Love Letters Read Online Free

ransom working in a bookshop, but at least it paid the bills and she couldn’t be reckless and agree to something on the basis of an as yet unspecified fee.
    ‘But you said! You’ve still got your job at the shop for the next two months! And all the big festivals are mostly run by volunteers.’
    ‘I can’t afford to be a volunteer, I need paid work,’ she gently reminded Eleanora.
    ‘As I said, you’ve got that!’
    ‘But Miss—’
    ‘Eleanora.’
    ‘Eleanora . . .’ she blundered on, not quite happy with calling this woman she didn’t know very well by her first name. ‘I’m paid to work in a bookshop. That means I have to be there, doing my job.’
    ‘Oh, your boss will give you time off to run the festival! I’m sure he will! He seemed such a nice man.’
    She was probably right about this, Laura acknowledged. Henry would be as helpful as possible and give her as much time off as she needed if it involved her getting paid work. But she wouldn’t do it unless there was money involved. It would be gross foolishness and unfair to Henry. And when she thought of what her parents would say if she admitted to working for even less than she was currently earning, she reached for her wine for support. They still hadn’t quite forgiven her for doing English at university instead of studying something that would give her a job that paid ‘proper money’.
    ‘All that student debt,’ they had said, ‘and you’ll never be able to pay it off!’
    When she’d told them that if her wages were so low she wouldn’t have to pay it off, they weren’t remotely impressed. Nor was she, really. She didn’t like being in debt to the government but she still wasn’t going to study to be an accountant.
    ‘Just go to the meeting,’ said Eleanora. ‘If your boss doesn’t want to give you time off, I’ll speak to him. Once you’ve seen the house and met my niece, you’ll want to do it. I promise you.’
    ‘I’d better not go then,’ muttered Laura. Eleanora didn’t hear, but then Laura hadn’t intended her to.

Chapter Two

    ‘So,’ said Grant in the shop the next day, before he’d even got his coat off, ‘did you sit next to the wunderkind?’ They were in the stockroom that combined as a staffroom, in the basement of the building.
    ‘Oh, you mean Damien?’ As usual, Laura had got in early, and had finished the clearing up that Grant and Henry had promised they’d do, before going downstairs and putting on the kettle. ‘No. He was surrounded by beautiful young women who worked in the publicity department.’
    ‘Jealous?’ asked Grant, tipping half a jar of instant coffee into a mug. He was the sort of person who always wanted to know how everyone felt. Laura often told him he should give up bookselling and become a counsellor – it would be his ideal job.
    She shook her head, squishing her peppermint tea bag against the side of the mug with a spoon. ‘No. Not my type.’
    ‘So what is your type?’ Grant poured boiling water on to the coffee.
    ‘I don’t know really.’ Laura scooped out her bag and dropped it into the bin-liner she’d just put in place. ‘I don’t fancy many people.’
    ‘You must have some idea. If I’m going to help you find a boyfriend, I must know what I’m looking for.’
    Laura laughed. ‘I don’t want you to find me a boyfriend! I’ll find my own if I want one!’
    Grant made a face of utter revulsion as he sipped his coffee. ‘Of course you want one, darling, we all do. I just need to know the type. Pipe and slippers? Snappy dresser? Yoghurt-knitter-and-dedicated-recycler? Actual cycler?’
    ‘I think the word you’re looking for is cyclist.’
    ‘You’re such a pedant sometimes, Laura. And you must have some idea of your basic type.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ They’d had this sort of conversation before and it never led anywhere. Although she had no particular ambition to end up a lonely spinster with the regulation cat, she did sometimes feel it