Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 16

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Grey, cold day. The rain began at 10 a.m.

A group of people in their seventies appeared at noon looking for books by Eric Ambler, Geoffrey Household and Eric Linklater. One of them approached the counter and asked me, ‘Do you respond to questions?’ He bought a biography of Wilfred Thesiger which came from a house in the Borders whose library I bought last year. They were all very flattering about the shop, but disappointed that I didn’t have any of the authors they were looking for. The reason isn’t that I don’t come across them; it’s that nobody—until today—has ever asked for them, so I don’t buy them when I find them in collections.

As I was on my way to the post office I bumped into the French wildfowlers who used to come and stay in my parents’ holiday cottages. We had a brief conversation on the pavement outside the shop. My French is pretty rusty, but we managed to talk for about five minutes. They shot three geese yesterday morning on the saltmarsh. At least, I think that’s what they said.

Till Total £17.30

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