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Alex sat up and watched as he tore the wrapping away and turned over a book, a copy of theVinland Sagasin Icelandic, in case he was at risk of forgetting where he came from. He took a deep sniff between the pages before realising what he was doing. Alex laughed brightly and told him it was nothing to be ashamed of.
Inside the flyleaf was an inscription written in English, his mum’s idea of a good joke for her son living the life of an English bookseller. He read her message a few times with a light coming on inside him and glowing brighter as his eyes re-scanned the words. Then he held it out for Alex to read.
Son, you will have your Christmas book flood, even in England. We are proud of you. Please enjoy your bookshop and come home happy again. Love, Mamma.
‘Christmas book flood?’ Alex asked.
‘Já, thejólabókaflóð. Everyone gets a book on Christmas Eve in Iceland. It’s tradition. And we read all evening. It’s the best part…’ Magnús’s mouth snapped into a straight line. He was thinking.
Then he was up on his feet.
Everyone watched as his eyes darted from Alex’s to Jowan’s.
It had taken only a few minutes to formulate the plan and the whole ballroom had waved goodbye to Magnús and Elliot (roped in because of his strength and fitness), as well as the man in the hard hat (who worked for the council, it turned out, who’d said he’d accompany them on their way down to the middle of the slope), and of course, Mushy Peas, the best donkey for the task, as they went on their mission to the Borrow-A-Bookshop to retrieve gift books for all the villagers.
Alex sent Magnús on his way with a proud kiss pressed to his forehead. ‘That one’s from your mum,’ she told him.
After they’d left, Minty had informed the postal worker that he was staying the night even though he’d objected, saying he could sleep in his van. Of course, he’d been powerless against her insistence and was immediately tasked with helping to push the tables together for the turkey dinner that was imminent.
The most wonderful aroma of thyme, lemon and onion along with Jude’s homemade bread rolls was filling the ballroom, already scented with gingerbread, pine needles and log fire. Everyone’s thoughts turned to their stomachs so Bella passed around the chocolates.
‘Right!’ Minty told the room, brushing her hands over her apron. ‘There are donkeys in my vestibule, at least twenty campers in my ballroom, three foot of muddy water in my cellars, and umpteen spare turkeys squeezed into the fridge. What else!’ She turned for the kitchens again.
‘Ahem!’ The sound of a throat being cleared behind her stopped Minty in her tracks.
Turning, she was met by the sight of an earnest, gulping Bovis. He was grasping a ball of mistletoe from one of the sconces.
‘Araminta Clove-Congreve, uh… Minty,’ he said, grandly, before swallowing hard and adding, ‘Mistress.’
‘Bovis?’ Minty’s brows creased.
The whole room watched on in silence, eyes alight with fascination. Mrs Crocombe was on her feet and listening, open-mouthed. What on earth was happening?
‘My…um… my feelings will not be repressed,’ Bovis told Minty bravely, his chest swollen like a pigeon.
‘Goodness, Bovis, are you quite all right?’ Minty glanced immediately to Jowan who could see exactly what was coming and was shrinking for his old friend in her embarrassment.
Bovis had clearly rehearsed this. He wasn’t going to be put off. ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and…’ another gulp, ‘…love you.’
A gasp of wonder spread across the room. Someone definitely stifled a laugh.
‘Have you had a blow to the head, man?’ Minty said, warning him with her eyes not to continue. ‘Can someone check him for concussion? Elliot knows about these things, oh he’s gone, hasn’t he?’ Her shoulders slumped a little but she met Bovis’s ardent expression courageously.
Nobody moved a muscle, except the devoted estate’s man, who, forgetting his lines, drew the novel from his pocket and read. Reassured, he intended to press on.
Seeing his copy ofPride and Prejudice, its covers folded back on Mr Darcy’s proposal scene, Minty muttered, ‘Dear Lord!’ and turned her eyes heavenward.
‘In declaring myself thus I’m fully aware that I will be going expressly against the wishes of my family, my friends, and, I hardly need add, my own better judgement… oh no, I was meant to skip that bit, ’old on.’
‘Bovis,’ she called in an exaggeratedly loud voice, even for her. ‘You’re not well, my man.’
Bovis was surprised to find Minty’s arm around his shoulder and he was led away towards the kitchens. ‘It’s the flood you see, making everyone giddy. What you need is a stiff drink. Come along. We’ll have you right as rain in a jiffy.’
As she guided her groundsman away, Minty scanned the room, stamping out any sniggering coming from Tom Bickleigh’s corner. Poor Bovis may never be able to forget his misjudged passion but the look in Minty’s eye warned everyone present that they’d better wipe their memories of it quick sharp.
Having disarmed him of his Jane Austen and his mistletoe, Minty discreetly slipped away, leaving Bovis with Jude in the kitchen to sip his brandy and cool his ardour.
When she closed the door behind her, exhaling sharply and shaking her head, she found Jowan there to meet her.
