Chapter Seven
After grabbing what he needed and a large umbrella, Gabe rushed out of the library, and not even two minutes later, he saw Tess standing on the street corner.
He was surprised that she’d followed instructions and stayed put. As he crossed the road and approached her, she called out in a slurred voice, ‘Please, can you be gentle with me?’
The slurring was obviously the result of too many cocktails. No wonder that she’d managed to lose library property if she was drunk. So Gabe had absolutely no intention of being gentle. Quite the opposite.
‘I should have known that you were the sort of person who wouldn’t respect library property,’ he told her.
He’d reached her side by now. Just in time for Tess’s face to crumple up then she turned away from him.
She was crying. Even though it was raining quite hard, the signs were unmistakable. Her shoulders were shaking as she hunched over and when she tried to say something, all Gabe could hear were shuddery hiccups.
Gabe was immune to tears. His students were always turning on the waterworks when they hadn’t done the set reading or needed an essay extension or were simply required to contribute to a class discussion.
Immune! His heart was hard! Unyielding!
But something about Tess’s huddled form, the sound of sobs over the steady patter of the rain and traffic on slick tarmac, gave Gabe pause for thought.
Tess wasn’t actually one of his students. Plus, Ella would be mad at him. Though he was fundamentally opposed to this Love Library nonsense, an opposition which was now entirely justified, if Tess gave them a bad write-up, Ella would be even more mad at him.
It was more than the thought of Ella’s wrath that made Gabe quickly reevaluate his plan to show Tess Hardy no mercy.
It was the memory of standing on this very same street corner the previous October, as he parted company with his last girlfriend.
Elaine was a lawyer, specialising in the entertainment field.
Gabe had thought things between them were progressing well.
They were both interested in copyright law, backgammon and trying new cuisines.
Not the love affair of the century but Gabe had thought they were on the same page about that.
There were some people who believed in the ephemeral notion of love and then there were other, far more sensible, people who believed that shared interests, mutual respect and enjoying seeing the other person naked was a far more stable foundation for a successful relationship.
On that particular evening, after a pleasant meal at a secret Mexican restaurant hidden behind a sex shop frontage, Gabe had expected that they’d go back to one of their flats for a game of backgammon, then sex, but before he could suggest it, Elaine had run the back of her hand along his cheek.
Not as a prelude to anything other than a final farewell. Gabe could see the regret, the resignation, written all over her face.
‘But I thought we rubbed along together pretty well,’ he said before Elaine could give him the usual platitudes.
‘Gabe, you’re ninety per cent wonderful as men go. You’re clever, funny, handsome, but this is never going to work in the long term,’ Elaine said sadly.
‘We haven’t even discussed the long term …’
‘The thing is we’re both chilly people. Sooner or later, we’re going to freeze the other out,’ Elaine said. ‘We each need to be with someone who’s going to warm us up a bit.’
Gabe had disagreed. He was pragmatic. Stoic, even. Yes, he didn’t suffer fools or weeping women gladly, but he wasn’t cold.
So now he took a second to regroup and not to give in to this first instinct, which was to tell Tess to pull herself together.
She sniffed and he gave in to his second instinct, which was to take out the neatly folded, freshly laundered handkerchief that he always had in the breast pocket of his jacket and present it to her.
‘Blow your nose,’ he advised her. ‘It will make you feel much better.’
Tess glared at him with red-rimmed eyes then blew her nose loudly and wetly. She glanced from the now-soiled hankie to Gabe.
‘You can keep it,’ he said and she opened her mouth to say something, but she’d used up all her goodwill now. ‘Which direction did he go?’
She pointed to one of the narrow alleys that criss-crossed Soho. ‘I thought he went down there but then he seemed to vanish into thin air.’
‘That’s not possible, thank goodness,’ Gabe said. He’d brought Wuthering Heights with him, though he hated taking books out of the library. He was very much a ‘Do as I do, rather than a do as I say’ person, but needs must.
The small volume was tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket. He could feel it vibrating slightly, which meant that Heathcliff couldn’t have gone far. Also, where were his manners?
‘Here, come under the umbrella,’ he said to Tess, who was still hiccupping a bit.
‘Well, I’m already wet,’ she said huskily.
Gabe tried to ignore the sudden and unwelcome lick of fire in his belly at her words. ‘No point in getting even wetter,’ he said tersely, holding the umbrella over both of them. ‘Come on!’
The alley did seem to lead to a dead end, but as they walked down it the vibrations grew stronger.
The alley came out into another alley, which led on to D’Arblay Street. Wuthering Heights was now beating so hard that Gabe had to press his arm to his chest so that it didn’t make a bid for freedom.
‘If he’s going to be anywhere, I have a very strong feeling it’s going to be that pub.’ Tess gestured towards a Victorian pub opposite them. Its etched windows were steamed up and the glow of its interior was a welcome sight. Or would be if not for the sound of shouting coming from inside.
‘Once more unto the breach,’ Gabe muttered.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had to retrieve Heathcliff.
Though every other time, at least he’d been contained within the library.
On one occasion, he’d even managed to climb up a bookcase and had refused to come down, as he loudly listed his usual catalogue of woes.
‘Now, stay behind me and let me do the talking. There’s already been quite enough upset for one evening. ’
‘That’s hardly fair!’ Tess protested as Gabe held the pub door open for her. ‘And I can’t stay behind you if you’re letting me go in first.’
‘Forgive me for having good manners,’ Gabe said dryly, which probably counted as chilly behaviour again but––
‘Madam, this hostelry of yours is full of ne’er-do-wells and thieves and I will fight them all!’
‘And I’ve already told you that if you don’t sling your hook then I’m calling the police!’
It was worse than Gabe could have possibly imagined.
Heathcliff, stripped to the waist, his shirt and jacket nowhere to be seen, was darting about the saloon bar to the jeers of other drinkers, squared up, his fists clenched.
The landlady, a diminutive blonde woman in her sixties with both a world-weary air and a pugnacious expression on her face, was not impressed.
‘Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,’ Tess exclaimed though Gabe wasn’t entirely sure who she was addressing. She dashed forward to try and catch hold of one of Heathcliff’s flailing arms but he evaded her hands.
‘You! You treacherous jade! I had hoped never to light eyes on your deceitful face ever again,’ he shouted, which was no way to talk to a lady, especially one who worked for the press.
Gabe had had quite enough.
‘Here! Take this!’ He shoved Wuthering Heights into Tess’s hands although normally he would never handle the books so roughly; then he was free to employ what he called the Heathcliff Hold.
He pinned one of Heathcliff’s arms behind his back and with his other hand in an uncompromising grip at the back of Heathcliff’s neck, he marched him out of the pub.
It was fortunate that Gabe worked out a lot. He believed in the Spartan ideals of living with integrity and vigour. Unlike the Spartans, Gabe didn’t train to be battle-ready at all times, but his PT was ex-British military and they both believed that a strong body created a strong mind.
Whereas while Heathcliff looked like he could bench press his own weight, looks could be deceiving. He was mostly book-bound and had probably never done a pull-up or a plank in his life. Still, he made up for it in fighting spirit.
As Tess opened the door, Heathcliff had plenty to say. He questioned Gabe’s parentage at some length, Gabe’s inability to match Heathcliff drink for drink, not that he would want to, then prayed to ‘the vengeful gods which I worship to visit a pox on your most male parts’.
‘Well, that’s something to look forward to,’ Gabe muttered through gritted teeth as he managed to manoeuvre the still-struggling anti-hero down another of Soho’s dark alleys.
He’d have preferred it if they could have made their way back to the library, but time was of the essence and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep Heathcliff semi-subdued.
‘Open the book!’ he demanded of Tess, who was standing there under his umbrella like one o’clock half struck.
Her gormless expression was instantly replaced by a scowl. ‘Say please!’
‘Please open the bloody book!’ Gabe shouted as Heathcliff tried to duck out of his hold.
‘Better but still rude!’ Finally, and with not enough urgency for Gabe’s liking but with a ferocious pout, Tess opened the book.
‘Restore!’ Gabe hissed and in a shimmer of dark grey glitter, which smelt like rotten eggs, Heathcliff returned to whence he came.
With his hands now free, Gabe could snatch the book from Tess and slam it shut. Then, once he’d fumbled through his jacket pockets to find the tiny key, lock it shut.