Read Online Lifeboat by Zacharey Jane - Free Book Online Page B

I was met at the door by my boss’s secretary, smiling at me like I had done something wrong.
    â€˜There’s a man here,’ she whispered. ‘A young man, he’s nice too,’ she added with a giggle.
    I looked at her, weighing my briefcase in my hand as I waited for information as to why I should be interested in a young man at the office.
    â€˜He’s asking for you and no one else can help him,’ she added, enlightening me and mystifying me all at the same time. She lead me back to my desk like I didn’t know the way and pointed to the person sitting in my seat. It was the librarian. I felt a tinkle of excitement sparkle through me. He leapt up, dropping the pencil that he had been doodling with.
    â€˜Hello,’ he said, sounding guilty, of what I could not say.
    â€˜Hello,’ I replied, putting down my briefcase. I waited for him to explain; the secretary waited too.
    â€˜I have this for you,’ he said, picking up the piece of paper he had been doodling on. ‘It’s a writer, he’s perfect.’
    The secretary wandered off; I took the piece of paper.
    â€˜I’ve ordered his biography,’ he said. ‘I hope that’s all right?’
    â€˜Thank you, that’s fantastic. How did you find him?’
    â€˜I asked my aunty. She used to run the library before she retired. She said try him, so I did and he seems perfect. He’s English, was in Africa for about eight years. He died there. My aunty likes his work – she has one of his novels.’
    Away from the environment of the library he seemed younger; or maybe it was because of the excitement with which he recounted his information. He wore cream cotton trousers, a striped knitted shirt with a collar, and white canvas boat shoes. I became distracted by the stripes, which were of non-uniform widths, in muted green tones. I thought it a very attractive shirt.
    â€˜He is more obscure than I thought,’ he said. ‘Notorious rather than mainstream. Aunty says his death was as responsible for his notoriety as his writing. He shot himself.’
    This brought my attention back to what he was saying.
    The biography the librarian had ordered was written posthumously. He was sure it would contain photographs. I hoped that even if there was no likeness of my castaway in the book, the photographs might bring something back to her; in her dream she had seen her father’s face.
    â€˜Thank you for bringing this,’ I said, holding up the piece of paper.
    â€˜My pleasure,’ he replied. ‘What do you think?’
    â€˜It sounds plausible. I’ll write to the publishers. Would your aunt have their address?’
    He pointed to some writing at the bottom of the page, surrounded by doodles.
    â€˜Here, I wrote it down – sorry, it’s a bit hard to read now.’
    â€˜Oh thanks, thanks very much.’
    We stood at my desk while I stared at his writing. I was conscious of the curious glances we were getting from my colleagues.
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said again. ‘I hope I haven’t dragged you away from the library just for this?’
    â€˜Oh no. It’s my day off.’
    â€˜Oh, I see.’
    This made me feel even more like I was imposing on him. I was about to thank him again when he said: ‘I won’t disturb you anymore. I’m glad you’re pleased.’
    â€˜Yes, thank you.’
    He stuck out his hand and shook mine firmly, just twice, then released me, stepping back with a grin.
    â€˜Let me know what they say,’ he said. ‘The lifeboat pair, I mean – come and see me at the library?’
    I gave him a smile as he left. At the door he turned and waved again – I was still watching. I waved back and sat down in my chair, opening some files at random to appear engrossed with work and so avoid the looks and questions of my colleagues. I had some feelings of embarrassment, which annoyed me because his visit was to do