area there must jj be something published about them.’
‘It you go right to the back and through the curtain on the : left, then down a tew steps, you might find something halfway up the shelves,’ said Lawrence.
‘Thanks.’
Cooper made his way through the aisles of books. He passed
i .’ O ‘ ,
Poetry and Literature, Biography and Philosophy, until he ;
reached a dead end at Geography. He turned left at Art and
found Music lurking in a curtained-off alcove at the head of
a tlight of stairs leading down into a cellar. The sides of the
stairwell had been filled with more bookshelves. A lew creaky
steps down, Cooper came across Air Transport. It seemed
a curiously modern subject tor Eden Valley Books, and he
wasn’t surprised that it was hidden away. He looked down ji
i j v
into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs and wondered f what Lawrence had chosen to confine to the cellar. Probably j something like Computers and Information Technology. f But there, sure enough, were two slim volumes on Peak :: District aircraft relics, exactly what he wanted. He wondered , if this place was really some kind of Aladdin’s Cave where you could find anything you truly wanted, if you wished hard enough.
J O . J
Lawrence Dalev made a strange genie, though.
‘Just the thing, Lawrence,’ he said, when he had made his way back to the counter. ‘I lound two.’
‘Amazing,’ said Lawrence. ‘And is there a price on them?’
‘Well, no actually.’
Lawrence sighed. ‘Then I can’t charge you anything at all, can I?’
72
‘Of course you can.’
‘Not if there’s no label. It’s against the Trade Descriptions Act.’
‘I’m not sure that’s how it works,’ said Cooper. ‘Anyway, I can’t take them without paying you lor them.’
‘Well, fifty pence then.’
‘II you say so.’
Cooper began to go through his pockets. He found the estate agent’s leaflets and pulled them out of the way while he felt at the bottom for some change. His pager was vibrating again, but it could wait.
‘Hello,’ said Lawrence, ‘have you fallen into the company of conmen and thieves?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Estate agents,’ he said, pointing at the leaflets. ‘Are you buying a house/’
“I can’t afford that,’ said Cooper. ‘I’m just looking for a place to rent for a while.’
‘Ah. Striking out on your own? Or is there a live-in partner involved somewhere?’
‘On my own.’
v
‘Oh. And have you not found anywhere yet?’
‘No.’
Cooper handed over his fifty pence, and Lawrence rattled it into the drawer of his till, then found a striped paper bag from somewhere under the counter. Cooper stood looking at some postcards and fliers stuck to a board near the counter. Most of them were advertising the services of typing agencies, clairvoyants and aromatherapy specialists, but there was one that caught his eye.
‘There’s a furnished flat advertised here,’ he said. ‘It’s in Welbeck Street, by the river/
‘Oh yes,’ said Lawrence.
‘That’s handv for town. I could walk to work from there. And it sounds quite a reasonable rent, too. Do you know who this person is? Mrs Shelley?’
‘I’m afraid so. It’s my aunt.’
‘Really?’
73
‘She lives in Welbcck Street herself, but she owns the house next door as well,’ said Lawrence. ‘My uncle had dreams of knocking the two places together and creating some kind of palatial town house to swan around in. Cod knows why there were only ever the two of them, with no children.’
‘I have an uncle like that, too he loves unfinished projects. It seems to give him a sense of immortality. He doesn’t think
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