The Carlotta Diamond. Lee Wilkinson

a minder?’ Sojo asked.

      ‘A minder?’ Charlotte echoed.

      ‘You know, someone who keeps tabs on him to make sure he’s OK.’

      ‘No. What on earth gave you that idea?’

      ‘When you set off for the party, a silver car followed you.’

      ‘Why shouldn’t it? It’s a public road.’ Charlotte shrugged.

      ‘Later there was some kind of disturbance outside—a drunk, I think. I was still at the window when you drew up. A silver car followed you back.’

      ‘There must be hundreds of silver cars in London.’

      ‘It was the same one,’ Sojo insisted.

      ‘A coincidence, surely.’

      ‘It parked a little way up the street and when he drove away just now, it followed him again. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

      ‘It certainly seems odd. Next time I see Rudy, I’ll mention it to him,’ Charlotte said thoughtfully.

      ‘When are you seeing him again?’

      ‘I’m not sure. He said he’d be in touch.’

      ‘Presumably when he gets over his pique,’ Sojo said drily.

      The following morning when the girls were just finishing their toast and coffee, the phone shrilled. Charlotte answered.

      Sounding rushed and flustered, Rudy said, ‘I’ve only got a second. A short while ago my boss rang to say I’m needed in New York. Which is a blasted nuisance, but there’s no way I can get out of it.’

      ‘When will you be going?’ Charlotte asked.

      ‘I’m off to the airport now. The company car will be picking me up any second.’

      ‘How long will you be away?’

      ‘At the moment I’ve no idea. Not too long, I hope. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back…’

      Before she could even say goodbye, he was gone.

      ‘That was short and sweet,’ Sojo commented. ‘Wudolf, I take it?’

      ‘Yes.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘Apparently his firm is sending him to New York.’

      ‘For good?’ She sounded hopeful.

      ‘No.’

      ‘When will he be going?’

      ‘He should be on his way to the airport now.’

      ‘Funny he didn’t mention it last night when we were talking about the States,’ Sojo commented.

      ‘His boss only told him this morning.’

      ‘Now, that’s what you might call short notice. How long will he be gone for?’

      ‘He doesn’t know.’

      As Sojo’s eyebrows shot up, she added, ‘But he said he’d be in touch as soon as he gets back.’

      ‘I wasn’t aware all the communication links between the US and the UK had been scrapped.’

      ‘When he’s working he’s probably too busy to think of anything else,’ Charlotte excused.

      Sojo grunted. ‘If you ask me, he’s fed up with getting nowhere and he’s giving you the brush-off in favour of fresh fields and pastures new.’

      Then, seeing Charlotte’s face, ‘Sorry, that was uncalled-for.’

      ‘Not at all; you may well be right.’

      ‘If it’s going to cause you serious pain, I’d sooner be wrong.’

      ‘Not too serious,’ Charlotte said as lightly as possible. ‘And if he’s the sort to do that, then I’m better off without him.’

      ‘That’s what I like to hear! Lord, is that the time? If I’m late for work I’ll be hearing things I don’t want to hear. By the way, I won’t be in for a meal tonight. It’s Mandy’s birthday, and a gang of us are going to paint the town. Want to join us?’ Sojo asked.

      ‘No, thanks.’

      ‘Sure?’

      ‘Quite sure. The last time I joined your gang it took me a week to recover.’

      ‘What’s the point of painting the town if you don’t do it in style? And as it happens I’ve some holiday due to me that I have to take before the new year, so when tomorrow’s over I don’t need to go into work until next Thursday. Four mornings of sleeping in late. Four whole days with nothing to do but laze about. Sheer bliss.’

      ‘You know perfectly well that by Tuesday you’ll be bored to tears,’ Charlotte pointed out with a smile.

      Sojo grinned. ‘How well you know me. So maybe I’ll do a bit of sketching. The old man who lives across the road has an interesting face. See ya!’

      When the other girl had hurried off, Charlotte cleared away and washed the breakfast dishes. Then, dressed in a grey skirt and top, her hair in a neat chignon, went down the back stairs to the shop.

      One side was taken up by rows of shelves. On the other, between book-lined walls, there were several comfortable armchairs interspersed with low tables.

      A hotplate, cups and all the necessary paraphernalia for ‘help yourself’ coffee were on a nearby trolley.

      Providing free coffee for customers had proved a great success. Browsers, who in the past would have walked out empty-handed, now frequently stayed to drink and read, and ended up buying.

      Having unlocked the shop door, she put two glass jugs of coffee on to heat, and brought fresh milk from the small fridge in her storeroom-cum-office.

      The old-fashioned bell jangled discordantly and an elderly man came in and headed for New Fiction. He was followed by two women, then a moment later by a young man she guessed was a student, who made for the second-hand section.

      Fridays were quite often busy, and this looked like being busier than usual. As well as needing to update the computer files and chase up some special orders, there was still yesterday’s delivery of new stock to be unpacked.

      Margaret, who normally dealt with such tasks, was on holiday until the following day. A retired librarian, she had proved to be a godsend, and during the last week Charlotte had missed her help.

      But it would be as well to keep busy, she told herself firmly. It would leave little time for too much thinking or repining.

      Simon Farringdon paused outside the double-fronted shop that in gold lettering above the old bow-windows proudly bore the legend:

      Charlotte Christie

      New Books Old Books Rare Books and First Editions

      Then with the air of someone going into battle, he pushed open the door and went inside.

      Charlotte was in the storeroom when the doorbell jangled again. It was followed by the tinkle of the small brass bell that sat on the counter alongside a card reading, Please Ring For Attention.

      She hurried out to find a tall, broad-shouldered man, with thick fair hair and a lean, aristocratic face, waiting.

      He was somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, she guessed, and extremely well dressed, with a quiet air of authority and self-confidence.

      Level brows, several shades darker than his hair, high cheekbones, a strong, bony nose and a mouth that was at once austere and sensual made him one of the most fascinating men she had ever seen.

      Becoming aware that she was doing what Sojo would have described as gawping at him, she pulled herself together and said with a smile, ‘Good morning.’