Читать книгу Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance! - Linda Mitchelmore - Страница 16

‘Could I take a look at that one, please?’ Bobbie said to the assistant in a shop called Silver Linings opposite the railway station.

Still in her travelling clothes, but having changed her stilettos for low, wedge-heeled black leather ankle boots, Bobbie had walked the half-mile into town. Xander was yet to arrive but she didn’t think for a second he’d mind that she wasn’t at Strand House when he did get there. She told Lissy and Janey that after an almost six-hour journey in a taxi she was sorely in need of exercise and fresh air. And the air was certainly fresh, colder than London, but then there was always a heat to London from the lights of buildings and the traffic and the general thrum of the place.

‘I’ll open the case for you,’ the assistant said. ‘I’ll just find the key.’

Bobbie had spent a good half hour browsing the shop and the assistant had left her to it, not pressured her at all to hurry up and choose because – Bobbie, realised now – it was almost closing time. Bobbie liked that – the space to be left to make her own choices. Okay, so Silver Dollar wasn’t Oxford Street or Regent Street, but this little shop in a typical seaside town had some good things. She’d been spoilt for choice really. There were watches in a number of styles, hip flasks, and medallions (necklaces for men really) and quirky little desk ornaments but in the end Bobbie had settled on a watch. It was hardly Philippe Patek but she hoped Oliver would like it, or at least accept it for the love in which it was given. Whenever that giving might be. Certainly not over the Christmas period while she was at Strand House.

Lissy had said there were to be no exchanges of presents at Strand House but that didn’t mean Bobbie didn’t have a present to buy. She did. For Oliver. Like she’d done every Christmas for the past forty-four years. Forty-four!

‘A good choice,’ the assistant said, unlocking the cabinet and lifting out the watch Bobbie had pointed to. ‘Timeless design but with a slightly quirky edge. For someone special?’

‘Oh yes. Someone very special,’ Bobbie said, her voice suddenly husky. It still surprised her that it always went husky, and her heartbeat quickened, and sometimes she even felt a little faint, whenever she voiced that she’d had Oliver in her life for forty-four years, and while she’d not seen him for almost all of those forty-four years he was never far from her mind. He came to her in odd moments: in a supermarket queue when she might see a man around the age Oliver was at that time and wonder if her son wore his hair like that, or had a fancy for a pink shirt, or brogues; when she was washing up a few dishes and imagining Oliver reaching for a teatowel to help – such a companionable thing to do, washing up and drying dishes with someone; when she saw a pregnant woman, holding hands with her man, who was proudly carrying a bag from Mothercare or some other baby clothes shop.

‘Gift-wrapped, then?’ the assistant said. She turned her head slightly to glance at the clock over her desk. ‘Oh, I’ll just close up. But I’m not hurrying you. Gift-wrapping won’t be problem. You can browse a bit more while I do it if you like.’

‘I will,’ Bobbie said. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice and her heartbeat returned to normal now.

But there was nothing else she wanted or needed really. She had enough jewellery – precious and costume – to stock a shop of her own.