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He stood, snapped off a couple of shots of her at her desk, then quickly made an exit, promising that the story would be in the paper the following day. Kirsty was long past caring what Malcolm was telling her. All she wanted was for him to run her ad and write something interesting beside it that basically said “buy from Kirsty and not that dodgy English guy”. Was that too much to ask?
It was mid-morning the following day when Lake noticed something was wrong. Every time he looked through the shop window out into the street, there seemed to be at least one woman staring at him. They would quickly lower their eyes and rush away. The younger ones would giggle. At first he put it down to the novelty factor—man, lingerie and that damn sign over the door—but soon he began to notice something else the women had in common. They all clutched a copy of the local newspaper. Eventually the stream of women became too distracting and Lake gave up painting the walls. He wiped his hands on a rag, finished off the water in the bottle he kept on the ladder and shrugged into his denim jacket. It was time to buy a copy of the local paper.
Lake said hello to everyone he met on his way up the high street to the newsagent. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that people’s loyalty would instinctively lie with Kirsty. She was, after all, a local. But if he could insinuate his way into the community, they would feel warmly towards him and their loyalty would be torn. If they saw him as one of them, then they would shop wherever they got the better deal, which would be his shop. It was a basic war tactic—win over the locals, win the war.
Today he noticed something different about the smiles he got in return—they seemed knowing. An uneasy feeling made the hair on his arms stand on end. The townsfolk, as a whole, seemed to know something he didn’t know. Something about him. As he pushed open the door to the newsagent, the bell above rang to announce his arrival—as though he wouldn’t be easy to spot in a shop the size of a dog kennel.
“Hello,” shouted the aging owner Archie. “Look, Maggie, it’s Mr Charming.”
For a second Lake froze. He kept his smile in place while he assessed the atmosphere. It didn’t seem threatening.
“Hello, Lake,” Maggie said as she patted the iron-grey curls that were wound tight in rows around her head.
Lake did a double take. For a minute he thought she was batting her eyelashes at him.
“Hi,” he said. “How are you two today?”
“Oh, we’re good, very good,” Archie said. There was that knowing smile again. “Selling a lot of papers.”
“Uh, great,” Lake said.
“Thanks to you,” Maggie said.
Lake’s smile faded.
“Thanks to me?”
The two oldies shared a look, then giggled like teenagers.
“Better have a look, son,” Archie said.
Lake picked up a copy of The Invertary Standard with a sense of foreboding. The nudge Maggie gave her husband didn’t help—it smacked of seaside postcard humour. He half expected Benny Hill to appear during the next roun
d of nudge, nudge, wink, wink. The front-page headline was something to do with the need for a new community hall.
“Go to page three,” Archie said with a grin.
Obediently, Lake opened the paper and stilled. There, filling half the page, was a stunning photo of Kirsty. She was wearing one of the high-necked sweaters she normally wore—this one was sky blue and really made her rust-red hair glow. She was sitting back in her chair behind her desk, arms folded over her breasts and cheeks flushed. Her emerald-green eyes flashed with anger. She epitomised passion. She was so alive it took his breath away. Alive, passionate and obviously furious. And it appeared the reason for this was him.
He glanced up at two grinning faces.
“Go on, have a read,” Maggie said. “It’s priceless.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he read anyway. As his eyes flew over the words, he started to grin. He looked up at the owners, who grinned back.
“How much do I owe you?” he said.
“Take it,” Maggie said. “It’s been years since we’ve seen Kirsty mad about anything. She used to be so full of life. It’s worth every penny to see that look on her face again.”
“Who knew it would take a foreigner to make it happen,” Archie said, causing Maggie to frown and elbow him in the ribs.
“This war of yours could be the best thing that’s ever happened to her,” Maggie told him.
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that this war of his was an attempt to wipe out the competition. Kirsty Campbell might not be so full of life when it was over.
When the bell over the door jingled to signal that Kirsty had a customer, she called from the back room where she was working.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
