Читать книгу The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove - Kellie Hailes - Страница 8

Alexander left the bookshop and Sophie without a backward glance. To do that would show Sophie how unsettled his encounter with her had made him.

He dropped the grin he’d forced to his face and began the walk to the village’s only accommodation, a small B&B which, with its tiny rooms decorated with faded blue and yellow anchor-patterned wallpaper and shabby age-worn rugs, was a world away from his spacious mews home in London, where the colour scheme was shades of grey and off-white, and the furniture minimal.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and considered he and Sophie’s conversation.

She was the first person he’d dealt with in over a decade of working in the family business to not open an offer letter. Most people couldn’t resist the crisp sheets of paper that held the answers to problems, offered the chance to chase one’s dreams. And once they saw the numbers written within the small square, couldn’t resist saying yes.

He reached the end of the angled lane that led to a road that hugged the clifftops, along which cottages, mostly empty, sat in various stage of decay. He crossed the road, drawn to the view, leaned against the basic wooden railing, and took in the stretch of sapphire water that streaked out to the horizon where the sea and azure-coloured sky kissed.

The rumble of rolling waves crashing upon the golden sand below and the fresh, briny air he breathed in did nothing to soothe him.

His plan had not gone to plan. Not by a long shot.

Get in. Make the offer. Show Sophie the benefits of having a Fletcher resort built in her village. Show Sophie the benefits of taking the deal offered to her. Then leave, and continue with the plan to bulldoze the businesses and create a first-class resort with top-of-the-line amenities and offerings. A day spa. Fine dining restaurant. Coaches on hand to teach everything from tennis to surfing to cake-baking if the person coughing up the money so desired.

The end result being a transformed Herring Cove. Goodbye sleepy fishing village, hello vibrant, exciting place to visit.

The template was there. His father’s life’s work – and his grandfather’s before him – had been to take quiet seaside villages and turn them into tourist hot spots. The rules were simple: first, find a seaside town that might not be worth investing in on the outside. In this case, Herring Cove. Picturesque, with a decent climate in summer, but you had to walk down a hair-raising, heart-thumping track to get to the beach. A track his father’s contractors could transform into an easily negotiable path.

Second, buy land that had a view of the sea so visitors would wake up immediately feeling like they were on holiday. He’d have preferred to buy land along the clifftop, but the cottages were protected. The land Sophie’s business sat on, along with the two businesses either side of her, was not. And due to the slant of the lane, they had the sea views required. Combined with the fields behind – land that had been secured thanks to a local farmer who was ready to sell up and move to Tenerife – and there would be more than enough room to build the hotel, create a poolside area for those who liked the idea of a beach holiday but preferred to swim in temperature controlled water, with land left over to create a nine-hole golf course.

Finally? Promote the area as the hottest new seaside destination. Bring in the visitors. Empty buildings would soon fill with businesses featuring boutique offerings. The village would flourish. The Fletcher fortune would grow.

Job done. Everyone happy.

Resistance by locals was rare.

Rare?

Unheard of. Until now.

The business beside Sophie’s had been a simple sell. His team had researched Solomon Murphy and knew he’d be an easy sign. He’d run his fishing supplies store forever and was well past the age of retirement. As expected, he’d leapt at the offer. Said he was Tuscany-bound where his daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren lived.

The other business beside Sophie was on the fence. The hair-salon owner was taking some persuading. However, it was clear her building was falling apart and with two small children to take care of, and the floor area not being conducive to a growing family, he couldn’t see her saying no to the upped offer. To the chance of being able to provide a bigger, more modern home.

Sophie, though?

How did he get things so wrong? How did he get her so wrong?

It didn’t help that she was virtually an internet recluse. Information had been scarce. She wasn’t on social media. Her bookshop didn’t even have an online presence. All he’d been able to find were two articles in a local paper. One reporting on the car crash that had taken her parents’ lives when she was five, Sophie only saved as she was buckled into her booster seat at the rear of the car. The other announcing Sophie was taking over the family business after her aunt – who he’d gathered had been her guardian after her parents’ passing – retired and moved away.

With such a tragic past, he’d assumed Sophie would have jumped at the chance to move on from the bookshop. Instead she’d chosen to remain where she was – doing what was forced upon her because there was no other family to take the bookshop on.

Was it a sense of honour keeping her there? Some misplaced belief that she owed it to those who’d passed to keep their legacy alive? And, if so, how could he make her see sense? What would it take to get her to sell?

The staccato ringtone of his mobile broke his train of thought. He glanced down at the screen. His gut contracted on seeing his father’s name. He’d expect to hear everything was signed and sorted. That his son had sorted out what others could not, as he had many times before.

Despite his heart not always being in the job, Alexander knew he was good at it. People warmed to him, trusted him almost without question, believed he had their best interests at heart.

Which he did. Which the family business did. When dealing with competitors they showed no mercy, but when it came to buying land that they would one day profit from, the Fletcher Group ensured they were more than fair. It was one of the reasons Alexander was able to commit to the job. That, and he had no choice. The only child of Frank and Veronika Fletcher meant he had no option. He was the future CEO of the Fletcher Group, whether he liked it or not.

The phone’s ringtone pierced his ears once more. His father wasn’t going to like what he was about to say, but if Alexander didn’t update him now, Frank Fletcher would be down here in a flash, and while he was generous with payouts, his methods of getting people to sell up were nowhere near as kind in their persuasion as Alexander’s.

Alexander accepted the call and braced himself for the barrage of questions that were sure to follow. ‘Dad, what can I do for you?’

There was no point exchanging pleasantries. His father was no more likely to ask how Alexander was than he was going to wish him a good evening. Such pleasantries were his mother’s job. His father’s job was to ensure his son was ready to take the reins of the Fletcher Group when the time came.

‘Alexander. Are all the contracts signed?’ In the background Alexander could hear the tinkle of ice hitting the bottom of the tumbler. He checked his watch. Just gone six. His father would still be at the office, but it was time for his daily gin and tonic. The one he drank as he went over the day’s dealings, while barking orders at his secretary, who would then stay as late as necessary to get what needed to be done sorted.

Alexander loosened his tie, hoping doing so would make the constricting piece of material feel less like a noose. No such luck. ‘The farmer, and the fishing supplies fellow signed immediately. The hairdresser still needs some convincing, but I’ll get her over the line.’ He pursed his lips together. This was going to go down like a tonne of lead bricks. ‘We have a hold out.’

‘What’s gone wrong?’ Frank’s tone was calm, steely. With a hint of condescension. He knew Alexander’s methods didn’t mirror his own, and he had little time for them, only tolerating them because they brought results.

‘Nothing’s gone wrong.’ Alexander gripped the phone and focused on a lone seagull soaring in the sky. What would it be like to be able to do just that? Soar on one’s own. Do whatever one wanted, whenever one wanted to do it? ‘It should have been a shoo-in. I researched her. I know her background. I saw an in.’

‘Clearly you saw wrong. You know how we do this. We find their weak point and we use it to our advantage.’

‘I know. And I thought I’d found it. I still think I have. I saw a bill flash up on her mobile while I was in there. She’s in debt. Can’t make payments. Where there’s one overdue bill, there will be more.’ Alexander left it there. Frank’s motivation in life was expanding the business in order to make more money, and if he thought Sophie was in financial trouble, that would settle his unease over Alexander not getting her to sign.

‘I’m going back to see her tomorrow. I left the offer with her. I can see it piqued her interest.’ Alexander crossed his fingers. Sophie had left the offer on the table. Unopened. A move that had astounded him. How could she not be even the remotest bit curious about what kind of money he was offering? She’d been so resolute in her refusal to sell, he was willing to bet a goodly sum of money that the offer was still on the table, unopened. ‘If she’s in the kind of money trouble I think she’s in, one night should give her enough time to realise how much easier her life would be without companies chasing her for money day-in, day-out.’

Except the original offer was enough to take care of debts and then some. If she was going to sell she would have by now.

He pushed the thought out of his head. Sophie would sign on the dotted line. They all did. He just had to find the right angle. Or find another option.

‘Get it done, Alexander. And if they still won’t sign, explain to them that they are a mere irritation in the grand scheme of things and that if we have to, we’ll build around them. We’ve already spent enough on this project that it can’t not go ahead. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Alexander swallowed a sigh. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Dad. I know what’s riding on it.’ The family name. Pride. Respect. Bottom lines. Profits. The future of the family business, which would one day sit squarely on his head, whether he wanted it to or not. ‘Talk tomo—’

He tucked the mobile back in his pocket. His father had already hung up. Moved on.

He swore under his breath. How was he going to play this? How was he going to balance his family’s expectations over his own way of doing business? Of getting the deals done without compromising his own values?

He slipped his tie over his head and tucked it into his trouser pocket, then released the top two buttons of his shirt.

Approaching Sophie twice in one day was out of the question. She wasn’t ready to trust him. Wasn’t ready to see his way of thinking.

His mind churned with possibilities as he turned his face towards the sun as it dipped closer to the horizon. He leaned his head back and allowed himself a moment to enjoy its soothing warmth.

His shoulders, bunched towards his ears, dropped. His hands, screwed up tight at his sides, unfurled. Alexander breathed in and took a moment to appreciate the intoxicating scent of the jasmine that wafted over the fence rails of the cottages that lined the street-side of the cliffs. Mixed with the salty aroma of the sea, it was a heady combination. One that made him want to change out of his formal uniform and slip into a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt and forego work for a barefoot walk along the beach below, followed by a spot of sand-sitting and sunset-watching.

The shimmering water, bathed in sunset colours of golds and reds, encouraged him to shirk his responsibilities.

There’s time enough to figure things out tomorrow. What’s a few hours to yourself? The waves shushing back and forth on the sand whispered. Take a moment. Relax while you can.

He shook his head clear of the temptation. The Fletchers didn’t relax; they made goals and met them. They took ailing communities and improved upon them.

What they achieved in a year did not happen by resting on one’s laurels.

He turned back to the tiny township and began to march towards it. He couldn’t see Sophie again, but he could drop in and see the hairstylist, Natalie. She was a sure thing, he felt it in his bones.

He reached the bookshop, and was surprised to see a light shining in the front window. He slowed his steps, acted as casual as he could as he side-eyed the window.

Sophie was curled up on the couch, her nose buried in a book. One hand stroking a small black and white cat that had snuggled up beside her. Her petite bow-shaped pink lips moved, as though she was reading the story to the cat.

Cute. Such a Sophie thing to do.

‘Such a Sophie thing to do’? What was he thinking? He’d barely spent half an hour in her presence. Sure, he’d researched her past, but that didn’t give him the right to believe he had intimate knowledge. That he knew her.

God, he needed to get back to the nitrogen dioxide-filled London air. This ozone was clearly playing with his head. Sending him on random flights of fancy. He no more knew Sophie than he knew the hairstylist, Natalie.

Yet the more he watched her read to the cat, curled up and comfortable on the worn sofa, a mug of tea steaming on the old coffee table, the more his brain whirled.

She was at home in the bookshop. Yet she was in danger of losing it, if his assumption that she was in serious debt was correct. Did that debt extend to council taxes? One call to the local councillor his father kept in his pocket would confirm just how dire the situation was.

And what if she was? Could he use that information to force her to sign? Prickles of discomfort skittled down his neck. No, that was his father’s way. So what could he do?

Think, Alexander. Think.

He turned his attention to the empty shop across the road. Though overrun with honeysuckle, it was a handsome building. Perfect for a bookshop. And it had a flat above. All it needed was a good water-blasting to revive the red bricks, and for someone to train the wild tangle of vines. A new sign, fresh paint job inside and it could be a fresh start for Sophie. She’d still have her bookshop, and he’d have the approval of his father. Win/win.

He reached the hair salon’s entrance and rang the bell to alert Natalie to his presence.

He felt good about this plan. It could work.

Now he just had to make Sophie see things his way.