AllFreeNovel
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There’s a cheap and cheerful Chinese place in Soho we go to sometimes. The food’s not great, but it’s cozy and warm and the owner is friendly. He doesn’t mind that we take over one of the laminated chipboard tables in the corner for an hour, catching up over our veg chow mein and coconut waters. We’ve spent many a night in there, condensation running down the front windows while we discussed books, politics, Netflix, sex, and global warming while it rained outside.
“Definitely!” she says. “Tomorrow?”
I hesitate. Does taking Alistair up on the offer of staying in the penthouse mean I’m expected to be there every night? He did say that I could come and go as I please, but did he mean it?
Becks sees me pause. “Oh, we can do it next week. No sweat!”
“No,” I decide. “I’ll take you to Chinatown. Seven p.m.? My treat.”
“Look at you, moneybags! Great. See you there.” She waves dramatically and disappears into the throng of pedestrians.
I climb into the Jaguar, where Henderson is holding open the door for me. It’s going to be a weird week of contrasts. I have a chauffeur and a bodyguard, but I earn the salary of a part-time yoga instructor. I stay in high-end luxury accommodation, but can only afford to eat cheap Chinese. I’m wearing designer clothes but owe a mountain in student debt. I guess I’ll just get used to it. And just as I do, it will all be yanked out from under me, so best I don’t get too comfortable. I’m just going to enjoy it for what it is, I tell myself as passersby ogle the car we’re in.
To be fair, it is a very nice car.
“Where to?” asks Henderson.
I’m about to say “home” but quickly correct it mid-word. “Ho-tel. Back to the hotel, please.”
“Are you sure?” asks the bodyguard. “You’ve got the car for as long as you require it. Mr. Ravenscroft is in one of his other vehicles today.”
Ravenscroft. It’s one of those names that sound familiar even if you’ve never known one before. I’ve always loved blackbirds, crows, and ravens. Corvids are especially intelligent creatures.
Ravenscroft. Almost like a name from a fairy tale. A dark one.
“In that case … can we make a quick stop at a bookstore? Any bookstore that’s on the way.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He quickly finds one on his phone and sends the location to Macavoy, who nods his receipt of the pin.
Alistair Gregory Ravenscroft. It’s quite a mouthful—in the best way possible.
The bookstore Henderson found was perfect. Although, to be fair, what bookstore isn’t?
In the front of the shop are face-out displays of the most striking covers, gold ribbons, and sprayed edges. The new releases, the perennial bestsellers, a whole table for “TikTok Made Me Buy It.”
It is heaven. I pick a few of my favorites—okay, more than a few—and place them on the counter as my long list. When my long-list pile is ready, I’ll go through them, choosing a short list, and then narrow it down to three. Choosing from three is almost always impossible, so I invariably resort to closing my eyes while I shuffle them and buy the book that lands on top.
I know. The shop assistants hate me, too.
I don’t know when the ritual started, but I can’t remember not doing it this way. Probably when my mum used to take Jamie and I into bookshops as kids and told us to choose one.
Choose one, as if it’s not an impossible thing to ask a book lover to do.
This time, my top three comprise a new novel from one of my favorite authors, a guide to eating in Italy, and a book about contemporary nature-themed art that I know my brother would love.
I close my eyes and shuffle.
When I open my eyes, Henderson is giving me a queer look.
“What?” I asked, perhaps a little bluntly.
“Nothing, ma’am.”
“Spit it out, Henderson.”
“I was just … intrigued. Are you conjuring up some kind of magic?”
I smirk. “I’m just choosing. This is how I choose my book of the month.”
