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“I know,” Ash said, coloring a little and suddenly feeling just the tiniest bit ungrateful. She did know that. She should have said something.

“And Pen is about the busiest person I know. In between baking and running the cafe, she volunteers to help reading at the school, she fund-raises for the WI, she looks after Moira’s kids when Moira needs a break, she’s in the crochet circle and the bookclub, she’s the first to stand up and help when help’s needed.”

He took a step toward the counter, picked up a small collection box that Ash had seen but not registered.

“She’ll give to any charity going, she contributes to everything, and maybe you could keep all that in mind before you start thinking of her as an interfering little anything. Because Penelope Robson is about the kindest, most caring, most generous person I know, and frankly, you’re lucky that she even gives you the time of day.”

Ash’s mouth had gone dry and she blinked rapidly a few times before swallowing. “Um… right,” she said weakly. “Right, okay.”

George shook his head and smiled a little. “Alright, I might have got a bit carried away defending her honor. But it’s all something to keep in mind, eh? Pen’s brilliant, and you could be a bit kinder.”

“Right,” Ash said again. He was right. She could afford to be a bit more charitable she supposed. Especially since it turned out Pen was some kind of saint. Not that she needed a saint in her life, but it wouldn’t kill her to have a bit more patience, she supposed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” George said. “Oh, and I see you finished that book. Don’t forget the new one I gave you. I think you’ll like it better.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Ash. “’Bye then.”

She tried not to stare after him piningly as he walked out the door and up the street, but she couldn’t help herself.

She still felt oddly uncomfortable in the shop. All those heaving bosoms inside the closed pages of all those books made her feel odd, almost embarrassed. She looked down at her own chest. It didn’t heave. In fact, she wasn’t even sure it merited the word bosom.

But maybe that was the problem, maybe she felt uncomfortable because she’d never exactly been the heaving bosom type. Sure, she’d had dates, even a few short-term relationships. But she’d decided early on that none of that stuff was for her, it just never felt right. She’d always been better alone.

So she’d left the heaving bosoms to other people, better endowed people, and moved on. So, it seemed, had Mary. Except in her case she’d sold heaving bosoms to other people. So maybe they had more in common than Ash might think.

She went into the back and made herself a cup of tea. If she was lucky, the shop would stay quiet until closing time and maybe even she’d get the chance to make a start on George’s colorful book before she took her evening walk.

As the kettle boiled she thought she felt a stir of air, thought she almost heard something. But when she went back into the shop, there seemed to be no one there.

For the next half an hour she ran through the shop’s email accounts to see if she could find any clues there about who Mary was, finding nothing, but feeling the whole time like she was being watched.

Fabio seemed on alert too, his head not bending in sleep, eyes wide open.

Finally, Ash closed the email program, grumbling to herself, and feeling very stupid, walked around the shop, poking her head into all the corners until, to her surprise, she looked around a shelf and found a young woman in a comfortable armchair fast asleep.

It took her a second to register what was happening. The unkempt look of her, the overloaded rucksack by her side, the stale smell. Ash wrinkled her nose.

“Come on, up you get,” she said. “You can’t stay here.”

The woman opened her eyes, blinked and yawned before stirring. Ash seriously hoped she wasn’t going to start anything, that she wasn’t going to have to call the police.

“Alright,” the woman said, stretching and picking up her bag. “Alright, keep your hair on, I’m going, I’m going.”

Ash followed her to the shop door and out onto the street, seeing Pen peek out of her door as they both went out into the sunshine. She had just a glimmer of a memory of what George had said and the young woman looked even dirtier in the sunlight. With a sigh she dipped into her pocket and pulled out a ten pound note.

“Here,” she said. “Get yourself something to eat.”

The girl’s eyes opened wider. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks very much, that’s really kind.”

Well, maybe I could stand to be a bit kinder, Ash thought as she went back inside. But as she turned to close the door she noticed that Pen had come out of her shop and had put her arm around the girl, was ushering her into the bakery.

And somehow she knew that her ten pound note wasn’t going to be good in the bakery. That Pen was going to feed the girl and help her and ask for nothing in return. Ash was as jaded as they came. But finally, she realized, George was right about Pen. She really was a good person. A truly good person.

Chapter Fourteen

Pen put a hot cup of coffee down in front of the woman.

“I can pay,” the woman said, pulling out a ten pound note. “Um, the lady next door gave me this.” She sounded a little defensive, as if Pen had accused her of stealing the money.