The Bookshop on the Corner (25 page)

“It's not too late for you!” protested Nina.

Lesley rolled her eyes. “I have wrinkles from the crown of my head to my hairy old toes, and I work all the hours God
sends,” she said. “It was almost the cruelest thing he did, not to leave me when I still had the chance of meeting someone else, when I still had a bit of juice left in me. Me and the woman who wrote that book—we both know we're better than that. But even I don't think I'm going to be crowned queen of midsummer in a silly dress. You, on the other hand . . .”

She brought out a plastic-covered clothes bag from behind her.

“Here,” she said. “It should fit you. I was a scrawny little thing, too.”

“I'm not scrawny!” protested Nina.

“Lennox said if you were one of his lambs, he'd leave you on the hillside,” said Lesley.

“He said WHAT?” said Nina, outraged, but Lesley was still shoving the bag in her direction and not listening.

Nina looked at the crinkled plastic.

“Honestly, I don't think . . . I don't think I can.”

Lesley frowned. “Now,” she said. “You've come to this town. It's worked out better than I thought it would, I'll admit that. But you're not just here for us to give you money for books. You're in the Highlands now. We have to pull together. It's what we do. You can't just take, you have to give back. There's a lot of people who've worked incredibly hard to make tonight a success, and you owe it to them to go and support them.”

“I hadn't thought of it like that,” said Nina truthfully. Lesley waggled the bag at her one more time.

“Take it. It's going to be the most wonderful evening. Enjoy every second of it. Show everyone that you belong here.”

“I can't believe I'm being blackmailed into a party,” grumbled Nina, but she couldn't help feeling slightly excited nonetheless.

After Lesley had left, Nina carefully slipped off the plastic clothes bag, and caught her breath.

The dress was white, but it didn't look like a wedding dress. It was a very plain chiffon, high-necked, tight-waisted, with a full skirt falling to knee length. To pin to it at the shoulder and the hip was a fine tartan sash in pale greens. What really gave Nina pause, though, was the corset in deep green velvet, which laced up the front and was clearly meant to go over the top of the dress.

It was actually rather beautiful; Nina couldn't think what it reminded her of, until she remembered the illustrations of Snow White and Rose Red in her old-fashioned children's books. She smiled and spread the dress on the bed.

She wished like anything that Surinder was there. She'd have found it unutterably hilarious. She looked at her watch. It was 7
P.M.
The party started at eight. She bit her lip. Well, if she was going to have to go—and she could tell right away that now that Lesley had given her the dress, she, and probably her business, would be in huge trouble if she didn't—she was going to have to think about getting ready.

Lesley, it turned out, had been absolutely right about the size. Nina had a quick shower and washed her hair, letting it fall rather than tying it back as she normally did. It was going to be quite big and bushy, but there wasn't much she could do about that. Then she slipped the white dress over her head. It settled on her hips as though it had been made for her; it was lighter and stretchier than she'd expected. Obviously made for dancing. Then she wriggled into the corset. It covered her waist and her rib cage; her breasts, however, spilled over the top.

She looked at herself in the mirror in some astonishment. She normally preferred shapeless clothes that meant she could be comfortable. This dress, teamed with her flat ballet slippers, was incredibly comfortable. But it was also extremely provocative compared to what she wore every day.

She had a sudden panic that nobody else would be dressed like this, that it was some cruel prank to embarrass the new girl. Then she remembered Dr. MacFarlane talking about all the lovely girls, and decided it couldn't possibly be that. Could it?

Her face flushed pink as she admired herself in the mirror. The corset pulled her waist in to nothing, and her bosom, normally small and unimpressive, swelled up and over in a pleasing fashion. No wonder they used to always wear them like that in the old days, thought Nina. She tried an experimental twirl and was smiling at herself when suddenly she became aware of someone standing in the doorway.

She whisked around, gasping, horrified, realizing belatedly that it was Lennox.

For a split second, he stared straight at her, unabashed. Then he recovered himself.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he said fiercely, putting his hands up and backing away. “The door was open . . .” Nina had left it open after Lesley left, to let the soft summer breeze in through the sitting room.

“You gave me such a fright!”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not that type of landlord . . . Christ, is that the time?”

Nina smiled. “It's all right. I'm just embarrassed I got caught preening.”

He looked at her again, but rather nervously, as if he shouldn't.

“So you're going to the festival?”

“No,” snapped Nina. “This is what I wear when I need to relax.”

Lennox laughed suddenly, as if despite himself. “Actually,” he said, “I think it rather suits you.”

“Don't talk daft.”

“I'm not. You look nice. As if you've taken off your cardigan for once.”

“I don't wear a cardigan!”

“Your metaphorical cardigan. Your librarian's cardigan. It's as if . . .” This was a long speech from Lennox, and he seemed to be flailing a little bit. “It's as if you pull something around yourself, make yourself look smaller and more insignificant. Than you really are.”

Nina blinked.

“Like you don't want anyone to notice you.”

“In case they want to leave me on a hillside.”

Lennox looked puzzled. “Sorry?”

“Never mind.”

He immediately turned to go. He got halfway down the path, stopped at the van, then turned around again.

“You can't drive that death trap up there. Want a ride?”

“You're going?” said Nina in surprise.

“I am if I want people in this town to buy my wool again,” snorted Lennox. “No bloody choice, have I?”

Nina smiled. “Well then. Maybe this time you'll start dancing a bit earlier.”

His forehead creased in confusion; he had obviously forgotten the barn dance completely.

“Wouldnae have thought so,” he said, heading toward the house. “See you in twenty minutes.”

“You have two kilts?” said Nina in astonishment, looking at him twenty minutes later. She had attempted to tame her hair, without success, and had ended up simply twisting two strands from the front to the back, in the style of a coronet. She had given up completely on the tartan sash, not having the faintest idea what to do with it. She noticed now that it was the same tartan as Lennox's kilt, a soft green-gray.

“Have you got two pairs of jeans?” growled Lennox. He had washed his hair, and it fell in soft curls, not hidden as it usually was beneath a flat cap. Likewise, without the waxed jacket on, Nina noticed once again the breadth of the shoulders, his slim but muscular build. He wasn't over worked out—she couldn't imagine him ever working out, as if farmers ever needed artificial exercise—nor skinny, just nicely proportioned. The gray-green of the tartan made his eyes seem an even stronger blue.

“Yes, but . . .” Nina decided this line of conversation was pointless.

“Where's your sash?”

“Um, I didn't know what to do with it.”

“So you didn't even try? Bring it here.”

He stood by the Land Rover and gravely, and with care, pinned the sash to her hip and her shoulder. As he straightened it, they were suddenly standing uncomfortably close to each other, and Nina realized she was holding her breath. She immediately gave herself a stiff telling-off and jumped into the front seat, then out again when she saw that Parsley was already in there.

“Does Parsley dance a lot?”

Lennox shrugged. “He likes a party. More than I do, at any rate.”

“Will I sit in the back?”

“Don't be ridiculous. On boy, on.” The dog immediately moved to the back.

Nina turned and rubbed Parsley's ears affectionately. “You gorgeous boy, you.”

Parsley licked her hand. Lennox glanced over.

“You're very soppy about that dog.”

“Because he is so very lovely.” Lovelier than you deserve, she thought, but didn't say.

“Kate always said he was too nice for me,” said Lennox, reading her thoughts.

They bounced down the rutted track in silence. There were more cars on the road than usual, partly because normally there weren't any cars on the road at all, and most were heading up the hill toward Coran Mhor, full of jolly and excitable people including, thank goodness, lots of white dresses and girls spilling out of them. Nina looked out of the window, as Lennox seemed typically unwilling to get involved in a conversation. The evening was dreamy and clear, puffs of cloud settling; the sun looked unwilling to move anywhere.

“How's the train driver?” said Lennox awkwardly, from out of the blue.

Nina looked at him in shock. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, is he coming or what?”

“Um. No. NO, of course not. No. It wasn't . . . it didn't . . .”

Lennox cut his eyes toward her. “Not quite what you'd thought?”

There was a long silence in the car.

“He had . . . it turned out he already had a family.” Nina hated having to admit it, to say it out loud. “Not that it's any of your business.”

Lennox paused and patted the dog, who'd stuck his head in between the two of them in the front.

“Sorry,” he said finally. “I shouldn't have asked. I did have a bad feeling about him. Something about the way he wouldn't meet my eyes.”

“Maybe he just thought you were grumpy and scary,” said Nina.

Lennox looked surprised. “I'm not like that at all.”

Nina harrumphed. “Yeah, right, okay.”

“I just work hard, that's all. People think there's nothing to keeping a big farm going, but it's a hell of a job . . .”

He caught the look on Nina's face.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Well, who doesn't think farming is an incredibly hard job? But I see Fat Tam out having fun at the pub all the time, and other farmers have a good time. Loads of people have tough jobs, but it doesn't make them miserable all the time.”

Lennox went quiet for a moment.

“No,” he said finally. “I suppose not. I suppose . . . for the last few years . . .”

He paused again, and looked at the bright green hills rolling past the windshield.

“The last few years . . . have been difficult. And it's as if . . . I don't know if you'll know what I mean, but it's as if somehow being low has . . . it feels like it's become rather a habit.”