Teaser for the Reader: Ha! I’m a poet and didn’t know it. Poetry is not my thing, to write that is, but I love to read the old masters, Keats and Wordsworth. However, my headline teaser is to offer you part of a short story. It is a long weekend here in Ontario and time to relax and read.

CHANCE ENCOUNTER   By Susan A Jennings

Frances hurried along Rideau Street heading east towards the bookstore, trying to stay dry. But the water bounced off the sidewalk into her new beige pumps and soaked her freshly pressed beige slacks. The neat telescopic umbrella was no match for the torrents of water the sky proceeded to empty upon her.

“Just my luck,” she said aloud, jumping to safety as the spray from the #7 bus narrowly missed her. “Why did the heavens have to open now?”

Working the noon to eight shifts allowed Frances a couple of quiet morning hours to browse at Mr. Booker’s store. Frances supervised the tellers at the Dominion Trust Bank. A title she had earned through many years of loyal service rather than ambition. She felt a pang of excitement remembering her impending retirement and all the books that lined the walls of her spare room. She called it her retirement collection. Soon she would be able to sink into her new Lazy-boy chair with her feet up on the matching ottoman—one of her few extravagances—and from there she would disappear into the adventures and mysteries of borderless and timeless literature.

She chuckled. “Books without borders,” she said aloud as she stepped into Mr. Booker’s doorway.

***

At the other end of Rideau Street, Paul Morris’s long lilting stride was heading west towards Booker’s Book Store. Paul didn’t care that his trousers were wet and the rain had already penetrated the shoulders of his frayed tweed jacket. He loved the rain and its fresh cool feel on his weather-worn face. Today he felt particularly happy. He had made the decision to retire. Thirty-five years in computer engineering, as professor and latterly, department head, would give him a good pension. He hated to admit that he was finding it difficult to keep up with the fast changing technology. Instead of reading those undecipherable technical manuals, he could relax and read for the pure pleasure of reading. He liked Bookers Book Store because Mr. Booker knew books, not just those mass-market books they sold in Chapters, but great masters of literature, authors who knew how to write. Maybe he would find good authors he had never heard of before.

“I’ll explore that little back room where Mr. Booker keeps his rare and first editions.” His mind was already scanning the bookshelves.

As he stepped into Mr. Booker’s doorway he heard a female voice say, “Books without borders”. Before he could look up he bumped into someone, and an umbrella poked him in his midriff. He felt water trickling down his turtleneck shirt.

“Ouch!” the female voice yelled, “You’re standing on my foot.” Frances looked down at a large dirty brown loafer that had engulfed her beige pumps.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry,” Paul said.

He stared at the dripping umbrella impaled in his midriff. It didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He looked at Frances one eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘well, are you going to remove it?’

Annoyed about her wet, and now dirty shoes Frances had, a ‘tut…tut’ ready on her tongue. Her bright emerald eyes snapped upwards, her mouth open but no sound was uttered as she dissolved into his gentle blue eyes. With a subtle movement, Paul relaxed his eyebrow, turning his whole face into a smile. Without saying a word he quietly took the wet umbrella and moved it to one side.

“Oh my gosh!” Frances said turning a bright pink struggling to close the umbrella. “You are awfully wet. I’m…terribly… so…really sorry.” Her words didn’t come out right and her stomach was doing flip-flops. Her shaking hands let go of the clasp, and the umbrella sprang open again showering them both with droplets. Still smiling, Paul quietly took the umbrella, closed it, and handed it back to her. Pushing the door open he stepped aside to let Frances enter first. The old-fashioned brass bell perched on the top of the door announced their arrival and a musky aroma of books, wood and leather escaped into their nostrils.

Mr. Booker looked up from his counter. “Good morning Miss Tibbles. Quite the rain shower,” he said directly to Frances but only nodding towards Paul.

“Yes,” Frances answered looking down at the puddle of water that had formed at her feet.

“I’ll put the umbrella in the back room for you,” he said and disappeared, returning with a mop and a white towel. Frances took the towel and dried herself off while Mr. Booker mopped the shiny wooden floor.

“Thank you,” she said handing him the towel and thinking how unusual it was for a bachelor to have such white towels. But, now she thought about it, it wasn’t unusual for Mr. Booker. He always wore a crisp white shirt, a plain or conservatively striped tie with no drips or stains. Both he and the store were always immaculate.

“A new P.D. James mystery came in yesterday.” Mr. Booker pointed to the display island.

Frances turned to look and stopped abruptly. The unusual man she had impaled in the doorway was studying the rare book section. He still looked very wet, in fact his jacket and trousers seemed to have shrunk. The sleeves were about two inches short of his wrist and his trouser’s showed one navy and one black sock. Instead of tut-tutting her disapproval at his unkempt appearance Frances found herself smiling with a fondness she didn’t quite understand. ………Are you curious to know Frances and Paul’s story? Send Susan and email and she’ll send you a copy of the full story. susanajennings(at)gmail.com Copyright © 2014 Susan A Jennings

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Ruins in Silk – A novella of triumph and tragedy. Prequel to The Blue Pendant – A historical saga and love story that spans an ocean. Available from Kobo, ibooks, Amazon and most online retailers. getbook.at/ruinsinsilk   getbook.at/thebluependant

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