Bookbinders and Painters
Disclaimer:As much as I would love to own the Inkheart series it belongs to Cornelia Funke, who first inspired me write.
Whoever knew Mortimer Folchart could tell you immediately that he had a passion for books that few people could even dream to match. However, one person who did match Mo's passion (and maybe even surpass it) was Elinor Loredan.
Barely hours ago Mo had received a frantic phone-call from the aforementioned woman, who had spent half of their short conversation in hysterics about the poor condition of several of her so-called "inky children" and the other questioning and criticizing Mo's abilities. When finally satisfied, Elinor gave him her address and told him "If you take your time, Mr. Folchart, you will be solely responsible for the untimely demise of some very valuable books, and let me tell you; if that is the case, don't you dare expect payment!" before promptly hanging up.
Needing little more motivation than the idea of a middle-aged woman charging into his house at some god-forsaken hour, lecturing him about how he of all people should understand the importance of preserving valuable literate or otherwise threatening him to do her bidding (and by the sound of her voice, it would be the latter), Mo packed his tools as quickly and carefully as possible, giving only little thought to clothing and other provisions, chucking whatever was clean into a duffel-bag.
After driving almost non-stop for an entire day, Mo finally reached the given address, the imposing front gate leaving him breath-taken "Just like the Selfish Giant's gate" he murmured.
Eventually, after what seemed like an immense period of time spend driving through the dark mass of tree's this woman probably called her garden, he finally pulled up to the drive. The house had been much larger than he'd expected, and just like with the front gate he had to give himself a moment, and it was then he noticed the sign that read (in three different languages)
IF YOU INTEND TO WASTE MY TIME ON POINTLESS TRIVIA, YOU'D BETTER GO AWAY NOW!
Well, that was certainly comforting…
Finally plucking up the courage to ring the doorbell, Mo heard it echo throughout the house, followed by two agitated voices.
"That'll be him," one cried, which was undoubtedly Elinor Loredan, judging by her shrill tone "The bookbinder!"
"Yes, Auntie Elinor, I know! You've talked about nothing but 'The Bookbinder' since breakfast, does this poor man even have a name?"
Mo barely had time to take in the beauty of the second voice before the door was opened quite violently, revealing a pugdy, middle-aged woman wearing clothes that seemed to be from another century entirely , and the other, a beautiful young woman with blond hair around his own age; a paintbrush sticking out from behind her ear.
"Yes, he does. His name his Mortimer Folchart" he said, holding out his hand and giving his best attempt at a charming smile, hoping Elinor Loredan did not smite him for his lateness. Despite her height, she was as equally imposing as her front gate.
It was the younger woman who shook his hand, smiling, and when she did, Mo felt his heart flutter slightly.
"Well, come on then," Elinor's voice announced, bringing him out his reveries "You've got a lot of work to do! Resa will show you the library whilst I go and get some of the more damaged books. And for the love of pixies, don't touch anything before I get back, as you undoubtedly know I have some very valuable books here." 'Resa' rolled her eyes, leading Mo through a number of corridors before stopping outside a grand door with a newly-painted dolphin on it.
"Did you do that?" he asked, feeling stupid, because obviously it was her who had painted it. He'd just been so surprised at how real it seemed. There wasn't a thing in this place that hadn't surprised him in some way.
"Yes, I just finished it earlier today, so just try not to touch it. I'm Resa, by the way" she said, turning slightly pink, which Mo thought was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen.
&.&.&
Over the next few days Resa would often come in while Mo worked and they would discuss their favourite books and paintings, and one afternoon the conversation led to Resa's frightful aunt.
"She's awfully fierce isn't she?" Mo asked
"Oh, she's a wonderful person; really, I couldn't have asked for a lovelier aunt, she just goes mad when it comes to books!"
"Yes, well, no one would ever have guessed that" he replied, irony lacing his voice, earning another lovely smile from Resa
"Don't get me started! Once when I was about four or five, I wandered into the library and was looking at one of her manuscripts with my hands pressed up against the glass- which I really couldn't help, by the way. I was too small to see otherwise and needed to balance myself because I was standing on my toes. Then she bursts in yelling "Resa, what in the name of Tolkien are you doing?" which of course on top of everything else nearly gave me a heart-attack. I swear she wanted to lock me in my room for the rest of my visit."
She looked over to Mo who had abandoned any kind of work and was clutching his sides with laughter. When he was eventually calm enough to talk he said to Resa "I'm sorry, I could just picture her doing something like that. The look on your face must have been hilarious!"
"Probably, I was sort of focused on trying to breathe at that point" she giggled, and Mo heard nothing but that sound. It was the sound of the most beautiful bells in the world
Both of them were saddened when Mo's work was completed and he was due to return home, they had become good friends, and they both hoped to become something more to each other.
"You'll write to me, won't you?" Resa asked, pouting like a small child. Mo thought it made her look even more adorable.
"Of course I will. I'll come and read to you one day." Mo said, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I'd like that." Resa said "I'd like that a lot." She sighed before giving Mo a lingering kiss on the cheek and turning to go back indoors.
Oh yes, he'd definitely have to come back and read to Resa.
Well? Love it, Hate it? I just couldn't get this idea out of my head, so it felt really satisfying to get it out on paper... or a computer.