be the fortieth birthday of one of his close friends, so he’d decided to surprise him with a party and a cake. And, although she’d expressed immediate interest, she was in a tearing rush by then, and had simply jotted down his number, promised to phone him to discuss it, and accelerated off with barely a goodbye.
Kath was studying another tome, frowning in indecision. ‘What about this Life of Wordsworth? I decided it should go, but I feel distinctly nervous chucking things that maybe ought to stay.’
‘Don’t worry, this is just a trial run. We won’t rely on your judgement until you’ve had a bit more practice. Your first instinct was correct, though. It is distinctly tatty, so clearly you’re getting the hang of it.’
He’d had to lie to Ted and Annabel, as well; forced to throw himself on the mercy of a pair of aged neighbours he hadn’t seen for almost a year, and somehow explain the peculiarity of turning up on Christmas Day unannounced and uninvited. And, because no trains were running until December 27, he’d remained captive there, with them and their in-laws, enduring what seemed an eternity of tedium. And all for the sake of a woman who had broken her promise, or forgotten him entirely.
He made a supreme effort to return to his professional role, fearing Kath would notice his extraordinary state of mind. The way he felt at present, all books seemed dispensable. Indeed, he would gladly sacrifice the rarest writings in the world: the few existing (priceless) copies of Herodotus and Aristotle, Tacitus and Pliny, along with all the precious manuscripts in every leading library in the world – burn them to a cinder, without the slightest qualm, in return for one brief phone-call from his love.
‘Right,’ he said, trying to adopt an authoritative tone, ‘let’s start putting all the weeded books in a big pile on the floor here, and we’ll pack them into boxes, once we’ve removed the labels and the bar-codes. I’ll show you how to do that later on.’
Maybe she had lost his number. A small scrap of paper could easily be mislaid, or might have even blown away as she opened the car door at Guildford and dashed in to see her family.
‘And another thing we need to check is how often the book’s been taken out. If there are hardly any date-stamps on the label in the front, we get rid of it, OK?’
Perhaps she had rung – in just the last half-hour. The very thought filled him with such joy, he wanted to go down on his knees and worship her, adore her. Well, he’d wanted that from the first second they had met and, throughout the too-brief car journey, his mind had woven erotic fantasies: they were on honeymoon in a secluded little love-nest and he was slipping off her clothes; running a slow hand from her delicately white throat to her deliciously pink toes. Or making love on some exotic beach; the December sleet changed magically to tropical sun; her limbs enticingly warm as they threshed against his own. In point of fact, his spoilsport voice had been droning on in stilted fashion about the weather and the cost of housing; too shy to express the sentiments brimming in his heart.
‘This one’s been borrowed only twice since last December, so does that mean—?’
He was almost surprised to see Kath still standing there. Since Christmas Day, only Mandy existed. ‘I’d suggest, as a rough rule of thumb, that if it’snot been taken out for a year or more, then no point keeping it. So we’ll give this one a reprieve for now and reassess it later. But can you carry on alone, Kath? There’s something I need to check.’
His mobile, actually. Again he gave thanks that the library was near-empty , due partly to the appalling weather and partly to the date – many people still away for Christmas or New Year. It meant he could find a secluded corner and switch his mobile on, without being summoned by a customer, or sought out by some member of staff. However, his brief moment of elation
Kath was studying another tome, frowning in indecision. ‘What about this Life of Wordsworth? I decided it should go, but I feel distinctly nervous chucking things that maybe ought to stay.’
‘Don’t worry, this is just a trial run. We won’t rely on your judgement until you’ve had a bit more practice. Your first instinct was correct, though. It is distinctly tatty, so clearly you’re getting the hang of it.’
He’d had to lie to Ted and Annabel, as well; forced to throw himself on the mercy of a pair of aged neighbours he hadn’t seen for almost a year, and somehow explain the peculiarity of turning up on Christmas Day unannounced and uninvited. And, because no trains were running until December 27, he’d remained captive there, with them and their in-laws, enduring what seemed an eternity of tedium. And all for the sake of a woman who had broken her promise, or forgotten him entirely.
He made a supreme effort to return to his professional role, fearing Kath would notice his extraordinary state of mind. The way he felt at present, all books seemed dispensable. Indeed, he would gladly sacrifice the rarest writings in the world: the few existing (priceless) copies of Herodotus and Aristotle, Tacitus and Pliny, along with all the precious manuscripts in every leading library in the world – burn them to a cinder, without the slightest qualm, in return for one brief phone-call from his love.
‘Right,’ he said, trying to adopt an authoritative tone, ‘let’s start putting all the weeded books in a big pile on the floor here, and we’ll pack them into boxes, once we’ve removed the labels and the bar-codes. I’ll show you how to do that later on.’
Maybe she had lost his number. A small scrap of paper could easily be mislaid, or might have even blown away as she opened the car door at Guildford and dashed in to see her family.
‘And another thing we need to check is how often the book’s been taken out. If there are hardly any date-stamps on the label in the front, we get rid of it, OK?’
Perhaps she had rung – in just the last half-hour. The very thought filled him with such joy, he wanted to go down on his knees and worship her, adore her. Well, he’d wanted that from the first second they had met and, throughout the too-brief car journey, his mind had woven erotic fantasies: they were on honeymoon in a secluded little love-nest and he was slipping off her clothes; running a slow hand from her delicately white throat to her deliciously pink toes. Or making love on some exotic beach; the December sleet changed magically to tropical sun; her limbs enticingly warm as they threshed against his own. In point of fact, his spoilsport voice had been droning on in stilted fashion about the weather and the cost of housing; too shy to express the sentiments brimming in his heart.
‘This one’s been borrowed only twice since last December, so does that mean—?’
He was almost surprised to see Kath still standing there. Since Christmas Day, only Mandy existed. ‘I’d suggest, as a rough rule of thumb, that if it’snot been taken out for a year or more, then no point keeping it. So we’ll give this one a reprieve for now and reassess it later. But can you carry on alone, Kath? There’s something I need to check.’
His mobile, actually. Again he gave thanks that the library was near-empty , due partly to the appalling weather and partly to the date – many people still away for Christmas or New Year. It meant he could find a secluded corner and switch his mobile on, without being summoned by a customer, or sought out by some member of staff. However, his brief moment of elation
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