The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [66]
‘Oh!’ I yelped in alarm. Jumped back into Malcolm's patch. ‘Malcolm, I don't believe it!’
‘I had to, Evie.’ He'd got up to join me now, hands in his pockets as he came through sheepishly. ‘Those huge chains with their massive discounts – I simply couldn't compete. It was a case of that, or going bust. We were both sinking, and he'd only been open a year. I was desperate, and he approached me one day, asked me to have lunch.’
‘No!’
‘He's rather nice, actually. Anyway, he put a proposal to me. Threw me a lifeline, really. But one he needed too. And here we are. My highly commerical shop with a children's section and cards and wrapping paper, and his highly intellectual one with History, Art and Philosophy.’
‘And?’ I was agog.
‘And…’ he said cautiously, ‘if last month's takings are anything to go by, it works. Or is working. I've got my loyal customers and he's got his, but when they've got their new Napoleon biography, they pop in here for something for the wife. A Joanna Trollope, maybe, or something for the mother-in-law, and vice versa. My clients go in there for their dads on Father's Day.’ He shrugged. ‘So far so good.’
‘Crikey.’ I was astonished. ‘Oh, Malcolm, I'm thrilled.’ I was. I know the last time I'd been in, which, I'm ashamed to say was a couple of months ago, he'd been worried sick. It must have been just before he was approached.
‘So what's he like?’ I asked, gripped. ‘I mean – d'you get on? As partners?’
‘He's rather attractive, actually.’
‘Oh – is he…?’
‘No, no, dead hetero. I just meant easy on the eye, which is a blessed relief since I've got to work with him, and you know my unfortunate allergy to unattractive people.’ He grinned. ‘And he's not nearly as much of an arrogant shit as I thought. There's still a pretty unpleasant smell under his nose, but the more I delve, the more I have reason to believe he has just cause and impediment. Oh, hello…’ His mobile rang. He drew it out of his jeans pocket and looked at it. ‘Talk of the devil. He's supposed to be relieving me tonight – in the nicest possible way. We're supposed to be stock-taking, but I'm allowed out. Got a date.’
‘Have you? Oh, Malcolm, good. I'm so pleased. Anyone nice?’
‘D'you know how much like a mother you sound? Hang on.’ He was reading a text. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed.
‘Says he'll be here in a mo. Apparently he got held up by some middle-aged tart in Miss Whiplash knickers who threw a jar of sexual lubricant at him she was so desperate. Oh, here he is now.’
I glanced around in horror as the door opened, and pocketing his mobile in his flapping overcoat, in swept Green Eyes.
14
I gaped. ‘Oh God.’
His face darkened as he registered me. ‘Jesus.’
Malcolm raised his eyebrows. ‘Shall I invoke the Holy Ghost and complete the trilogy?’ He glanced at me, then back at him. ‘You two know each other?’
I was already squaring up. ‘I'll have you know,’ I seethed, ‘that my underwear, up until today, has never been anything other than snowy white and my moisturizing cream has never been used for anything other than lubricating my face!’
‘Then you've got problems,’ he drawled, shutting the door behind him. ‘A cross-Channel swimmer would be pleased with the level of heavy-duty emollient you sport.’
‘Oh!’ My jaw dropped. ‘How dare you?’
‘I dare because I've just scraped it off the back seat of my car. Something you didn't even stop to offer to do!’
‘Whoa, whoa!’ Malcolm sprang between us, palms up, like a referee between a couple of prizefighters. ‘Easy there, Evie. Steady, Ludo.’
‘Ludo?’ I scoffed. ‘Pretentious bloody name. Poo-Face suits you much better.’
‘What?’
‘Poo-Face. It's what Malc—’
‘Ah ha ha!’ laughed Malcolm nervously, turning huge appalled eyes on me. ‘Now clearly something untoward has gone on here and you two have got off on the wrong foot, but there's no need to—’
‘I'll say it's the wrong foot,