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have failed to recognise her and, knowing the
bookseller, had used this short cut to get back to his
office.
Except that his office was in the other direction.
Belinda stepped over volumes of verse and made
her way to the door. It gave easily, but came to a
sudden halt with just enough space for a thin person to
squeeze through. The alleyway was littered with papers
and broken bottles. Belinda was about to close the
door, satisfied that she had found Mr Munro s escape
route, when a door in the building opposite opened and
Mr Munro himself emerged. With a quick glance about
him the old solicitor hurried away down the alley,
pulling his coat tightly around him to ward off the chill
wind.
Belinda was about to call to him when a hairy hand
grasped her shoulder.
With a faint scream of fear, Belinda turned to face
her assailant.
Seven
What d you think you re playing at? growled the obese
bookseller, his fingers tightening on Belinda s shoulder.
Oh. I m sorry, Belinda gasped, trying to free herself
from the man s grip. Up close, Belinda thought he
resembled Charles Laughton in one of his seedier
roles, possibly the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I was
just looking for a book.
The man ran his eye down Belinda s form and
loosened his grasp. Oh yeah? What sort of book?
Over his shoulder Belinda glimpsed a row of
gardening books, decayed to the point where they
would be mulch themselves before long.
A gardening book.
The man gave her a small shove as he released
her. The cigarette quivered on his lip.
Don t sell any. He waved the pink covered
romance novel as if to prove the fact.
Belinda thought the man needed all the romance he
could get. Her eyes flicked to the books behind him.
But you have a shelf full just there.
She pointed over his shoulder. The man half turned
and glanced at the shelves.
Like I said, we don t sell gardening books.
The fool must be vision-impaired as well as gross,
Belinda reflected. By now she was beginning to get
nervous. There was something detestable about this
man and she just wanted to get away from him.
Who told you about this place?
Who indeed? Belinda gave the first name that came
into her head.
Mr Munro.
The man paused as he began to blow his nose on a
particularly revolting handkerchief. You know old
Munro?
Yes, he s my solicitor. He said you might be able to
help me with gardening books.
The foul handkerchief found its way into the man s
equally malodorous pocket. Got some gardening to
do? he enquired suspiciously.
Belinda nodded. Yes. I ve just come into some
property and the garden is a mess.
The man grunted. So you re the niece, are you?
He eyed Belinda speculatively.
Do you mean you know about my aunt? Belinda
was astounded.
The bookseller nodded slowly as though considering
something of great value. Heard she snuffed it
recently. Fell down the stairs, didn t she?
Yes. It was dreadful. But how did you know?
The man shrugged. Word gets around. Heard that
a relative had inherited the place when she died. He
eyed Belinda thoughtfully as though disillusioned.
Thought it was an American.
Did you know her? My aunt?
Only as a customer, he replied, wiping his nose on
the back of his hirsute hand.
A customer? Belinda could not imagine her aunt
frequenting this shabby establishment. Was she
selling some of her books?
Buying, actually.
What did she buy?
Nothing.
But you said she was buying.
She was looking for something.
Belinda waited for the man to continue but his
attention seemed to wander to the book in his hand as
though eager to immerse himself in nefarious amorous
entanglements.
What was she looking for?
Can t remember now &
He searched the cobweb-covered roof as though
expecting to find the answer there.
Well, prompted Belinda acidly, perhaps she
wanted a book.
The man shook head. No & not a book & a map.
A map? A map of what?
Not sure really. She seemed rather vague.
Just like you, thought Belinda. Out loud she asked:
Was it a map of Bath? Or maybe London?
No & I remember now. It was a map of the area
around Milford. Near where she lived.
Did you sell her one?
Couldn t. I don t sell maps. Suddenly he stood
erect, or as erect as it was possible for him to do. Like
I said, we have no gardening books. Now you d better
be on your bike. It s closing time. He turned and,
taking hold of Belinda s arm, led the way back over the
disintegrating books that lay scattered about the floor.
Without a further word from the bookseller, Belinda
found herself expelled from the bookshop and heard
the door slam behind her. As she leant against the
window and took a deep breath, she glimpsed a hairy
hand as it spun the card bearing the inscription
CLOSED towards an indifferent passing public.
So aunt Jane had wanted a map of Milford. Why
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