The First Time I Saw Your Face Read Online Free PDF Page B

finger-wetting and page-turning recommenced until he found what he was looking for.
    ‘Lord Percival Dennison feasted his eyes on Lady Cranleigh’s voluptuous form, from the milky mounds of her breasts to that place where he longed to plunge his …’ Mr Armstrong stopped and tutted and there was more pained sucking of teeth before he passed the book to Jennifer. ‘I’ll not read the rest.’
    Jennifer glanced at the page and snapped the book shut. ‘Yes, easy to see where that’s going … so, anything more, then?’ She nodded at his carrier bag, hoping there was nothing else he considered improper lurking within it.
    ‘No, not this time. You’ll send a letter to the council?’
    ‘Of course. Would you like to see it before I send it?’
    ‘Why no, pet. I trust you.’
    ‘Fine, and you know, Mr Armstrong, what I was saying last time, about you perhaps being a bit more careful concerning the books you choose if strong language and, um, physical interaction offends you?’
    Mr Armstrong looked up at her from under his brows, and she ploughed on, picking up the book he had just laid down and looking at its cover.
    ‘For example, the title of this one – Plundered by Pirates – it should have warned you off really.’
    ‘Warned me off? How?’
    If it had been anybody else, Jennifer would have thoughtthey were pulling her leg, but Mr Armstrong’s eyes were devoid of humour. A faint tang of soap and toothpaste lingered about him.
    ‘Well, “plundered”, particularly in historical novels, is often used to describe the act of –’ Jennifer had another run up at it – ‘when a man forces himself, um, upon a woman.’
    Mr Armstrong studied her intently and then shook his head.
    ‘Well, I dare say it’s a modern thing. We never had that when I was young. We were Methodists.’
    In the poetry section, Jennifer heard several books thud to the floor.
    ‘Why not try some poetry, Mr Armstrong?’ she said, very loudly.
    ‘Ooh, no,’ Mr Armstrong’s eyes were wide. ‘Poets. They’re the worst.’ He looked down into his lap, rummaged about in his carrier bag and then produced two more library books. A little more scrabbling and he had a library card in his hand. ‘Put these new ones through for me, will you?’
    Jennifer took the books: Lust for the East and The Hidden World of the Victorian Gentleman . She might as well have the chair permanently bolted to the counter ready for his next visit.
    ‘You’ll tell them to reply directly to me. The council?’ he said, getting slowly to his feet.
    Jennifer nodded and handed him his books and his ticket and, when he was ready, his stick. She wonderedwhich poor soul at the county council got the job of answering Mr Armstrong’s complaints.
    ‘Right, I’ll be away then.’ He moved slowly towards the exit.
    Jennifer followed him and pressed the large button on the wall that had been fitted to make it easier for the old or frail to open the door. It had not been an unqualified success, even in this, its second incarnation. The first button, simply round and black, had flummoxed most of the older users, who had viewed it as some kind of knob that had to be turned. Consequently it had only lasted a matter of days. The council had dispatched another mechanic with a new button, square this time, and with the word ‘Press’ upon it in large red letters. This had solved the problem for those whose sight was still good, but it was not unusual to find some poor soul looking wistfully at the door and waiting for somebody else to get it open for them.
    Mr Armstrong’s approach was to jab the button with his stick.
    ‘I forgot to ask,’ he said, pausing on the threshold and causing Jennifer to leap for the button to stop him getting battered by the door as it tried to close. ‘That brother of yours, Danny, how’s he going on?’
    ‘Not getting a lot of sleep. Louise’s teething.’
    ‘And your dad?’
    ‘Fine, he’s hoping to get some good lambs through this