A BOOK FOR CHRISTMAS Christopher Hallam
‘Can I help you?’ Albion Street, his fingers nimbly parcelling a book for despatch in the evening’s post, spoke to the lady who had just entered the shop.
Mrs. Evelyn Harcourt glanced uncertainly round the small premises packed overwhelmingly with books.
Her winter coat was flecked with sleet, watery jewels evaporating in the warmth which was provided by burbling gas heaters, their fumes tainting the air. She hooked her umbrella on the edge of the counter and regarded Street, a short, waistcoated man with greased black hair.
‘I’m looking for a book—a Christmas present for a friend,’ she replied. Her measured, educated tones matched her elegant forty something poise which, together with her quality clothes, categorized her in Street’s eyes as ‘in the money’. A customer to attend to dutifully.
‘Plenty to choose from here,’ he said affably, knotting the parcel and cutting the string.
As proprietor of Crowley’s Books (antiquarian and collectable), hewas proud of his reputation of being able to supply sought-after books, especially signed first editions.
. . .
