Prologue
Through gritted teeth, Juliette cursed the Victorian architect who’d had the monumentally stupid idea of utilising every inch of the high-ceilinged room for storage. If they’d been subject to health and safety regulations back then, there’s no way ladder access to shelves – that were ridiculously high in her opinion – would have been allowed. Although it was a stunning library, with its ornately carved oak posts and arches, it was simply not practical any more. In fact, she couldn’t imagine it being practical back in 1873 when it was originally constructed. But, of course, the University of Gloucestershire was proud of its heritage, and rightly so, Juliette reasoned. Who was she to demand changes, but a twenty-six-year-old former student turned librarian?
This wasn’t how she was expecting to spend her day, that was for sure; clinging precariously to the location where she had just replaced copies ofThe Modern Judge. Her fingers ached and her toes were going numb as she clung on for dear life and tried to formulate a plan. She could jump, but as there was probably fifteen feet between her and the floor, that would possibly result in bone breakages, muscle sprains or, worst-case scenario… death! Her alternative was to hold on and either: one, shout for help, or two, simply hope it manifested by chance, sooner rather than later.
Friday lunchtime was usually Juliette’s favourite time in the library. It was the one time of the week when no students were allowed in and the librarians were able to catch up on restocking the shelves with returned books. To be surrounded by millions of pages of knowledge just waiting to be soaked up… and, oh, the bibliosmia – was there a better smell anywhere in the world than old books?
There were usually at least two members of staff, but today, typically, her boss, Nancy, had gone home ill and her colleague, Claire, was on holiday, meaning Juliette was alone.
All alone.
Completely by herself.
Which would be fine if she wasn’t stuck up a bookcase, sans ladder, wearing a floaty skirt.
Bloody typical.
Anger and embarrassment heated her skin in equal measure as she realised the security guards would have a field day if they watched back the footage of this utter debacle. She could imagine it now. The two main ones, Bill and Ben, as Juliette liked to call them, sitting there in front of the surveillance screens, a mug of some steaming brew resting on each rotund belly as they stuffed biscuits into their gobs. Then, she imagined crumbs spraying everywhere as they were overcome with the hilarity of watching the ladder fall leaving Juliette dangling from the top shelf of the Law Reference section like something off bloodyYou’ve Been Framed.
She was still unsure how theattachedladder had becomedetached and had fallen to the floor, leaving her stranded and terrified. She would have serious words with the caretaker or, if anything bad was to happen, she’d be haunting the ratbag; those things were certain. Whatwasn’tcertain, however, was how she was going to circumvent the small issue of the fifteen feet of air between her current location and the floor.
The lack of space at the edges of the lower shelves annoyed her. Nancy had obviously been tidying again. The woman had an aversion to spacing and each book was butted up to the edge, as well as being tightly packed in, making it virtually impossible to retrieve anything in order to use it but, more importantly now, it meant Juliette was unable to find a foothold.
So… climbing down isn’t an option, she huffed.
The door to the library gave the familiar high-pitched squeak as it was pushed open and Juliette closed her eyes. She couldn’t see the door from where she was, but she prayed it wasn’t one of the obnoxious new caretaking team she’d encountered in recent weeks. If itwas,she could be sure this would all end up on YouTube with a gazillion views, meaning she wouldn’t dare show her face in public again.
She held her breath for a moment and listened intently for noises that would indicate the identity of the visitor.
When none came, she opened her eyes and cleared her throat. ‘Ahem… hello? Who’s there, please?’ she shouted with as much dignity as her situation would allow.
There was a pause and then, ‘Erm… It’s Laurie… erm Professor Fairhurst… Laurence.’
Oh shitty, shitty, shit. It just had to be him, didn’t it?
She had nursed a secret crush on the gorgeous, yet shy, man since the day she had started work at the university a year before and first laid eyes on him. The resemblance he bore to Superman from the DC movies wasn’t lost on her. She had noticed the lack of a wedding ring and had tried on so many occasions to pluck up the courage to speak to him; to actually have a conversation thatwasn’twork-related. But, up to that point, the courage she sought had evaded her. And, much to her dismay, their relationship had been solely based on professional politeness and courtesy when he came to sign out a research book for his latest thesis.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and she called out, ‘Professor Fairhurst, it’s Juliette, I’m one of the librarians?’ – in case he didn’t remember her – ‘This is rather embarrassing, but… could you possibly come to the Law Reference section, please? I’m in a bit of a pickle.’
‘Sure! On my way.’ From the speed of his footsteps, he’d evidently sensed the urgency in her voice.
A couple of seconds later, she opened her eyes and turned her head slowly to find the handsome English professor staring up at her in bemusement. As always, he was immaculately presented in a tweed jacket, pressed shirt and co-ordinating tie, smart trousers and matching waistcoat. His dark hair was parted to the side and swept back in that Clark Kent way, and she tried her best not to swoon.
He shook his head. ‘How… I mean…why?’ From the way he held his hand over his mouth, it was clear he was trying not to laugh.Great. ‘Hang on, am I supposed to recite Shakespeare to you at this point,Juliette?’ He gave into the laughter he’d been holding back.
Anger flared inside her and her cheeks, by now, she guessed, would be a delightful shade of scarlet. ‘It’s not a laughing matter, Professor Fairhurst,’ she snapped.
His face squirmed and contorted into an expression of solemnity. ‘No, no, you’re right. I apologise. And, please, call me Laurence. Now, what exactly has happened?’
‘Well,Laurence, I think the ladder fixing is broken. The ladder fell when I reached across to grasp it and…’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Laurence dashed to the offending article and lifted it up to rest beside her, but the top section was broken in two. ‘Ah, yes. It appears to have broken further in the fall. We can’t risk you climbing on it. Okay…’
Juliette prayed that her footless tights were not the ones with the hole under her left buttock that she’d meant to throw out. If theywere, the Professor was getting an eyeful.
He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then scratched his chin and glanced at his surroundings, seemingly trying to formulate a plan. ‘Right. Okay…’ He returned his attention to her and pursed his lips as he appraised her, hanging there.
She was on the verge of pointing out the fact that time was of the essence when he spoke again.
