“So I’m to be your patsy?” I asked. “You know, being the only single gay guy you know isn’t nearly as flattering as being called eye candy.”
“I know, that’s why I led with that.” Petra grinned and I found myself smiling back. But still.
“No,” I replied and she sighed a little.
“What are you reading?” I tipped my book up to show her the cover.
“Oh. You know we have a first edition of that back in the library at home?” she said casually. That does get my attention and I close my book.
“You have a first edition of Mary Shelley’sFrankensteinat home?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
“I think it’s a first edition. Daddy mentioned it once.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, which it definitely was, and my skin tingled like it always did when I thought about rare books.
“Do you know how much it’s worth? There are only five hundred copies of the first edition, and the last time one was sold it went for over a million pounds?”
She shrugged again.
“What else is in your library?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice, and I saw the moment Petra realised she’d got me when the sly smile appeared on her face.
“I’ll let you look if you’ll be my date for the wedding.”
So now I’m two hours early for the ceremony, ready for Petra to uphold her part of our deal before I do mine.
There’s something about viewing a private collection of books that excites me. I love being a literary agent, and over the last two years I’ve built up a solid client base. But old books, literature and their preservation, is a passion of mine. Studying someone’s library, especially one that’s been kept and added to for generations, is fascinating. Not only the books themselves, but their choices. Are they purely an investment or is there personal interest? A connection with the author perhaps. All of it is interesting.
The library at Shelton is a very large room. One end is completely lined with shelves, floor to ceiling. There’s a large mahogany desk in the centre and a large leather chair. The other end has tall windows that allow light in, but I notice—approvingly—no direct sunlight touches the books. There are also a couple of tables with wing-backed chairs arranged round them.
I stand in the shelved section and take a deep breath, savouring the scent of the old books. I half close my eyes and let them roam over the shelves. Sometimes when I do this an interesting book will catch my eye. After a couple of minutes, when nothing jumps out at me, I inspect the shelves more closely. I want to make the most of the time I have, and a small part of my mind wonders whether anyone would notice if I stayed here all day and didn’t attend the wedding. Petra would. I suppress a small groan and go back to scanning the shelves. I locate the Mary Shelley and pull it out carefully. I check and confirm it is a first edition. Now I’m really interested, as this is a true collector’s piece, and I wonder what other gems I’ll find.
I put the Shelley back and let my finger trail across the spines of the old books. They stop on a spine. I almost gasp. Surely not. I pull out the book carefully and open it to check.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself. I’m actually holding a first edition copy ofAlice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Not just any first edition, the one owned by Lewis Carroll himself. I knew it had sold at auction about a decade ago for more than a million, but no one knew who bought it. I wonder who the collector is in the family. Somehow I don’t think it’s Ru. I need to talk to them about their security.
“Do you like ancient things?”
The voice startles me and I nearly drop the book.
“Shit!” I catch it before it tumbles to the ground and then clutch it tightly to my chest. “How to give a guy a heart attack,” I grumble and look up, straight into the face of Chase Knightly. I nearly do have a heart attack; it at least skips a beat. Super handsome and uber rich Chase, who hasn’t got in touch since I gave him my contact details a month ago. I ignore the pang of disappointment that gives me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says smoothly and nods towards the book. “Is it rare? The way you looked at it, I thought it might be.”
It’s not my place to discuss another person’s collection, or its value, so I shelve the book. “It’s interesting,” I give as my answer.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He smiles and my brain scrambles to remember what he asked. Oh, about ancient stuff. I wouldn’t call Chase ancient, he’s maybe twenty years older than me, but he’s fit and gorgeous. He’s still looking at me, and I realise I still haven’t answered. I need to get my mind back on track as that wasn’t what he meant.
“Um, yes, books. I like old books. It’s a hobby of mine. Well, more than a hobby, as I did my degree in book preservation.” I tend to talk a lot and fast when I get going, especially if I’m nervous. Which I am, a little. Finding my hands with nothing to do, I push my glasses up my nose.
“Why did you become a literary agent, then?” He seems genuinely interested, so I answer.
“I also like the publishing business, I find it interesting. And I like helping authors, working with them to find the right publishing house. There’s something extremely satisfying about getting a really good deal for an author and seeing them hit the bestseller lists.”
There’s a gleam in his eye as if he knows what I mean, and I wonder if the finance business is like that for him.
“So, you’re the agent for five authors right now. Do you have time for any more?”
I rock back a little as that information isn’t readily available, in fact, the only way he would know is if he’d contacted the agency I work for. Which is interesting in itself.
“I offer my authors the best service they need. I would never take on so many that I could no longer do that.” All my authors need different levels of support, and of course it changes depending on where they are in the publishing process, but my answer seems to satisfy him as he nods.