This post was originally published at Novelicious.com and is now at WritingTipsOasis.com. WritingTipsOasis.com acquired Novelicious.com in June 2022.
The perfect recipe for a roaring-success of a bookshop: one ravishing Cotswold town, lashings of famous (or beautiful) people, and at least six platters of home-made glass-domed cake. Mix carefully with stuffed-full shelves of fabulous books, many of which are written by local authors.
Ta-da! You’ve got Jaffe & Neale of Chipping Norton, run by Polly Jaffe, and partner Patrick Neale.
When we visit, it’s a Thursday morning on my daughters’ half-term, and the sky over Chipping Norton is gun-metal grey with threatening cloud. The children are mutinous.
‘And we can still go to the park?’ says Jess. ‘After the bookshop?’
I mutter vaguely, zipping up rain coats and looking across the market square at Jaffe & Neale. The shop is set on a corner, in one of those big golden-stoned houses with huge sash windows. All of the woodwork is painted white, and the big ‘Jaffe & Neale’ sign is in Wedgewood blue. Even on such a dismal day, the place looks impossibly seductive. As we watch, a tall, blonde man in a Barbour comes out, holding the arm of a willowy brunette. I gasp.
‘What?’ demands Elle. ‘What’re you looking at?’
‘It’s Rupert Campbell-Black, I say.’ But then I remember. ‘Except he’s not real.’
It really is that kind of place.
The children and I go in. The front half of the shop is a mix of books and cafe – heaving with Yummies and babies, all hooting top volume. The tables are all full, so the children and I slide around, exploring, exclaiming. I get distracted by a signed copy of Ghost of A Lie (hand bound and covered), by local author Lorna Gray. The book is beautiful, and I desperately want to own it.
Eventually, I make it to the children’s section, tucked in the back, and find my daughters squashed together in a Queen Anne armchair, reading The Secret Garden. They grumble at moving and I have to bribe them with cake.
We reach the till, and meet Polly Jaffe, who gives off an aura of barely-coiled energy. She is wearing fuschia-pink trainers, which impress my daughters enormously.
‘Sorry not to have time to chat,’ she says, waving her hand at the crowd. She suggests she brings our tray upstairs. Ellie and Jess approve – they like upstairs anywhere, but particularly narrowish, un-obvious stairs that end at a blanked-off doorway. ‘Secret passage’ says Jess.
Ellie reads a sign in a loud whisper, ‘Meeting In Progress – Do Not Disturb. Mummy!’
‘What?’
‘Stop talking!’
I tell her I can’t. We speculate who might be in the room, and if they’re terribly important. ‘The Prime Minister,’ says Ellie, decisively. ‘He has lots of meetings.’ I don’t argue as she could be right. It feels like the sort of place important stuff goes on.
Polly arrives with our tray, and tells us the shop’s extra-heaving because of selling Wilderness tickets. Apparently, Jaffe & Neale will be at the (very smart) festival at Cornbury Park in August.
‘How very cool,’ I say, impressed.
‘Isn’t it?’ says Polly, grinning.
It’s no surprise, really, that Jaffe and Neale are so successful, or take part in such glamorous events. Patrick is the current President of the Booksellers Association, and runs courses on how to build successful book businesses.
Polly disappears briefly into the room marked ‘Meeting In Progress’, and emerges with a handful of brightly-coloured garden windmills. I have a boggling mental image of David Cameron and a bunch of gnomes.
The children and I finish our tea and browse the second-hand and sale books. Just as we’re reading one of those clever text posters, a tallish man shoots past. Patrick, I guess, from the brief impression of smart corduroy and dark hair.
Downstairs again, we mooch around the books some more, and when I’ve finished my notes, I look up to see Patrick behind the till. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his checked shirt, and is wearing a dark-blue apron. The children are laughing in delight at Seth Casteel’s Underwater Dogs, so I whiz over to say hello.
We quickly establish we just missed meeting at the London Book Fair in April, and that it was Patrick who officially launched the ‘Books Are My Bag’ campaign with Lord Saatchi (M&C Saatchi designed the campaign).
‘Great day,’ he tells me. ‘We’ve so many plans for the year ahead.’
Polly is greeting some regulars, and another Yummy is hovering, looking for service, glossy cased cookery book in her arms.
‘I’d love to hear about them,’ I say. ‘I’ll call, shall I?’
I’m edged sideways by an expensive-looking blonde in pearls. ‘Aw-fly sorry,’ she says.
The children are still in stitches at the Underwater Dogs.
‘Come on,’ I hiss. ‘Let’s leggit.’
They both protest. ‘Nooooo Mummy. We’re reading-’
‘Park?’ I say.
‘Oh yes,’ says Jess, brightening. ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’