Page 26 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“I… haven’t picked a name yet, but it’s opening soon. If you know anyone who’s sick of being underpaid, feel free to send them my way. I’ll be needing a good maître d’ soon.”

Walter looked her up and down, stone-faced. “I have work to do,” he said at last, pursing his lips. Anna sighed and turned to leave, resigning herself to defeat – but he called after her.

“This restaurant of yours. Is it real, or are you just messing with me?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, you’ve got some nerve, showing up here to poach the staff. Is that why you wanted to speak to José?”

“Surely you can’t expect anything but the utmost discretion from me.”

Walter sighed. “Naturally.”

He took a deep breath, and an abrupt change came over him. He seemed warmer somehow.

“He was fired not long after you left.”

“Who, José? He’s the best sous-chef I’ve ever worked with!”

“How many have you worked with, exactly?”

“Why was he fired?”

“There was a serious incident in the kitchen. I can’t say any more than that, and please keep it confidential. Poor guy had a hard time finding another position. Last I heard, he was working in a Mediterranean place on the east side of town. Le Conquistador.” Walter shook his head, as if it pained him just to say it aloud. “Of course, it goes without saying that you didn’t hear any of this from me,” he added.

“Understood.”

Walter caught her arm, leaned in, and murmured, “Let me know when your place opens. I’ll come and see how you’re running the floor.”

Then he let her go and vanished into the kitchen. Anna left the restaurant, shaken.

She hadn’t come to recruit José. Trying to haul him off a cruise ship onto her barely floating dinghy would’ve been both absurd and far beyond her means. That being said, it didn’t take a genius to link his firing to the poisoning of Commissioner Jabert, and she felt responsible for what had happened to him. She’d go and find him as soon as possible – or at least, as soon as she’d thought of a way to make amends.

She checked her watch and hurried off. She made her way down the station boulevard and arrived slightly late at the café where her contractor sat waiting. Monsieur Bariquez seemed competent and honest, albeit impossibly stubborn when it came to his rates. His round glasses made him appear vaguely professorial – until he started talking, as he spoke a kind of pidgin dialect that suggested a childhood scattered across several countries. Every third sentence, he repeated the phrase “No promesas en el aire, no discutir la calidad”: “No empty promises, no compromises on quality.” Referring to the kitchen, he assured Anna with gravity that the ventilacióne would be essenciale, adding that he was un experto in such matters.

Anna was inclined to believe him, though it was hard to keep her focus. Guilt tugged at her every time she pictured poor José stirring paella in Le Conquistador’s kitchen – not that she had anything against paella per se, but it was a terrible waste of the sous-chef’s talent.

Eventually, Monsieur Bariquez agreed to shave five percent off the quote, but not before swearing three times that he was bleeding himself dry for her, and that he wouldn’t even consider it if she wasn’t so bonita (which apparently he meant as ‘nice’). Anna thanked him, signed the estimate, and handed him a deposit cheque.

Leaving the café, she told herself that a good book might be just the thing to take her mind off things. A completely random decision, of course, that guided her footsteps just a short way down the street.

* * *

Mitch was chewing absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, buried in his inventory, when the door swung open.

“So, what book would you suggest?” asked the new customer.

He froze mid-chew. His jaw dropped a good few centimetres, his eyebrows rising by at least that much.

“Book?” he echoed stupidly.

“That is why people usually come in here, isn’t it?”

She flashed him that open, unfiltered smile – the kind that slipped out whenever she was being spontaneous, shooting quips she then immediately regretted making.

““Uh… yeah,”Mitch mumbled. “Ordinarily.”

“Well, then I’m in the right place, because I’m an ordinary woman. Totally ordinary, even,” Anna said, glancing down at her old raincoat.