Chapter 11
D aisy was standing two steps up on the library ladder, halfway through updating her stock spreadsheet, when the jingle of the front door made her glance back.
The woman in front of her looked familiar.
Racking her brains for a minute, she realised that it was the well-dressed woman who’d previously been in the shop making odd remarks.
The woman had given her the creeps with funny looks, pointed questions and had asked about foot traffic.
She’d also taken an unhealthy number of photos and overall had not given off good vibes at all.
Pretending not to recognise her, Daisy smiled, turned back to the shelves, stole a few looks and left it at that.
This time, the woman wasn't alone; a man in a navy suit stood beside her, holding a tablet and what appeared to be some sort of measuring tape.
He had a short haircut with a tramline on the side and obnoxiously shiny shoes that had never seen a puddle.
The woman was dressed in the same immaculate style as before, all sharp lines and designer labels that looked out of place against the bookshop's shabby charm.
Daisy had taken one step down the ladder when she realised the woman was standing right beside her.
'Hello again. I hope you don't mind us having another look around and my colleague taking photos.'
Daisy felt a prickle of unease and she certainly didn’t want to agree to them “looking around” as she had put it. She sold books, tea, coffee and cake, not shop design. ‘Umm, right, well, errr…’
The man stepped forward and extended a hand. ‘Marc with a ‘C’ Brattfield. Your shop here is quite charming, very authentic, as it were.’
Daisy wasn’t very up on accents or precisely where people came from.
Heck, she’d hardly stepped foot out of Pretty Beach, but the man sounded like someone from a television show she’d watched.
She put him, by way of his shoes and hair, as coming from Essex.
There was something about the way he’d said 'authentic' that had made Daisy's stomach tighten.
As if he was assessing or cataloguing somehow rather than what most of her customers tended to do, which was, funnily enough, browse books.
Daisy coughed. ‘Can I help you with anything specific?’
The woman touched her long, pointed nose. ‘Oh, we're just assessing, I mean, browsing and taking in the atmosphere. You've certainly made the most of the limited space.’
Daisy repeated in her head the way “limited space” had been laced with something, but she didn’t know what.
All very strange. Pretending to get back to her spreadsheet, she watched as Marc with a “C” pulled out a tablet and began tapping at the screen.
He was looking around the shop with a sort of methodical attention.
He appeared not to be looking at the books, but rather, the square footage.
Daisy felt strange about it, then her phone rang with a call from a customer looking for an interior design book she’d never heard of and she became engrossed in that for a while and lost track of what the pair was doing.
About ten minutes later, the couple were still in the shop. The woman smiled as Daisy moved some books on the display table in the centre. ‘These period buildings can be so full of character, can't they?’
Marc was now standing near the front window, holding his tablet up as if he were taking photographs.
Daisy could see him framing the view of the street beyond, the way the afternoon light fell across the old cobblestones and the line of sight to the main shopping area.
‘Excellent natural light and the pedestrian flow is consistent.’
Daisy felt a very strange feeling as she got an inkling of what was going on around her.
These weren't casual browsers or even potential customers.
They were measuring her world like it was a commodity.
The woman had drifted over to the corner with the wingback chairs.
She ran her fingers along the edge of them, but her eyes were calculating rather than appreciative.
As the first time the woman had been in, it was all very odd and discombobulating.
Daisy really didn't know what to think and or how to act.
‘This whole area has such potential.’
Daisy wasn't sure if the woman was talking to Marc or her.
‘With the right investment, it could really be something special.’
‘The right investment?’ Daisy found herself asking, though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
The woman gave an arrogant wave of her hand. ‘Sorry, we’re just talking big business. This is very charming, but people want convenience, selection, and competitive prices. The market always finds a way to provide what people actually want.’
‘Actually, I think you'd be surprised how much people value independent bookshops. We offer something unique and special that the big chains can't.’ Daisy decided very uncharacteristically to beef herself up. ‘That is why we are doing so well.’
Marc looked up from his tablet. ‘There's definitely a niche market for this sort of thing. Very, yeah, err, quaint.’
Quaint. The word sat in Daisy's mouth. The bookshop suddenly felt small and vulnerable under their scrutiny. She really wanted them to leave and quickly, but couldn’t quite work out how she was going to politely get rid of them.
It was the first time since she’d opened the shop that she’d felt as if she needed a security team.
She wondered if she should call the cavalry and get Xian, Holly or Suntanned Pete to come in.
‘Are you, err, in the same line of work?’
The woman exchanged a glance with Marc. ‘We're always looking at opportunities in the retail sector. Books are certainly part of that conversation. I’ve been following your social media presence. Growth like that, with, from what I can see, has no financial backing, shows a real gap in the market.’ The woman's tone was light, friendly, breezy even, on the surface, but there was steel underneath it. Steel edged with nastiness.
Marc was now standing by the door. ‘The location really is ideal. Close enough to the main tourist area but with that village feel that people seem to love.’
Daisy felt her hands clench into fists at her sides.
‘Anyway, thank you for letting us have another look around. It's been very informative.’
The woman called over her shoulder as they left. ‘Good luck with your little shop. I do hope you'll be able to keep it going.’
Daisy moved to the far side of the window so that she could watch the pair walk down the laneway.
She saw them standing outside one of the old buildings, a few shops down, which had recently gone up for sale.
Marc was pointing at the building, gesturing with his hands as if he were describing renovations.
The woman was nodding, her expression animated in a way it hadn't been inside the bookshop.
Daisy's phone buzzed with a text from Miles asking about dinner plans, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything except the two figures outside.
They were strangers with expensive clothes and professional smiles, but they were looking at her corner of Pretty Beach as if it were for the taking.
The building they were standing outside had been empty for a while, its windows dusty and its door locked.
Daisy had assumed someone local would eventually take it over, turn it into another independent shop that would complement rather than compete with the existing businesses.
She hadn't considered that someone might see it as an opportunity to change everything. A big bang of impending doom sounded as if Daisy’s head were a gong.
It did not feel good. She wondered if the bump in the road she’d been anticipating had arrived.