Whatever was going on in his heart, Annie was astounded to realise how much she hoped that, come Valentine’s morning, Harri would be giving that card not to Paisley, but to her.
The realisation was enough to send her straight back to bed in contrition where she scolded herself for a long time.
It was Clove Lore that was responsible, and this bookshop. Being in England in the slowest days of winter, being by the rugged coast, and around Valentine’s Day too. None of it was helping. Throw in her tendency towards Anglophile romanticism and she waswaytoo susceptible to silly daydreams.
She had to fight back. Get a grip again.
She could get through it, she reasoned as she lay in bed.
There were only nine full days of their holiday left and, so long as they avoided romantic moments, beautiful places, alcohol, and anything remotely cosy, she’d get through it, safe and sound.
Eventually she slept, finally back in control of her over-active imagination and believing herself immune once more to those stupid, inconvenient things she’d briefly felt for Harri long ago.
Chapter Fifteen
Castle Lore
Sale of Contents
Viewings: Saturday 8am–1pm
Public bidding on selected lots: 1pm–9pm
Pre-arranged guests only
‘We’re definitely late,’ said Annie, reading the sign at the entrance.
‘Check your bag, Miss.’
‘You have security at auctions?’ she said, stopping under an archway where a burly man in black blocked their way.
The man didn’t reply, only casting a detection wand over Annie’s shoulder bag and then down her body.
‘They do when it’s a place like this, I guess,’ said Harri, taking in the gatehouse with its portcullis drawn up over their heads. ‘Can’t have just any scruffy so-and-so walking in.’
‘How come we’re here then?’
Harri presented the man with their passes; the ones Jowan had given him when he picked them up in Minty’s Land Rover for the short journey down B roads and along the back fields, heading inland.
Harri had insisted they’d get a cab back down to the village after the auction ended tonight; it seemed unnecessary, making Jowan leave home on a dark winter’s night when there were perfectly good taxi apps.
‘And you’ve got the credit card?’ Annie asked, while the man made Harri turn, patting down his pockets.
‘Woah! Easy there!’ He would have glared at him if he wasn’t so massive. Instead Harri indignantly tugged at his coat to straighten it out and led Annie away as soon as the man was satisfied he wasn’t a threat to Devonshire’s security. ‘And we can spend up to two grand on book stock, right?’ he said.
‘Particularly books relating to Devon.’ Annie knew their mission too. Jowan had been very clear.
‘Yep,’ Harri confirmed. ‘History books, maps, local legends, that sort of thing, and absolutely anything that references Clove Lore and literally any fiction. The more antiquarian the better. And no old dictionaries, bibles or encyclopaedias, because they don’t sell.’
The security guard grunted in their wake, and they followed the signs through the gatehouse and across a small bailey courtyard of bare dirt. This was no stately home with modern adaptations in the living quarters, manicured lawns and a gravel driveway for a Bentley; Castle Lore was a grey stone Jenga tower reaching into the even greyer afternoon sky with crumbling arrow slits, gargoyles worn away to faceless, obscene stumps, and rooks’ nests and weed clumps peppering the masonry where the mortar holding it all together should be. One whole side of the old heap was propped up with wooden scaffolding that looked like it had been there for decades.
Even in the wintry daylight, the lamps glowed orange and inviting through the castle’s few glazed, narrow windows, and there was a loud hubbub of voices coming from inside.
‘Sounds like a party,’ said Annie as they climbed the worn steps and through the arched open doors.
‘Ah, good! You’re our last arrivals,’ said a woman tapping on a tablet behind a table positioned between two suits of armour, their helmets lolling forward like soldiers propped up while dozing. Her ID said she was Katie Barnes of Blazey, Barnes and Blazey, Business Liquidators and Private Auctioneers, Totnes.
‘Has the bidding begun?’ Annie asked.
