The two girls laughed.
‘So what did you used to do? Before the little one?’ asked Emilia.
‘I was an art director. For Hearth magazine?’
‘Oh wow. I love Hearth. It’s how I want my life to be.’
‘That’s exactly why they sell so many copies.’
Studying Bea, Emilia thought she looked just like the poster girl for Hearth. Beautiful and on trend with all the latest accessories and the perfect baby. And she must be smart. Hearth was one of the bestselling women’s lifestyle magazines, dictating what any modern woman with even a hint of style should be putting on her wall or on her plate or in her plant pots, leading the zeitgeist in interior design and food and gardening. But clearly something was not right.
Bea shrugged her shoulders. ‘Anyway, I’ve brought the book back and I promise I won’t darken your doors again.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Emilia felt drawn to Bea and her self-deprecating honesty. ‘And actually, you might be able to help me.’
‘Help you?’
Emilia grinned. ‘Yes. It could be your punishment. You can give me some advice.’
‘Advice on what?’
‘I need to turn this place round. Make it appeal to a wider customer base. But I haven’t a clue where to start. Oh, and the kicker is – I don’t really have any money to do it. Maybe you could give me some ideas?’
Bea put one hand on her hip. She grinned.
‘And in return you won’t have me banged up?’
‘Something like that.’
Bea looked around her thoughtful. ‘I love it in here. The shop’s got great atmosphere. It’s really warm and welcoming. But it is kind of …’
She screwed up her face.
‘Dickensian? Out of the ark?’ offered Emilia.
‘Not out of the ark. I like that it’s old-fashioned. But you could make more of it. Keep the spirit, but open it up a bit. Lighten it. Create some little sets, maybe – you know, dress it up? And that mezzanine?’ She pointed upwards. ‘That is totally wasted on boring old history and maps. Does anyone ever really go up there?’
Emilia looked up. ‘Sometimes. My father used to. He keeps his special editions locked in a glass case. But you’re right. It’s wasted space, really.’
‘Maud goes to nursery two mornings. What if I come back and measure up. Take some photos. Then draw you out some ideas.’ She frowned. ‘What is your budget, exactly?’
Emilia made a face. ‘Um – I don’t really have one. But I suppose it will be an investment. I can use my credit card.’
Bea put her hands over her ears. ‘Don’t let me hear the word credit card. Don’t worry – I’m used to creating magic out of muck. The great thing is you have lovely architectural features. Like a woman with good bone structure. You can’t go too far wrong.’ She smiled. ‘I know all the tricks. And I’ve got great contacts. I can get you all sorts of things at trade prices. Lighting.’ She looked up at the ceiling. The red velvet lampshades were dusty and she could definitely see cobwebs. ‘And paint.’ She looked at the floor, at the old red carpet, almost worn through in places. ‘And carpets.’
Emilia looked amazed. Bea seemed to have blossomed and flourished right in front of her eyes.
Bea stopped mid flow.
‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.’
‘You’re not! It’s good to have an objective eye. I’ve lived with this shop for so long I don’t notice that it’s a bit old and tired.’
‘We won’t throw away the spirit of the place. That’s vital. The ambience in here is what makes it special. But look – the old fireplace, for example. You should be using that as a feature. It would be wonderful opened up, with a squashy armchair next to it so people could read.’
Emilia stared at the fireplace, which had been bricked up.
‘If you get cold feet, and start thinking what on earth am I doing asking that crazy girl to help me, just say. I won’t be offended. Or surprised.’
‘No. Weirdly, I feel as if this could really work.’
‘Window displays,’ said Bea with a sigh, looking over at the windows on either side of the door. ‘Those windows are just waiting for stories to be told! Can you imagine? Valentine’s Day, filled with love stories? Or ghost stories, at Halloween? As for Christmas …’
Bea clapped her hands in excitement.
Emilia thought Bea was possibly a little bit mad. But she didn’t care. Bea’s enthusiasm had lifted the fug of the past few weeks and given her life. She had felt weighed down since her meeting with Andrea, not sure what to address first. It was exciting to hear someone brimming with enthusiasm. For the first time since her father had died, she felt a glimmer of hope.
She told June about her encounter with Bea later that afternoon.