The man’s ears promptly glowed pink. ‘Lucky you. So, um, whereabouts in Majorca?’

‘Alcudia, up on the north side of the island.’

‘I know Alcudia!’ The man, who was middle-aged, blurted out, ‘I go there with my mother every year. We stay in an apartment in the old town. What a coincidence!’

Hmm, not that much of one, seeing as a zillion holidaymakers invaded Alcudia each year, but Lola was touched by his enthusiasm. ‘Well, I work in a restaurant down by the harbour. So if you fancy some great seafood next time you’re there, you’ll have to drop by for a meal.’

The man’s face was by this time so scarlet with excitement that she began to fear for his blood pressure. ‘That sounds most enjoyable. Mother isn’t tremendously keen on seafood, but I daresay chef could whisk her up an omelette as a special favour to you.’ He hesitated. ‘Unless ... um, are you very expensive?’

‘Not expensive at all. In fact, very reasonable. And you can ask for anything you like. We’re very obliging,’ Lola assured him with a smile. ‘You’ll have a great time, that’s a promise.’

The man, who clearly didn’t get out much, said eagerly, ‘What’s the name of the place? And whereabouts exactly are you? You’d better give me directions.’

‘I can do better than that.’ Flipping open her silver handbag, Lola fished out one of the restaurant’s business cards and handed it over.

‘Thanks.’ The man beamed. He squirrelled it away and checked his watch. It’s a date, then.

Gosh, is that the time? I need to get to a cashpoint before—’

‘Excuse me,’ barked a voice behind them, ‘that’s quite enough. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

Bemused, Lola turned and saw that she was being addressed by a big-boned, grey-haired female member of staff who was positively aquiver with disapproval.

‘I’m sorry, are you speaking to me?’

‘Ha, don’t give me any of your smart talk. Come on, off you go, leave our customers alone.’ The woman stuck out her arm, pointing to the door like a traffic cop. ‘Out, out. We don’t need your sort in here.’

What?’ Lola’s mouth dropped open; was the woman completely deranged? Half laughing in disbelief, she turned to the man next to her but he was backing away, petrified.

‘Plying your filthy trade in here, pestering genuine customers,’ the woman went on furiously.

‘It’s disgusting and I won’t have it happening in this shop.’

‘Plying my trade?’ Lola’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not a prostitute!’

‘Don’t argue with me, young lady. I heard what you were saying to that gentleman. Look at you!’ The woman jabbed an accusing finger at Lola’s skimpy white top, abbreviated lime-green skirt and long bare legs. ‘It’s perfectly clear what you are!’ She turned to the man for back-up.

‘What did you think when you saw her?’

‘Um ... well ...’ In an agony of embarrassment he stammered, ‘I s-suppose she is r-rather exotically dressed.’ Oh, for crying out loud.

‘I live in Majorca! I just flew back today! I didn’t know it was going to be this cold here! Tell her what we were talking about,’ Lola demanded, but it was too late. Mortified, the man had scurried out of the shop.

‘And you can get out too, before I call the police.’The woman wore a look of triumph. ‘This is a respectable shop and we don’t need people like you coming in here, reeking of drink and propositioning innocent men: Walking out now wasn’t an option; it simply wasn’t in Lola’s nature. If someone said, ‘don’t touch that, it’s hot’, she had to touch it to discover how hot. If they said, ‘don’t jump off that wall, you’ll hurt yourself’, she was compelled to jump off the wall to find out just how much it would hurt.

The woman, she now saw from the name badge, was an assistant called Pat.

‘I came in here to buy books and I’ll leave when I’ve bought them.’ Refusing to be intimidated, Lola said coolly, ‘But before I go, I’ll be having a word with your manager.’

Fifteen minutes later she made her way to the till with an armful of books, aware that word of her set-to with Pat had spread around the store. Pat was no longer anywhere in sight. Other members of staff were covertly observing her from a distance. The young lad on the till rang up Lola’s purchases and did his best not to look at her legs.

‘Could I speak to the manager please?’ said Lola.

He nodded, picked up the phone and muttered a few words into it.

Lola waited.

Finally a door at the back opened and a slender woman in her forties emerged.

It was like the gunfight at the OK Corral.

The woman approached Lola and said, ‘I’m so sorry about Pat, she’s just been telling me what happened and I’d like to apologise on behalf of Kingsley’s. The thing is, Pat’s retiring in six weeks and if you make a formal complaint it’ll spoil everything for her.’

‘I—’

‘And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but she does have a bit of a bee in her bonnet about, um, working girls.’ Lowering her voice to a whisper the woman said, ‘Her husband, you see, ran off with one and Pat was beside herself, especially when she found out she used to be a man. The girl I mean. Not Pat. Poor thing, she was devastated. So that’s why she overreacted. I’m really, really sorry. I’ve had a talk with her and she’ll never do it again.’

‘Well, good,’ said Lola. ‘I’m happy to hear that?

The manager looked hopeful. ‘So does that mean everything’s OK? You won’t make an official complaint?’

‘No, I won’t.’

‘Oh thank you! Thank you so much.’ She clasped Lola’s hand in gratitude. ‘That’s so good of you. Poor old Pat, I know she shouldn’t have said those dreadful things, but she’s had a tough time and in a way I’m sure you can understand why she’d get upset—’

I’m not a prostitute,’ said Lola.

This stopped the manageress in her tracks.

‘Oh!’ Covering her surprise, the woman hastily backtracked. ‘Of course you aren’t! I didn’t mean it to sound like that! Heavens, of course I didn’t think that!’

Lola grinned because an outfit that wouldn’t merit so much as a second glance in Alcudia clearly held other connotations in a London bookshop in chilly November. Maybe the time had come to start modifying her wardrobe.

‘I think you did. Don’t worry about it. And you haven’t asked me yet why I wanted to see you.’

The woman looked flustered. ‘Right. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a muddle now. So why did you want to see me?’

‘This.’ Lola tapped the sign on the counter, identical to the one she’d spotted in the window earlier. ‘It says you have a vacancy for a sales assistant.’

‘We do. To replace Pat when she leaves.’

Better and better.

‘Do you need many qualifications for that?’

‘You need to love books.’

‘I love books,’ said Lola.

The manageress looked stunned. ‘You mean you’re interested? In this job?’

It was clearly an extraordinary request. ‘Sorry, would I not be allowed to work here?’

‘It’s not that! I just thought Pat said you lived abroad.’

Lola smiled at the woman and said, ‘I think it’s time I moved back.’

Chapter 4

Present Day

’You work where? In a bookies?’

‘In a bookshop.’ Even as she yelled the words above the blaring music, Lola wondered why she was bothering. ‘Kingsley’s. I’m the manager of the Regent Street branch!

‘God, rather you than me. Books are boring:The boy winked and leered over the rim of his beer glass at Lola, evidently convinced of his own irresistibility. He had super-gelled hair and a knowing grin. Having subjected her to a slow, appreciative once-over he said, ‘Nah, you’re having me on. You don’t look like the manager of a bookshop.’

What she could have said in reply to this was, ‘Well, you don’t look like a dickhead, but you clearly are one.’

‘Well, I am,’ Lola said patiently. ‘I promise.’

‘You should be wearing granny glasses and, like, a scuzzy old cardigan or something. And no make-up.’

Lola knew what she should be doing; she should be punching the stupid smirk off his face.

Aloud she said, ‘I’m guessing you don’t go into many bookshops.’

‘Me? No way.’ Proudly the boy said, ‘Can’t stand reading, waste of time. Hey, fancy a drink?’

‘No thanks. Can’t stand drinking, waste of time.’

He looked shocked. ‘Really?’

‘Not really. But drinking with you would be a huge waste of time.’ Lola excused herself and made her way over to the bar where Gabe, whose leaving party it was, was chatting to a group of friends from work.

‘Gabe? I’m going to head home.’

He turned, horrified. ‘No! It’s only nine o’clock.’

‘I know. I just feel like an early night.’

‘An early what? Hang on, where’s the real Lola?’ Gabe inspected her face closely. ‘Tell me what you’ve done with her.’

Lola grinned, because she was as mystified as he was; she absolutely wasn’t the early night type.

Parties were normally her favourite thing.

‘I know it’s weird. Maybe I’m going down with something. Anyway, you have a great time.’

Reaching up and giving Gabe a hug she said, ‘I’ll knock on your door with tea and Panadol in the morning.’

He looked even more alarmed. ‘Make it tomorrow evening and I might be awake.’

Lola left the bar, shivering as a splatter of icy rain slapped her in the face. If it was raining, the chances of managing to flag down a cab were slim to nil so she set off in the direction of the tube, tugging her cropped velvet jacket around her in an attempt to huddle up against the cold and click-clacking along the pavement in her pink sparkly heels.

It wasn’t as if it was Gabe’s only leaving party; this was just a motley collection of people from the offices where he worked as a chartered surveyor. Had worked there, anyway, for the past four years, although as from today he was out of a job and ready for the adventure of a lifetime in Australia.