Page 43 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello
42
LONDON, 1941
‘Oh, I’m sorry. How romantic,’ I remarked drily, once I’d overcome my initial shock.
‘I thought so too!’ he exclaimed, completely missing my sarcasm.
He looked so excited, I couldn’t help smiling. His exuberance was infectious.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me round the side of the building.
‘Are we allowed to do this?’ I asked as we picked our way over the rubble.
‘We’re in the middle of a war – normal rules don’t apply,’ he replied. ‘Once you understand that, life becomes a lot more fun.’
I had to admit that since meeting him, my life had become a lot more fun, so who was I to disagree?
When we got to the back of the building, Trafalgar magically produced a crowbar from a pile of rubble by the door and jimmied it open just enough for us to slip through. As he shut the door behind us, we were plunged into total darkness.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said cheerily, ‘I have a lamp.’
‘You have a lamp?’ I echoed in disbelief. I heard a match being struck and Trafalgar’s face appeared in the soft golden glow. ‘You seem very well prepared. Do you come here often?’
He laughed. ‘Not that old chestnut.’
‘What old chestnut?’ I looked around, confused. All I could see was a darkened corridor.
‘In England, asking a person if they come here often is what’s known as a chat-up line.’
‘Well, in Portugal it most definitely isn’t,’ I retorted, and he instantly looked crestfallen.
‘I do come here quite often, as it happens. It helps me to think, and it looks incredible. Can I show you?’
‘Of course.’
‘It might be safer if you hold my hand, due to the bomb damage – but I’m not just saying that because I’m desperate to get a woman to hold hands with me,’ he added hastily.
‘OK, I’ll take your word for it,’ I said drily, but as he took my hand, I felt my heart begin to glow again.
We cautiously made our way along the corridor and through a set of double doors that were hanging from their hinges like a pair of giant loose teeth.
‘ Et voilà ! As they say in France,’ Trafalgar announced, waving the lamp in an arc.
‘Wow!’ I exclaimed as I looked around. The explosion had formed a huge crater slap bang in the middle of the library, with only the shelves lining the walls still standing. Most of them were still full of books. There was an eerie beauty to it that was hard to describe.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I love it. It’s very atmospheric. Eerie and yet romantic.’
He laughed. ‘That is exactly the kind of atmosphere I wanted for our date.’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure if eerie is something to aspire to on a date,’ I quipped, but the fact that he had called it a date caused the warmth in my heart to grow.
‘Come.’ He gripped my hand tighter and led me deeper inside the library, or what was left of it anyway. As I looked down, I saw that the floor was covered with fragments of pages and covers. We were walking on a carpet of books.
‘Here we are,’ he announced, leading me into an alcove that had remained untouched by the bomb damage apart from a framed painting of Shakespeare that was now hanging slightly skew-whiff on the wall. As Trafalgar shone the lamp around, I saw that a picnic blanket had been set up in the centre of the alcove, along with some cushions, a bottle of wine and two glasses and plates.
‘You set this all up for us?’ I asked, staring at him in disbelief.
He nodded. ‘Of course, I didn’t know if you’d accept or not. I had a horrible feeling that after last night you might tell me to get stuffed, but I have always been an eternal optimist.’
‘Get stuffed?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘What do you mean, like a chicken?’
He chuckled. ‘It’s a British saying. It means go away – and not in a polite way.’
‘Ah, OK. Well, I don’t want to stuff you like a chicken or to go away.’
‘Phew! And even if you do hate me, at least you’ll be able to say that you’ve been on an eerie yet romantic date with a difference.’
I nodded. ‘That’s true. And just for the record, I don’t hate you either.’
‘Thank you!’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘And I don’t hate you.’
‘I should think not!’ I exclaimed.
He clapped his hand to his mouth, clearly aghast. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t believe I said that. I’m just so nervous.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t think a cool customer like you felt any fear,’ I said drolly, trying to hide my excitement at why he might have been nervous.
‘Yes, well, that’s the effect you have on me.’ He laughed. ‘I can face down the German bombers, but a fascinating Portuguese woman makes me a quivering wreck. Please, sit down.’ He gestured at one of the cushions.
We sat down, and he poured us wine and unwrapped the meatball sandwiches and put them on the plates, the air filling with the most delicious aroma of meat and tomatoes. All the while, my mind buzzed with excited chatter. I made him nervous. He thought I was fascinating. We both felt the same. Could this be bashert ?
As I took the first bite of my sandwich, I can honestly say that I’d never felt such joy. The combination of the delicious food, the atmospheric setting and Trafalgar’s company was a feast for all the senses. I wanted so badly to freeze the moment so I could revel in that feeling for as long as possible.
‘This sauce is divine!’ I exclaimed, licking my lips.
‘What did I tell you? Bruno guards his recipe like it’s a state secret.’
We carried on eating in a warm, companionable silence, broken only by the sound of us munching and the occasional murmur of appreciation.
‘I can’t believe all of the books are still here,’ I said, once we’d finished, looking up at the shelves.
‘I know. It makes this place even more special.’ He smiled shyly. ‘Sometimes when I come here, I play a game with them.’
‘What kind of game?’
‘If I have a question or a decision I need to make, I ask the books for their advice.’
‘How do you mean?’ I stared at him, intrigued. He was such an interesting mix – one minute wild and exuberant, the next thoughtful and introspective.
He looked away, clearly embarrassed.
‘It’s all right, I already think you’re crazy, so you’ve got nothing to lose by telling me,’ I joked.
He laughed and stood up. ‘OK, let’s say for example that I’d met a woman I couldn’t stop thinking about and really wanted to see again, but I didn’t know what to do.’ He gave me a pointed look, as if trying to make it clear that he was talking about me. ‘I’d ask the books for their advice and then I’d close my eyes and let my intuition guide me to pick one of them.’ He closed his eyes and reached up into the darkened shelves and took down a book. ‘Then I’d pick a random number and turn to that page and read the first line.’
‘And that will be the answer to your question?’ I said.
‘Yes, exactly.’ He brought the book over and sat down.
‘Go on then – do it,’ I urged, amused and intrigued. ‘Pick a number.’
‘Twenty-seven!’ he declared before leafing through the pages.
‘And?’ I asked as his eyes scanned the page.
He laughed. ‘It says, “Never underestimate the importance of planting potatoes in the sun.”’
I burst out laughing. ‘How profound!’
‘Yes, well, sometimes it works better than others.’ He grinned and shook his head. ‘Just my luck to find a book on gardening in the fiction section!’
It sounded like the kind of book Judith loved to read. ‘Maybe it was meant to be there,’ I murmured, thinking of my beloved friend. Maybe the library had wanted to remind me of her. On this extraordinary and magical night, anything felt possible.
‘Why, were you in need of some advice on potato planting?’ Trafalgar asked with a bemused grin.
‘One can never know too much about the humble potato,’ I joked.
‘This is true.’ He gestured at the bookshelves. ‘Why don’t you have a go?’
‘OK, let me think of a question,’ I replied, although there was only one question on my mind – what was going to happen between us?
I stood up and made my way over to the shelves.
‘Make sure you close your eyes,’ he called.
‘I will.’ I closed my eyes and picked a book.
‘And what page number will you choose?’
‘I choose page seventy-nine,’ I said, feeling a burst of anticipation. But just as I returned to the picnic blanket, the air-raid siren began to wail.