Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Tomorrow

A fortnight later...

Anya locked the Rover and slowly walked to the entrance door. Her hand hovered over the handle, and she threw a glance behind her, over her shoulder. It had rained recently, and the gravel was dark. Water glistened on the roof and the sides of the car, just as it always did. The outline of the Rover was a familiar shape against the lit-up wall of the Hall. Tomorrow, Anya thought, all of this could be gone. Tomorrow, none of it might matter.

She opened the door and entered the vestibule. The familiar smell of the bergamot and Chinese camellia - according to the bottle of the posh room spray that Mrs. Little daily used around the house - tickled Anya's nose.

"Good evening, madam," the housekeeper said quietly, showing up from the hallway leading to the eastern wing. "Sir Niklas has gone up already, and I believe Ms. Varya is with him."

Anya nodded, took off her anorak, and hung it in the wardrobe next to the door. The silence in the house seemed so tense that she didn't feel like speaking.

"Your bags are ready, and Fredriksson will have the car ready at six thirty, as discussed," Mrs. Little added.

Anya sighed and looked up at the woman. The usual silent understanding ran between them.

"If Varya asks to stay home from school tomorrow–" Anya said, her voice wavering.

"I'll look after her," the housekeeper finished Anya's faltering statement.

"Thank you, Mrs. Little."

Anya couldn't help but to give the vestibule a look over. She felt like she was seeing the Hall for the first time - or perhaps, the last one. One really starts appreciating having something when they are in danger of losing it, innit?

Anya walked upstairs, stopped by her - former - bedroom, washed her hands in the ensuite, and walked to Klaus' door. How many times has she done this? Will there be another night like this - her coming to him? To his - or really, their - bedroom?

She'd prohibited herself from making plans for after. If there were to be 'after,' she told herself, every second would be a gift, a miracle, no matter how hard or miserable. Any 'ever after' is a happy ever after, she kept repeating her new motto in her head.

Klaus was sitting on his bed, his orthopaedic pillow behind his back. He'd been unable to leave it for the last four days. 72 hours without codeine painkillers would do it for anyone. They'd taken him off his medication a week prior to the operation. Anya had promised herself to thank him for and compliment him on snapping only once through his withdrawal; but this conversation would need to wait till - if - he was in recovery.

Varya was curled in Anya's favourite armchair, her knees pulled to her nose. The girl's sketchbook was passively lying next to her feet. Marie Laforêt's Ivan, Boris et moi was murmuring from the speaker in the corner.

Klaus' eyes flew open, and he gave Anya a weak smile.

"Hiya," Anya greeted him and walked up to the bed. "Hi, Varyuasha."

"We're listening to your French music," Varya said. "I don't fancy it."

Klaus chuckled. Anya noted his pale complexion.

"Are you listening to a song about polyamory with my child?" Anya whispered to him, hiding the pang of piercing heartbreak, clenching her heart, behind sarcasm. "Your Grandpa thought that this singer was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the Earth," Anya said to Varya.

"One is entitled to their tastes," Klaus murmured, his eyes twinkling.

"What have the two of you been up to?" Anya asked and sat down near the footboard of the bed.