Nicole didn’t know it yet, but she was pivotal to his plan working out. He had a debt to pay, a memory to uphold, and he needed her help to do it.

Nineteen

The parcel Nicole had been waiting for arrived the next morning. She put her tools down and opened it. Perfect. She hoped he’d like it.

Outside Danny’s door she raised her hand to knock.

Was that music coming from inside? She leaned closer to the door.

Through the thick wooden door she could make out someone singing out of tune to ‘Flame Trees’.

Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and Danny stepped out, stopping mid-lyric when he saw who was on his doorstep. He smiled sheepishly.

‘Hey, Nicole. I was just heading out. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

Nicole swallowed her laugh. ‘Oh, I was just passing by and thought I heard Barnsey singing, so …’

‘You criticise Chisel, and I’ll have to run you out of town.’ He smiled.

‘I love Cold Chisel. No, I actually came by …’

‘Come in,’ he interrupted her. ‘Where are my manners?’

‘I thought you were leaving?’

‘I wasn’t going anywhere special. Come in.’

‘I wanted to give you this, to say thank y—’

All coherent thought abandoned Nicole as she entered Danny’s home and saw the bookshelf in front of her. No. Bookshelf wasn’t an adequate description. It didn’t even come close.

‘Oh … my,’ she whispered.

A great curved wall of books swept across the open entrance. The entire wall was shelved, and each shelf was filled with history texts and coffee table books of the world’s beautiful architecture.

She stepped forward.

Intermittently, the rows of books were interrupted by a statue or carving or a knick-knack. In the middle of the bookcase was a picture of Danny, aged perhaps ten, sitting in the lap of a beautiful woman.

Danny stood behind Nicole as she reverently inched towards his collection. Behind the wall was a staircase that led to the second floor of the house and the shelf upon shelf of books rose with the sweeping curve. In her wildest dreams Nicole couldn’t have imagined a more glorious bookcase, only hers would be filled with novels.

‘So, history and architecture aren’t just a hobby of yours?’ She turned to Danny.

‘No. I have a degree. In both.’ He smiled.

‘In both?’

‘It was my grandfather’s influence. He used to take me all round Europe and expound on all the great cathedrals and castles and palaces.’

‘I can’t believe this collection,’ she said, looking up along the shelves.

Between The History of Prussia and Gaudí: The Construction of Dreams sat a book that didn’t fit in with the rest. She looked more closely. It was a copy of Tide.

Her cheeks flushed and, she moved her eyes further along so he couldn’t follow where she’d been looking.