‘It doesn’t matter. You’d better check these numbers, though. Don’t want you thinking I’m doing you dirty over these pennies.’

Once the cashing up was done and Gilly had gone home, Rachel stood in the silent cavern of the bookshop. Eustace wound around her legs and she bent to pick him up, finding herself thinking about Toby. He hadn’t come into the bookshop since the day they’d visited the historical society. He hadn’t called, either. Not that there was any reason that she should expect him to – it wasn’t as if they were seeing each other. She had made sure of that. Now, though, Rachel found that Toby was the one she wanted to talk to about her conversation with Trudy Goodwin, about how suddenly the confirmation had come that this place was going to be sold. Not Edie, not Ezra, not Ron. Toby. She put Eustace down and called his mobile from the bookshop phone.

‘Hi,’ he said, answering after a couple of rings. ‘Rachel.’

‘Hi,’ she said. He sounded distant somehow, as if he was distracted. ‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’

‘No. No, of course not. Is everything all right?’

‘I spoke to Trudy Goodwin today,’ she said. ‘Cullen’s heir. She’s already decided that she’s going to sell.’

‘Oh,’ Toby said. ‘Oh, Rachel. I’m sorry.’

Rachel swallowed. Saying it out loud, feeling the truth of it, made it suddenly feel very real. She blinked back tears.

‘It makes total sense for her,’ she said. ‘It really does. But—’ She stopped before her voice cracked. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said. There was a fraction of silence and then he said, ‘I was going to go to the pub for some food. Why don’t you join me?’

She sensed his hesitation, as if he hadn’t wanted to ask, but felt he should. It was tiny, but it was there. Rachel felt the chill pulse of dismay shudder her heart.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with. But thanks. Thanks for the offer.’

Thirty-Two

The problem wasn’t with Rachel at all, Toby told himself, in the wake of their abruptly ended call. The problem was those quick eyes of his, the thing he didn’t want to have seen, the incomplete knowledge he didn’t want to have.

Mrs Rachel Harry.

He couldn’t ask her about it. He didn’t want to pry. It was none of his business, what he’d come across by accident. But it was there now, in his head, and every time he thought of her, he thought of it, too.

Toby stood still for a few minutes after they had cut the call, wondering whether he should call her back. Even if he did, what would he say? Maybe he should take her some flowers tomorrow? But they weren’t even dating, were they, she’d expressly said that wasn’t on the cards, and anyway, how was he supposed to articulate what they were for? He sighed and pocketed his phone. Sylvie was right. He really didn’t know the first thing about normal adult relationships.