Imogen by Jilly Cooper Read Free Book Online Page A

said Gloria, smirking at the effect she’d had on him. ‘Wish he’d try and pull me. He’s lovely.’
    ‘No good to you, lass,’ said Mr Clough, on his way to a NALGO meeting. ‘He’s on his third marriage, and he’s already got four children to support.’ He turned to Imogen. ‘Tell your Dad I’ve just got that gardening book in. If he’d like a quick look before we put it into circulation he can keep it until Wednesday.’
    ‘There’s something rather attractive about Cloughie,’ said Gloria, shoving a couple of requested books into a side shelf. ‘Here’s just the thing for you, Imogen: How to Stop Feeling Depressed and Inadequate .’
    ‘I am inadequate,’ sighed Imogen.
    ‘Oh come on,’ said Gloria. ‘Do cheer up. We don’t want you dripping over everyone like a Chinese water torture all week.’
    A man in dungarees came reeling up to the desk. ‘Where can I find books on starting one’s own business?’ he said.
    ‘Over there,’ said Gloria, adding in an undertone, ‘Absolutely reeked of drink, didn’t he?’
    ‘Expect he’s just been fired,’ said Imogen. ‘Oh look, Mr Passmore’s fallen asleep over the Financial Times .’
    ‘No one’s allowed to sleep in a library,’ said Gloria. ‘It’s in the by-laws. Go and wake him up.’
    ‘Telephone, Gloria,’ said Miss Nugent, bustling up. ‘Reader with a query. It’s come through in my office. Can you go and man the issue desk, Imogen? Miss Hockney’s gone to tea and there’s a queue waiting.’
    Gathering up her papers, Imogen went and sat down at the desk at the entrance of the library and began to check people’s books in. Once she’d dealt with the queue she went back to her overdue list. Susan Bridges had kept Colloquial German and Scaling the Matterhorn out since February, when she met that Austrian ski instructor. She picked up the telephone and dialled Miss Bridges’s number, but there was no answer – probably at work. She looked at the pile of cards in front of her. ‘ If you have returned the books in the last few days, please ignore this letter .’ The words blurred before her eyes. Outside the sky was darkening. Oh Nicky, Nicky, she thought desperately, will I ever see you again? She looked at the red bracelet on her wrist, tracing the pattern of the flowers with her finger, shivering at the memory of that day on the moor.
    ‘Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
    In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter,’ she whispered sadly. Nicky was the black Rowntree’s fruit gum everyone wanted. How ridiculous to think that he could ever have fancied her for more than a moment.
    She was so deep in thought she didn’t see a large bad-tempered woman in a trilby with a snarling boxer on a lead, until they’d come pounding through the door.
    Imogen steeled herself for a fight.
    ‘I’m terribly sorry, you can’t bring dogs in here.’
    ‘Where am I supposed to leave him?’ snapped the woman.
    ‘There are dog hooks provided outside the door. You could tie him to one of those.’
    ‘He’d howl the place down and break his lead. It’s not safe in this traffic. I’ve come all the way from Skipton. I’ll only take five minutes.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Imogen nervously. ‘Shall I hold him for you?’
    She advanced towards the dog, which bared its teeth and growled ominously. She backed away.
    ‘Have your hand off,’ said its owner. ‘Now are you going to let me in, or do you want me to go over your head?’
    Imogen had a lunatic vision of the woman and dog taking off and flying over her head through the room.
    ‘I’m sorry. Dogs simply aren’t allowed,’ she repeated.
    ‘I need the books for my work. I’ll complain to the council. I’ve got fines on all these books.’
    Imogen looked hopelessly round for help. Miss Nugent had disappeared, Gloria was on the telephone, Miss Hockney was surreptitiously making wedding lists on the request desk.
    ‘If we allowed one dog in, we’d have to let