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‘And yet?’ Magnús said, tipping his head to indicate Minty and Jowan standing by the blazing fireplace, ‘I think she has a partner?’
Jowan and Minty were absorbed in telling Aldous what a good boy he’d been at the blessing. The little dog wiggled in Jowan’s arms, his neck stretched ceiling-ward for scratches, supremely happy with his lot in life. Minty fished something from her bodywarmer pocket and slipped it to the little dog – a piece of cooked liver from the kitchens – and all the time Jowan was smiling placidly into Minty’s face, agreeing with everything she said.
‘No-o,’ said Mrs Crocombe, slapping a hand to Magnús’s chest. ‘They’re old friends, those two, going way back. They’re not a match.’ And yet, Mrs Crocombe kept her eyes fixed on the pair. ‘They couldn’t be. Not with Isolde occupying so much of Jowan’s heart.’
‘And yet, hearts change. They make room,’ Magnús said sagely, setting wicked, gleaming eyes upon Alex who tried hard not to giggle as Mrs Crocombe took the bait.
‘He does talk about her a lot,’ Alex added. ‘With admiration.’
Mrs Crocombe’s eyes narrowed upon the cosy threesome by the fire, lit from behind by its rays which shone out around them in a glowing halo, a little holy trinity with Aldous, their special boy, at the centre, the site of interchange of Minty and Jowan’s affections.
‘She does seem to like that dog very much,’ Magnús added, knowing only another little nudge was all it would take.
Mrs Crocombe’s brain worked. ‘I’d better not stand here talking all night,’ she said distractedly, still peering at Minty and Jowan, as though running through all the recent interactions she’d witnessed between them. ‘Better… mingle,’ she said, and with that, she glided away, seeking out Izaak to pump him for information about his boss and whether she’d been having an increased number of visits from her old friend of late.
‘I thought she’d never go,’ Alex’s shoulders drooped with relief.
‘Poor Jowan, he’s in trouble now!’ Magnús added.
‘But we should leave, shouldn’t we?’ Alex suggested. ‘Before she circles back round to us. Jowan told me that notebook in her hand is her betting book. There’s a whole village sweepstakes thing going on, taking bets on who’ll get it on with who.’
‘And we don’t want to end up in her book.’ The upwards inflection in Magnús’s accent made this sound very much like a question.
Alex downed her champagne. ‘I don’t, no.’
‘Of course not. Me neither.Mmm-mm, no way, José,’ Magnús rambled, looking like he wished someone would stop him talking. His brows formed their tight little ‘v’ once more and Alex couldn’t help smiling at the sight.
She led him back through the once grand ballroom to the draughty foyer where the punch bowl and champagne were set out. Lifting another two glasses of bubbly, she pressed one into Magnús’s hands.
‘Cheers to that,’ she said, and took a long drink. It was delicious and definitely the expensive stuff, no doubt from Minty’s wine cellar. Alex wondered aloud how rich people could plead poverty but somehow managed to find the ready money for things like this. She had no idea Jowan had paid for it all, as his Christmas gift to Minty. ‘God, that’s nice. You can see why Churchill liked it here.’
Magnús mirrored Alex, throwing back the whole glassful, then wiping at his mouth.
‘When did you last drink champagne?’ she said with wonder, more to herself than to him, but the words halted Magnús’s hand as he set the empty glass down.
‘When I opened my bookshop in Reykjavík.’ His face closed like shutters slamming.
A little alarmed, Alex lifted two more glasses and led him to the cloakroom. ‘Naughty not to have another, when it’s almost Christmas, and it’s free.’ Glancing back to check he really was following, she shoved her way through the coats and scarves hanging on rails and sat down on an ancient wooden chest emblazoned with the words ‘Master Clove-Congreve. Clove Lore,’ and underneath it a crest she didn’t recognise as belonging to Eton College.
The bubbly in her bloodstream told her to pat the box beside her, and obediently, Magnús sat down. ‘Your bookshop opening sounds like a good story to tell on a winter’s night in a creepy old house.’
‘OK, if you really want to know? I warn you, it’s kind of scary!’ His voice was wry but he still took a deep breath and let the words flow. ‘It all began when I left school and did a degree in bookselling.’
It was news to Alex you could study such a thing, but she didn’t interrupt. To her surprise he told her all about it, the hours of studying, the weekends gaining work experience in bookshops all across the city. He laid it all out, every laborious step on his way to winning, and losing, his bookshop.
‘After I graduated I spent years working in a tacky juice shop for tourists. Man, I hated that place, but I finally had enough money saved up to look for a business start-up loan and… that was it. I opened Ash and the Crash. Best day of my life.’
The light in his eyes dimmed as he went on to tell her about Anna leaving when things were at their worst. By then, Alex found herself lulled by the music of his voice into somehow shifting her body so she was facing him. Their knees were so close to touching it was almost all she could think about. Then he explained how he’d ended up here on this crazy getaway. All the while, his voice was low and his eyes cast down at the glass in his hand.
When he was finished he remarked that he’d definitely had too much champagne but still took a long drink and let the silence settle. The sounds of Minty demanding everyone sing around the piano while Jowan played a carol reached them and they both smiled when the chords of a slightly out of tune ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ rang out.
‘So you see,’ Magnús lifted his eyes. ‘I can’t really go home early. My family are expecting me to have fun on vacation, and yes, spending time out of Reykjavík is good for me… but I don’t know what to do here. The Borrow-A-Bookshop, it’s so…’
Alex tipped her head, inviting Magnús to maintain eye contact, which he did. ‘So…?’ she encouraged.
‘So fake.’
‘I was in there yesterday, it seemed pretty real to me.’
