Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Entrance Hall

The Rover driven by Fredriksson, the Bjornssons' chauffeur - also a real thing in this day and age, just as butlers - rolled through the automatic gates of the Hall; and Anya was flooded by an acute panic. To say that she was having qualms about her impulsive decision to stay with him, would be an understatement of her life. What were you thinking, you daft, daft moo-moo? You should have had one last good look at him, thank him again, and go back to where you belong, which, in the terms of this place, would be 'downstairs.'

"Wicked," Varya exhaled, staring at the house, her nose pressed into the car window. "Did you really grow up here?"

She gave Bjornsson an excited glance. He nodded. Anya wondered if the vibrations in the car were causing him even greater pain. He looked significantly worse than he had in the hospital.

The car stopped, and a tall young man showed up from the front doors. Last time, since Anya had parked in the back, she hadn't seen the main entrance. It didn't fail to impress. Olofsson, who had taken a cab from the hospital, was already waiting for them, and he opened the car door for Varya. She leaped out of the Rover and spun on one spot, her face lifted.

"So many windows," she exclaimed.

Anya started rising, and suddenly Bjornsson's fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Can we–" he whispered. "Is it alright– Just for a moment?"

His lips were white, and she felt the trembling of his hand against hers.

"Of course," she said softly.

"Mrs. Little, the housekeeper, will be out in a second. She'll take care of Varya," Klaus said, his face lowered.

Anya could see his chest rise in frantic, uneven breaths.

"There will be no luggage, Bradley," Olofsson said to the tall lad who'd immediately turned around and disappeared inside.

Anya felt the gaze of the chauffeur - a middle-aged large man, with a walrus moustache - on her.

"That would be all, Fredriksson," Bjornsson said raspily.

"Very well, sir," the driver muttered, and for a second his eyes met with Anya's.

She wasn't sure what she expected to see in them but definitely not the sincere concern with which the man would glimpse at Bjornsson. There was a question hiding behind his professional exterior, and Anya suddenly realised it was directed to her. She wasn't sure why but she gave him a firm look back and covered Bjornsson's hand with her other one. The chauffeur nodded, ever so slightly, and got out of the car.

The stout, haughty looking woman, coming out onto the step, was most likely said Mrs. Little.

"Good evening," she greeted them. It took her only one quick glance over their little group to see what was going on. "Ah, you must be Miss Varya. Welcome to the Nidhogg Hall. Let's get you inside!"

Varya hesitated, and Anya gave her an encouraging nod and a 'go ahead.' Olofsson showed up in the open door for a second, picked up Persimmon's carrier, everyone got ushered inside - and suddenly Anya and Klaus were alone.

"Is it the pain?" Anya asked and rubbed the back of his palm.

He shook his head.

"It's the house." He had his eyes squeezed shut. "Twelve years... It's been twelve years."

Anya's heart clenched in tender sympathy.

"At the Dance, I was... medicated," he whispered, his breathing still erratic. "And I tried not to look around. I just went in, danced with Viola, and was out. And then Nana got ill, and everyone forgot about me." A bitter smirk twisted his lips. "If not for Viola, they wouldn't have even called me to tell me that Mormor was in the hospital. She made Rhys call me and kept me updated."