The Old Burgundy Book

Within its ageing pages Rosie found a story of fading romance and a fresh chance for love to bloom...

Rosie pulled an array of obscure items from the bottom of the R them wardrobe and began to pack them in a house-moving crate. Among the redundant foot spa, exercise weights and unstitched embroidery kit was an old book. Rosie brushed a whisper of dust from its cover. She sat on the bed, slowly turned its pages and recalled the first time she had encountered the book.

The bell above the charity shop door tinkled as Rosie dashed in to escape a sudden summer downpour that threatened her newly-styled hair.

The shop was packed with eclectic items. It held a slight odour of something indefinable; cabbage or damp perhaps, Rosie couldn't decide. She didn't normally frequent charity shops, but when you've just paid a small fortune for a new hairdo, any port in a storm is welcome.

The shop assistant greeted Rosie with a friendly hello. Rosie supposed she ought to look as though she was interested in making a purchase, not just sheltering from the rain. She began to browse, immediately drawn to the books, rows of them on shelves at the rear of the shop. The smell was different there, an enticing musty vanilla.

Rosie ran her finger over the book spines, reading each title in turn. Her eyes settled on a sturdy burgundy hardback with gilt lettering. She slid it out, felt the weight of it in her hands.

"The rain's stopped," the shop assistant called over the bric-a-brac and clothing rails. She had clearly rumbled Rosie's reason for entering the shop.

"Thanks," Rosie said, heading towards the door. The bell tinkled again as she yanked it open.

"Did you want that book, dear?" the assistant asked.

Rosie hurried to the counter mumbling an apology, her cheeks pink. She hastily paid for the book and stepped back out onto the street, now drenched and slightly steaming.