Page 91 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Celeste remained quiet.

I glanced around, frustrated. “Alright. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.” I rose up from my floral chair and hooked my bag over my shoulder. “Good afternoon, Celeste.”

I reached the open double doors leading out of the conservatory.

“Lexie. Wait.”

I stopped, took a deep breath, then turned back to face the older lady.

Celeste was eyeing me with apprehension. She let out a long, slow sigh and pointed to where I’d been sitting opposite her only moments before. “Please. Don’t go. Sit down.”

Feeling the smallest of wins, I took a few steps back towards her and returned to the vacant chair.

“Tell me. Have you considered working for MI5?”

I gave her a small smile. She raised her eyes heavenwards with an air of defeat. “Alright. I surrender.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Celeste rubbed her furrowed forehead, getting ready to tell me her story. “I was nineteen at the time. My parents were very strict. They wanted me to go into circumspect employment like being a secretary, but I had other plans. I suppose I wanted to rebel.”

Celeste carried on, her voice getting stronger. “I always loved singing and had rather a good voice. Around here, some thought of me as a bit of a flibbertigibbet and so just to annoy them, I played up to it.”

Her expression hardened. “Flora Simmonds never liked me. Lord knows why. I never did anything to her, but she was always so spiteful. I couldn’t believe it when she came bustling up to me in the bookshop. I hoped she wouldn’t recognise me.”

Her mouth flatlined and she continued. “I took a job as a personal secretary to one of the local councillors. My parents were delighted as you might imagine, but my heart wasn’t in it. A Glasgow talent scout happened to be on holiday in the area and heard me singing one evening in the local pub.” Celeste’s mouth morphed into a cheeky smile. “I used to do gigs once a week. My parents had no idea.”

“So that’s where the idea came from for your book? The showbiz background?”

I thought about the main character, Melissa, in Celeste’s story, being a struggling singer.

Celeste nodded.

“So, what then?” I asked, almost toppling out of my chair, enthralled.

“Glynn Reid – he was the talent scout – well, he offered to be my agent.” She let out a ropey laugh. “I remember him telling me I could be the Scottish Barbra Streisand.”

“And then?”

Celeste sighed as she sat there. “Glynn got me a couple of spots singing at weddings in the area. Then he told me that the Stafford-Wells family wanted to surprise old man Wells with a big birthday party for his sixtieth.”

“The same Stafford-Wells who used to live in that big house out on the coastal road?”

“The very same.”

They had been like the local landed gentry in the area, but had moved out of Willow Bay House years ago, when the place began swallowing up money. They ended up selling the property and it was eventually transformed into an expensive pub and eatery.

“So, did you get hired for the event?”

Celeste nodded, as the residential home gardens were lit up by marmalade sunshine outside the conservatory windows. “I was bloody terrified, but Hope Stafford-Wells, his wife, paid me well and Glynn, as my agent, took his generous slice of commission. Still, for a young woman of that age at that time, the fee I received was very generous.”

Celeste rubbed at her knees, still concealed by her pretty knitted blanket.

“Oh, please go on,” I begged, my curiosity on fire.

She nodded. “Alright.” Her eyes misted over as she carried on talking. “It was going to be a huge party and Glynn suggested I buy an expensive dress. I knew it had got to the stage where I had to tell my parents about my singing gigs. I was getting more and more work and it was only going to be a matter of time until someone else told them before I did.”

Celeste paused and then carried on with her story. “My PA salary was modest and my parents refused to contribute towards buying an outfit.”