“Believe me, I’d love to.” The sound of a car horn interrupted him, blaring aggressively from the other side of the square. “I’d better get a move on, that sounds like my lift.”

I looked across to where the noise was coming from. A massive black Lexus was parked in the space beside the Mini that had previously been occupied by the motorbike and was also taking up half the space next to it.

“Not mine,” my companion said with a laugh, holding his hands up in protest on seeing my expression. “It’s my brother’s”.

There were two people in the car, a man and a woman. The man in the car tapped his watch.

“He seems in a hurry,” I said.

“He’s always in a hurry. He can wait a few extra minutes. My name’s Derek by the way. Derek Jameson.”

“Like the whiskey?”

He smiled. “Like the whiskey. No connection unfortunately. If it was, this charity cycle wouldn’t be necessary. I’d just donate a big bucket of cash!”

“I’m Ben. Benedicta. Is it your charity then? The Jameson Grace Charity?”

He shook his head. “My brother’s.”

He waved and said goodbye and I watched him cross the square before heading back to Phyllis’s bookshop.

The old bell tinkled as I pushed open the door and I walked in, happy to see that, opportunistic window displays aside, Phyllis’s bookshop never changed. And neither did Phyllis. The bookseller was perched at the counter, drinking a mug of tea and reading a book while feeding biscuits to her border collie Fred, who lay in his usual spot at her feet. She looked up as I walked in, struggled to her feet and threw her arms open to envelop me in a huge hug. She was dressed rather startlingly in various shades of yellow.

When she released me, I indicated her outfit. “In honor of the yellow jersey? Phyllis is a large woman; she was quite the sight.

She grinned, nodding towards the bookshop window. “What do you think of my display?”

“Timely.”

She went to get a second stool for me, but I stopped her. The bookseller was clearly ready for a good chat, but I was tired and anxious to get home.

“Sorry Phyllis. I can’t stay. I’ve just arrived back, and I’m absolutely wrecked. I haven’t been back to Malin yet.”

She put her hand to her face. “So, you haven’t even seen your poor cat.”

Her tragic expression made me laugh. “I’m not sure “poor cat” applies to Guinness but no, I haven’t. I need to pick up some groceries and head back to unpack. I just called in to say hello.”