shut her eyes again so she wouldn’t have to see the anxious faces of the Bookends staff. ‘Why does he want to see me? We’re at Lavinia’s wake. Can’t it wait?’
‘Apparently not.’ It was Sebastian’s turn to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his elegant, aquiline nose. ‘If you don’t start moving, I will put you over my shoulder and God knows, I really could do without the hernia.’
That had Posy jumping to her feet. ‘I don’t weigh that much. Thank you!’ she added to Nina, who’d produced a safety pin from the depths of her bag and was waving it in Posy’s face.
Then, with Sebastian gripping her elbow, because he was incapable of keeping his hands to himself as Posy tried to reunite the two sides of her dress, she found herself hustled out of the room.
They walked – well, Sebastian strode and Posy scurried to keep up with him – down a long corridor hung with portraits of the late, esteemed lady members of the club.
Then, just as they reached a door marked ‘Private’, it suddenly swung open and a small figure swathed in black appeared, paused for a second then threw herself at Posy.
‘Oh, Posy! Isn’t this awful?’
It was Mariana, Sebastian’s mother, Lavinia’s only child. Despite Lavinia’s request, she was dressed in black from head to toe, her severe attire completed with a beautiful, full-length black lace mantilla, which was a touch of overkill, but then Mariana could never resist a dramatic gesture.
Posy closed her arms around the older woman, who clung to her as if she were the last lifebelt on the Titanic. ‘It is awful,’ Posy said with a sigh. ‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the church but I’m so, so sorry for your loss.’
Mariana had nothing sarcastic to say about Posy trotting out that well-used phrase. Instead, she clutched Posy’s hands tight as a tear trickled slowly down one baby-smooth cheek. She’d had some work done, but even some skilful and discreet fillers and a little Botox couldn’t dim Mariana’s fragile, delicate beauty.
She reminded Posy of a peony that had blossomed gloriously and was now one sunny day away from drooping gently and gracefully; its petals wilting ever so slightly under close scrutiny.
‘What am I going to do without Mummy?’ Mariana asked Posy mournfully. ‘We spoke every day and she always used to remind me when it was a rollover on EuroMillions so I could ask the butler to go out and buy a ticket.’
‘I’ll call you when it’s a rollover on EuroMillions,’ Posy said, even as Sebastian folded his arms and leaned back against the door with a put-upon sigh, as if he was about to be dragooned into EuroMillions servitude too.
People thought that Mariana was a silly woman because she cultivated an air of vague helplessness that had ensnared four husbands, each more rich and titled than the last, but she was also as kind as Lavinia had been. Sweeter too, because Lavinia had refused to suffer fools, whereas Mariana was so soft-hearted that she suffered along with anyone who was in pain.
When Posy’s parents had died, Lavinia and her husband Peregrine had been two rocks of utter steadfastness but it had been Mariana who had jetted in from Monaco and had swept Posy and her brother, Sam, off to Regent Street. She’d taken Posy – still stunned by the knowledge that suddenly she was an orphan at twenty-one, as well as legal guardian to a devastated eight-year-old – to Jaeger to buy a coat and dress for the funeral. As Posy had mechanically undressed and then dressed in whatever she was handed, Mariana had come into the changing room, cupped Posy’s face in her hands and said, ‘I know you think I’m a silly, vain woman, but the funeral will be hard, probably the hardest day you’ll ever have to get through, darling. A beautiful dress, a well-cut coat – they’re armour. And they’ll be two less things for you to worry about when I know you have the weight of the world on your poor, young shoulders.’
Once dress and coat had been purchased, Mariana had taken them to Hamleys Toy Shop and bought Sam a huge train set, which when assembled took over their entire living room and most of the hall.
Since then, every few months Mariana would send Posy beautiful designer clothes and Sam a huge box of toys. Although Mariana seemed to think that Posy could squeeze herself into an XS when she was an M at the least, and that Sam had remained eight for the last seven years, she had the best of intentions.
And on what had to be Mariana’s hardest ever day, Posy wanted to do what she could to ease her burden. She squeezed Mariana’s hands. ‘Honestly, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, I’ll try to help. I’m not just saying it because it’s what people say in these sorts of situations, I really mean it.’
‘Oh, Posy, no one can help me,’ Mariana told her sorrowfully, and Posy tried to think of some other words of comfort, but she could feel her throat aching, eyes smarting, as if her own tears weren’t far off. So she said nothing but stared down at the safety pin that was anchoring her dress together, until Mariana slipped her hands out of Posy’s. ‘I need to be alone with my thoughts.’
Sebastian and Posy watched Mariana glide down the corridor, until she turned a corner and was gone. ‘I guarantee that she’ll be bored rigid after three minutes alone with her thoughts,’ he said to Posy. ‘Five, tops.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she won’t,’ Posy said, though she too doubted Mariana’s staying power. Someone who’d had that many husbands couldn’t be expected to do that well under her own steam. ‘This lawyer, then?’
‘In here,’ Sebastian said, opening the door and giving Posy a firm push, as if he suspected that she might bolt. She was certainly thinking about it. But Sebastian flexed his fingers against the small of her back and that was all she needed to propel herself forwards in an effort to get away from the burning brand of his touch through the cotton of her dress.
It was a small sitting room where the ubiquitous wood panelling had been ignored in favour of chintz. So much chintz; be-swagging and be-swathing everything from curtains and pelmets to the sofa and chairs. Posy stood uncertainly in the doorway as Sebastian sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs. His socks were the same shade of red as his shirt and pocket square. Even the laces of his highly polished black brogues were red.
Posy wondered if Sebastian had different coloured laces to match each of his shirts, and whether he spent five minutes every morning threading them through his shoes or if he had a minion to do it for him …
‘Earth to Morland! Don’t tell me you need to be alone with your thoughts too.’
She blinked. ‘What? No! Your shoes.’
‘What?’ he echoed in an exasperated tone. ‘I do think you might say hello to Mr Powell. And to think that you always accuse me of being rude.’
Posy tore her gaze away from Sebastian to see that, sitting on the other side of the room, was a middle-aged man in a grey suit and half-moon spectacles. He waggled his fingers in a half-hearted greeting.
‘Jeremy Powell, the late Mrs Thorndyke’s solicitor,’ he said. He looked down at the sheaf of papers on his lap. ‘And you are Ms Morland?’
‘Posy. Hello.’ She took a deep breath and clutched her hands together. ‘Is this about the shop? We’ve all wondered … but I didn’t think we’d hear so soon. Are you selling it?’
They’d lost so much, she and Sam: their mother and father, Peregrine, then Lavinia and now Bookends,
