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

Make It Legit

When they were returning from Henry's walk the next day, Anya saw Sally's car parked in front of the house - and next to it, a perfectly clean black Range Rover of the latest model. Something unpleasantly clenched between Anya's ribs on her right side.

"Mum?" Varya asked in a tiny voice. "Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know," Anya said and pushed the pram with Henry to the entrance.

The boy had started fussing about five minutes ago. His nappy probably needed changing, and he should be hungry by now. Henry had no patience when it came to either inconvenience.

"Maybe it's one of the Holyoakes." Varya sounded hopeful. "Remember the one who gave us the lift that one time? He was dishy."

Anya momentarily forgot her anxiety and gawked at her daughter. Varya giggled.

"He is in love with his ex-wife," Anya said, and then added, not entirely sure why, "Mr. Bjornsson's mum was a Holyoake."

"Klaus' mum?"

"Don't call him that," Anya said strictly, her mood immediately sour. "He's my employer. He's not our... friend."

Despite you so brazenly claiming the opposite last night, Anyutka.

"He told me to," Varya grumbled defensively.

"He was just being polite. It's not our place to be that familiar with someone like him."

The girl pouted, immediately looking like her Dad. Anya sighed and pulled at the door handle.

"Oh there she is!" Sally's voice rang from the lounge. She showed up in the door frame a second later, some sort of a crooked, nervous smile on her face. "Ah, Anya, dear, you shouldn't have stayed outside for that long. You must be freezing. Let me take Henry."

She dashed to the pram, and Henry burst into his habitual fake crying. It was his favourite ploy: he opened his mouth and made a low-pitched, monotonous noise, his eyes dry, watching those around him attentively.

"He's just hungry," Anya rushed to explain. "I'll just change him quickly, and–"

"Oh, don't be silly!" Sally exclaimed in an unnaturally jolly voice, picked up the boy, and headed towards the stairs. "We have a guest. Mr. Bjornsson is waiting for you in the sitting room. Go, go! I'll bring tea in a moment!"

Anya stared after the woman in shock - and felt Varya's cold hand clutch at her fingers.

"Mum?" Varya whispered frantically.

Anya pulled herself together.

"Go upstairs to our room," she ordered and unzipped her coat.

"Mum?"

"It's alright." Anya tried to give the girl a reassuring smile, but failed. "It's going to be alright."

***

"Anna, my dear! Here you are!" Anders Bjornsson roared.

He grabbed her hand and shook it so vigorously that she wobbled.

"Where's your girl, Anya?" Martin asked in a dark tone, from the corner of the room where he stood, his arms crossed. "Mr. Bjornsson wanted to meet her."

"Don't make it sound like I've come here to snoop, Martin." Bjornsson chortled. "I simply was on my way to the Ekollon cottage, and thought I'd stop by with Mrs. Ferguson's contract."

He pointed at several pages of printed text, stapled together, lying on the Fergusons' coffee table.

"For your services as my nephew's housekeeper?" Anders added, as if reminding Anya of something that had been discussed before.