‘That’s hardly unusual,’ Jemma commented.
‘But he isn’t out buying books or sneaking into Rolando’s. He’s upstairs in his flat. I don’t know what he’s doing up there, but when he does come downstairs he looks worried. I’ve tried asking if he’s OK, but he just brushes me off and goes out. I’d follow him, but obviously I can’t leave the shop.’ His eyes darted around guiltily. ‘I shouldn’t be here now, but I asked Carl to mind the till upstairs for a few minutes while I came to see you. Raphael went out at eleven, and he hadn’t returned by the time I left. I checked Rolando’s, but he wasn’t there.’
‘What does Carl think?’ asked Jemma.
Luke stared. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘We’ve barely seen each other,’ said Jemma. ‘He’s been busy with his play, I’ve been busy here, and our phones are playing up.’
‘Well, he’s downstairs, so he doesn’t see as much of Raphael anyway,’ said Luke. ‘But he agrees he isn’t his usual self.’ He paused. ‘Could you come and talk to Raphael when Maddy returns from lunch? He’s more likely to tell you.’
Jemma’s first impulse was to say no, she couldn’t possibly, she was far too busy with running her own place. Then all the support that Raphael had given her rushed in like a determined wave. ‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if it will do any good, but I’ll pop down as soon as Maddy gets back. Maybe I can loosen his tongue.’
‘I hope so,’ said Luke. ‘It will be nice to see you in the shop for a change. You’ve been quite a stranger this last week.’
‘I know,’ said Jemma. She sighed. ‘I’m starting to think running my own bookshop isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.’
‘It looks great,’ said Luke. ‘And I like the new name. It does seem a lot friendlier.’
‘Despite Maddy’s best efforts,’ said Jemma. She had done her best to be nice to Maddy and make her feel appreciated, but her behaviour varied with the weather. Some days she was willing and helpful; others she was uncommunicative and sulky. It didn’t seem to relate to the books she sold, the customers who came in, or anything in particular. Jemma had been forced to conclude that she was moody and a bit unpredictable.
‘I’m sure it’ll all work out,’ said Luke, and Jemma recognised his tone as a soothing one. ‘I really had better go. Hope to see you later.’ And with that he whisked through the door, wincing as he stepped over the threshold.
***
In the end, Jemma didn’t leave The Friendly Bookshop until nearly two o’clock. Maddy had taken her full lunch hour, which of course she was perfectly entitled to do, but Jemma couldn’t help thinking that it was typical of her to do that when Jemma needed to be somewhere else. Then Jemma had to explain that she was popping out to Burns Books and wasn’t sure when she would be back, and leave Maddy a list of things to get on with, since she had found herself unable to concentrate for wondering about Raphael. And as Jemma was winding that up she had realised how hungry she was, and nipped upstairs for a fortifying helping of cheese on toast. It wasn’t that she was delaying her visit; more that she wanted to be fully prepared for any eventuality.
Perhaps he’s worried about another challenge, she thought, as she hurried down Charing Cross Road. Maybe he’s going out and researching books. Or maybe he is going on book-buying trips, and he hasn’t mentioned it to Luke.
She pushed open the door of Burns Books and found Luke at the till, dealing expertly with a line of customers holding piles of books. He smiled at Jemma before he registered who she was, and then the smile vanished as if someone had wiped it away.
‘Is the boss in?’ asked Jemma, a cold hand clutching at her heart.
‘He’s upstairs in his rooms,’ said Luke. ‘A letter came, and he said he needed time to read it.’ The smile reappeared. ‘Cash or card, madam?’
Jemma walked towards the back of the shop and knocked at the door which led to Raphael’s quarters.
There was no response.
She knocked again. Nothing.
‘Raphael?’ she called. ‘It’s me, Jemma.’
Silence.
Then she heard a yowl from upstairs. Folio. She tried the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it opened.
Could it be an anonymous letter? she thought as she climbed the stairs. A threatening letter, like the ones we got before? But that had been dealt with, and she was pretty sure that neither of the perpetrators would try that again. Certainly not with Raphael.
At the top of the stairs was another closed door. Jemma knocked. ‘Raphael, it’s Jemma. I’ve come to see you.’
He is there, isn’t he? Then something worse occurred to her. He hasn’t … done anything?
Folio yowled and scratched at the door. Jemma swallowed the hard lump of terror that had lodged in her throat, and opened it.
Inside, it was dark. All the curtains were drawn. Folio rubbed against her shin and meowed, and she reached down carefully to stroke him. He seemed the same size as usual, but his fur was a mess of tangles and burrs. ‘Poor Folio,’ she said, and Folio purred in agreement.
‘Is Raphael here?’ she asked the cat.
Folio answered with a short meow and dashed towards the left-hand door, which Jemma was pretty sure led to Raphael’s sitting room, though she had never actually been upstairs. She knocked, then entered.
Jemma didn’t often think about how Raphael lived, but if ever she did, she imagined good-quality furnishings worn with age, possibly with an air of decayed grandeur. Once her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim room, she saw that if anything, it was spartan. A threadbare high-backed armchair; a small side table with a reading lamp; an old-style television on a rickety-looking unit. The floorboards were covered with a large, worn rug. The most luxurious thing about the room was the wall of shelves that faced her, filled with books and occasional devices which looked as if they might well be either magical, dangerous, or both.
But the focal point of the room was Raphael. He was sitting in the armchair, one hand supporting his forehead, the other clutching a letter with what looked like an official seal at the top. His eyes were squeezed tight shut. Folio hopped onto the other arm of the chair and butted Raphael’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Raphael, what’s up?’ Jemma advanced into the room, then crouched beside the armchair. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Folio meowed again and rubbed his head on Raphael’s upper arm. And Raphael ignored him. Jemma had never, ever, seen him fail to respond to Folio.
Suddenly she had an idea. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, and ran first down to the ground floor, then to the lower bookshop, where Carl was leaning against the café counter, enjoying a brief lull in customers.
‘A double espresso and a cinnamon roll please, as quickly as you can,’ she said.
Carl raised his eyebrows.
‘Don’t ask questions,’ Jemma said. ‘It’s urgent. This could be a matter of life and death.’
Once she was equipped, Jemma hurried back up to Raphael and shoved the coffee and the cinnamon roll under his nose. He sniffed, then an eye opened and swivelled round to the cinnamon roll. ‘Is that for me?’ he asked.