
‘Chloe, I keep telling you. You’re not a little kid any more, so please call me Joe.
’ He shuffled over, using his cane. She couldn’t help grinning back at him as he regarded her with a cheerful smile from beneath his flat cap.
‘How are you?’ The sympathy in his words let her know he meant about her parents.
‘Oh, you know.’ She gave a half-shrug, not wanting to talk about Mum and Dad right before work. ‘Thank you for coming to the funeral. It meant a lot. How’s the gardening?’
She couldn’t see the back garden from the street, but she recalled Mr Richardson loved looking after plants and flowers. He had even grown some of his own vegetables the last time Chloe was in town.
‘I’ve got a little greenhouse now. You should come along and have a look sometime.
The leeks are coming on fantastic.’ He looked pleased.
Chloe happily let him chatter about his chrysanthemums until he added, ‘I suppose I’m keeping you from going to work?
’ He gave an understanding nod. ‘If you ever need anything.’ He tapped his nose with a wink, then shuffled off.
Chloe watched him, feeling fond of the old man and hoping he wasn’t too lonely in his house by himself. They were both on their own, now.
She made her way into town. Autumn was Chloe’s favourite time of year.
The scent of coffee and baking floated on the wind as she walked down towards the library, making her think of cosy romances as she put her hands into her fur-lined pockets.
She had found the coat at a charity shop a few months ago, almost like new, and it would probably get her through the cold winter.
At least today it wasn’t raining, and she had swapped her impractical heels for a comfortable pair of loafers.
Chloe shrugged off her coat at five to ten.
With the lights on and daylight streaming through the windows, it was almost laughable that she had been here late last night, lamenting a bad date and talking to phantoms. Even so, she couldn’t help glancing in the direction of the upper floors that held the fiction books.
It was through another set of doors, separate from the reception area in which they now stood.
The librarian arrived at half past ten. ‘Good morning, Mrs Cook,’ Chloe greeted her. ‘I’ve already given Clementine his breakfast.’
‘Hello, love.’ Mrs Cook was small and old, a delightful stereotype of a kindly librarian, from her gold-rimmed glasses to the way she always spoke softly, as though talking any louder would scare away the books.
‘When you’ve got a minute, there’s a new box of books that came in last week and I haven’t gotten around to sorting them out.
They’re all in a jumble, so could you organise them and put them on the shelves for me? ’
‘Sure.’ Chloe secretly loved tasks like these. The pleasing rush of dopamine she got from organising and tidying was partly what had prompted her to apply for a job at the library in the first place. Not to mention the perk of working with books all day long.
She found the cardboard box Mrs Cook was talking about behind the reception counter. It was indeed a jumble, a donation of random novels. At least they were in good condition and would find many new readers.
Chloe hoped the day ahead would prove to be busy. She had to finish organising some paperwork, refill the cat’s automatic feeder in the afternoon, and firmly resist the temptation to keep an eye out for books that might sport an orange hue.
She had told herself it was a hallucination, her drink at the pub being perhaps stronger than she’d thought.
But it had been so vivid, and Chloe wasn’t the type to dream up scenarios so intense and detailed.
She still remembered the worry in the stranger’s soft brown eyes, the slight floral scent of his tailcoat.
Chloe had a good imagination, but surely not that good.
And Clementine had responded to the stranger’s presence as strongly as she had.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, wondering if she had been pranked after all. At least Mrs Cook didn’t seem to be in on it, and she simply smiled at her when their gazes met.
‘I’ll sort these out now.’ Chloe headed upstairs to the thriller section with the donated books heavy in her arms. Whoever had owned them before had been a huge fan of Dean Koontz and James Patterson, and she wondered why they had donated them.
She couldn’t resist glancing at the shelf of classics on her way, but they were all normal. No faint glow to be seen.
She took her time, finding a new home for each donated novel, organising each volume by the author’s surname.
She glanced out of the window. There were patches of clouds today, and the streets were still damp from the night’s rain.
Was the man from last night out there somewhere, maybe nursing a hangover, his costume draped over a chair?
Had he told the girl he was talking about, the one from his party, that he was sorry about his poor social skills? Had she forgiven him?
Or was he really back at his estate, safely in the pages of his book?
‘Chloe?’ called Mrs Cook from downstairs. For a soft-spoken woman, her voice carried well.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you nearly finished putting away the donations? We’ve got a young man here looking for a book.’
Chloe half ran down the spiral staircase, flushed with embarrassment at sitting around daydreaming when she was at work.
Mrs Cook was waiting for her at the doorway of the lower floor archives, her facial expression serene.
Chloe hoped she wasn’t annoyed. However, the older woman’s eyes glinted with amusement.
‘Did you find something interesting up there?’
‘What? No. I mean, I’ve finished putting away the books. Sorry, I’ll get to the visitor now,’ she babbled.
An alarming thought came to her. Could this ‘young man’ be the guy from last night?
She wondered what Mrs Cook would make of the man’s outfit, from his polished pumps to his sideburns.
She hoped he wouldn’t mention meeting her here in the middle of the night.
Her palms sweated as she followed the librarian to reception.
But the man waiting in the lobby wasn’t the dark-haired noble.
Even though his back was to her, she could tell by his broad shoulders and fair hair it was someone else.
He appeared to be admiring the architecture of the library, and although Chloe hadn’t been here long, she felt a surge of pride in its beauty.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
The man turned to face her. He looked to be in his thirties, with a strong, square jaw and a chin dimple. Definitely not the same man who had spoken of pompous parties at his estate on the upper floor last night. This man, when he saw her, didn’t smile, but acknowledged her with a small nod.
‘What was it you were looking for, again?’ Mrs Cook asked the man. She added to Chloe, ‘You’ll have to help me use the computer, love.’
The reception PC , the only one in the library, was an archaic thing that still used Windows XP .
Chloe fumbled through the search function, half her mind still upstairs with the mysterious stranger.
She had to push the thought away for now and shelve it in her mind with all the other inexplicable clutter.
‘I’m looking for a book.’ The man’s voice was deep and rich, with a Geordie accent.
Both women stared at him. Was he being pedantic? This was a library, of course he was looking for a book . ‘What kind of book? We have lots,’ said Chloe pleasantly.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Fantasy. Swords and heroes. Things like that.’
Mrs Cook clicked her tongue as the PC refused to load.
The man turned from them, examining the beams and the gothic windows.
Chloe wondered if Clementine was around, maybe watching from a beam.
Mrs Cook abandoned the PC and instead grabbed a file from the back shelf.
She started rifling through it while Chloe watched on in dismay.
The file was as thick as her forearm. It would take ages to find what they wanted.
‘There’s a fantasy section on the upper floor,’ she suggested after the silence stretched between them.
‘Would you take him there?’ asked the librarian.
Chloe guided the man through the archives, half nervous she’d meet the stranger from the night before, that he would have somehow snuck back inside to torment her. But the library was still empty. Even Clementine wasn’t slinking around.
Chloe let the man go first. He climbed the spiral staircase with a confident stride, like he had been here before.
Halfway up the stairs, Chloe thought she felt something.
A flutter of . . . eagerness. Not from herself, though.
It was like the room’s mood had shifted.
It felt like anticipation, like lying in wait at a surprise party.
Then it was gone.
She stopped halfway up the stairs, feeling strange.
‘You coming?’ asked the man, having reached the top. He glanced back at her.
‘Yes. The fantasy section’s just up here,’ she said, shaking off the odd feeling. She sprinted up the last few steps and turned to the rows of bookcases. Up here, the sunlight from outside shone through the gothic windows, casting golden beams on the shelves.
‘Here it is. There’s a decent collection here,’ said Chloe, showing the newcomer a few titles. Their collection of fantasy took up two bookcases, organised in Young Adult and Adult fiction.
‘I’ve read that one.’ He pointed at one she had pulled out. ‘The writing style’s too juvenile for me.’
Chloe was indignant; he’d just insulted one of her favourites. ‘I see.’ She slid the book back, hiding what she was sure was an annoyed look on her face. ‘How about the Wheel of Time series? We have a couple of copies of the first one here . . . Yes, here it is.’
The man took the book in his hands and opened it, cracking the spine. The awful sound was a physical pain to Chloe, and she couldn’t conceal her wince.
‘What?’ he asked, seeing her flinch.
‘That’s a first edition.’
He huffed. ‘I didn’t realise we weren’t allowed to open them.’
Chloe felt herself puffing up like an angry bird, but she swallowed her anger. This man was a visitor to the library. Where she worked. She rearranged books on a nearby shelf, hoping he would go away soon.
When she glanced up, the man’s eyes were roaming the first page again. Then he closed the book and said, ‘Yeah, this’ll do,’ without smiling or looking at her.
‘There’s some Terry Pratchett too,’ she said. ‘You might—’
‘No, this one’s fine.’ He turned and stomped off. His heavy steps descended the spiral staircase.
What a bum. Chloe was aware that working with the public meant the occasional rude interaction, but she had hoped people who visited libraries would be nicer.
The more the minutes ticked by, the more annoyed she became.
It was like being in the shower days after an argument and coming up with the perfect response.
‘Yeah, you’re welcome!’ she called over the banister, even though the impolite stranger had long since left.
‘What’s that, love?’ Mrs Cook’s voice rang from downstairs.
‘Nothing.’ Her face on fire, Chloe hurried to her next task.
Clementine was alone up here now, and that was just the way he liked it.
He trotted along the tops of the bookshelves among the comforting scent of the books, his paws not making a sound on the wood, though his bell rang if he moved too quickly.
He roamed each aisle, acknowledging the space as his own.
Humans came here sometimes, yes, but how many of them could say they had climbed the beams and walked across them all, watching the others move around below?
How many of them had explored every inch of the library garden?
Slept here at night, listening to the building creak?
Clementine reached a section close to the spiral staircase and stopped.
He had spotted something. A cardboard box, sitting between the shelves.
Oh, it was beautiful. Clementine meowed his approval, slinking his way around the box, taking in each exquisite detail: the scratches, the marks and imperfections only added to its appeal.
The lid was open, tape still stuck to one part, and when he glanced inside, he was delighted to see it was empty.
The humans had done well, leaving this offering here for him.
Clementine hopped into the box, comforted by the four walls around him. He turned around and settled there, relaxed in this tiny space. What a great find. He would be safe and happy here.
He rolled over, playing inside the box. Then he rolled again.
The box rolled, too.
Clementine gave an annoyed yelp as the box fell onto its side, pinning him against the bookshelf. He meowed ruefully, stuck in the dark. What a silly, silly box. Why would the humans do this to him?
‘Clem! Oh, poor baby.’ With a rustling noise, the box was turned over. Light flooded onto Clementine. He lay on his back, his paws up, highly embarrassed. He quickly rose and leaped out of the nasty box, sitting down to lick his paw with dignity.
‘Are you all right?’ Chloe picked him up, her hands gentle. Her cardigan held a soft, floral scent.
He meowed to her, telling her of his horrible adventure with the box trapping him. She made a sympathetic noise and scratched him between his ears, exactly where he liked it. He couldn’t help purring.
He decided he rather liked Chloe.