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Clove Lore was no place to be ranging about during a red weather warning. She tracked his climb until he was lost from view by the rooftops – her cue to scramble down the ladder.
‘Take the rest of the day off, chaps,’ she called, as she strode from the room. Izaak and Leonid hid their knowing smiles until she was heard tip-tapping down the staircase to haul the front doors open to wait for Jowan, eyes fixed on the footpath entrance to her estate and being blown about terribly.
‘Any second…now,’ she said. This was followed by disappointment. ‘Now,’ she said again, more doggedly than before. ‘Jowan de Marisco, I conjure you to appear before menow!’ This was accompanied by a very small but very determined stamp of her foot and at that exact moment Jowan turned the corner, his neck bent against the downpour. She ran out to meet him with her father’s ancient field umbrella which, like everything at the Big House, excepting perhaps Minty herself, had enjoyed better days.
They struggled back to the house, sharing its protection and it only blew itself inside out once, making Minty accidentally let out a scream like a teenager.
Jowan was attempting to tell her about meeting Magnús on the way here and she pretended that was news to her. She didn’t want him to know she’d been spying.
‘I told ’im Alex left half an hour ago at least, back to her boyfriend’s. Ben, his name is. It’s a bad business. Looked broken up and said he might as well go home.’
‘Home? He’s going to Iceland?’ exclaimed Minty, leading the way across the threshold and into the echoing vestibule, now scattered with the damp brown winter leaves that followed them inside.
‘That’s what he said.’ Jowan shrugged off his coat and Minty found a hanger for it in the cloakroom.
‘Not in this storm, he’s not. Nobody’s going anywhere tonight,’ she said, and Jowan cocked his head when he detected the strange tone in his old friend’s voice, unusually shaky for Minty. It made some tiny vessel of his heart flicker with delight.
‘Come along, there’s some boiled ham and eggs in the kitchen with your name on it.’ Aldous too looked hopeful. ‘Not you, little friend,’ she told him, as Jowan set the dog on the ground. ‘I’ve madeyoua cheddar sandwich!’
Aldous’s claws tap-danced on the floor as he turned circles around Minty gliding to the kitchen. Jowan followed behind, hands stuffed contentedly in his pockets, smiling fondly after Minty, forgetting the storm and his sorry-looking tenant at the bookshop, for now.
