Grant made a face of utter revulsion as he sipped his coffee. ‘Of course you want one, darling, we all do. I just need to know the type. Pipe and slippers? Snappy dresser? Yoghurt-knitter-and-dedicated-recycler? Actual cycler?’

‘I think the word you’re looking for is cyclist.’

‘You’re such a pedant sometimes, Laura. And you must have some idea of your basic type.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ They’d had this sort of conversation before and it never led anywhere. Although she had no particular ambition to end up a lonely spinster with the regulation cat, she did sometimes feel it was inevitable. She sighed. ‘We’d better get upstairs. It’ll be time to open soon.’

‘No hurry.’ Grant was rummaging in a tin of shortbread left over from the staff party. ‘I need breakfast and everyone’s at the sales, buying tat or taking back the tat they were given for Christmas.’ He frowned. ‘I see your mother is still giving you “slacks” for Christmas, and you’re still taking them back?’

Laura glanced down at her new black trousers. ‘My mother can’t see why I’d rather wear clothes that need ironing instead of nice, easy-care polypropylene or some such. She doesn’t understand about static and how it’s just not cool to create sparks when you walk quickly.’

Grant laughed. ‘It is in some circles, sweetie. At least mine has stopped giving me diamond-pattern golfing sweaters.’ He gave her sweater a disparaging look.

‘I know black is dull but clothes get filthy working here.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘Maybe I’ll have a nice nylon overall for my next job.’

‘You and me both, ducky! Now are you going to open up, or aren’t you?’

Laura went upstairs to the shop. Henry came through the door just as she was turning round the sign.

‘Good morning, sweetheart,’ he said, as he always did. ‘How did you get on last night? Eleanora Huckleby’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’

‘She certainly is. She—’

‘Wants you to run a literary festival, I know.’ He took off his hat and threw it deftly to a row of pegs where it obligingly landed. ‘She phoned me. First thing.’

Laura was used to the hat trick but this was surprising. Henry wasn’t a ‘first thing’ sort of person. It was, he claimed, why he wanted to run a bookshop. She felt instantly guilty. ‘Oh goodness! I can’t believe that!’

Henry shook his head, smiling down at her. ‘She’s not a top literary agent because of her lack of tenacity, that’s for sure. So if you need time off for this meeting, you can have it. But if you do decide to go for it, and actually help set up the literary festival, I insist on providing the books.’