Novel & Cerita Julian Barnes Books

It was Julian Vane. But it wasn't the Julian Vane from the cover of *Forbes*. He didn't see Maya, who was tucked into the shadow of a large decorative fern next to the desk. He walked toward a small, ornate glass case near the window. He looked... tired. More importantly, he looked human. "Alright, Barnaby," Julian muttered. His voice was a rich, gravelly baritone that sent a shiver down Maya’s spine that she absolutely didn't have time for. "Let’s see if we can get that rhythm back."

I was still in my lace and satin sleeping gown, a long cardigan draped around my shoulders. Picking a point to start, I set my noodles down on the glass table. My fingers ran across the spines of several books. They all had beautiful calligraphy on them, but in languages I couldn't even begin to understand. Some books had scribbles on the spines, a trend I found amongst the books that looked the oldest. Even here in South Africa, so far from home, Julian took the time to bring along numerous books. There were probably some that he had hand picked himself. Did he have manor's across the entire world? A house for every country? If so, I wouldn't mind seeing the one in Italy. It would be much o

The curtain fabric brushed against my arm while dust tickled my nose, forcing me to clamp my mouth shut so hard it hurt. Julian walked in looking exhausted. His shoulders were tense beneath his jacket as he dropped his bag near the desk and ran a hand through his hair. Through a narrow gap in the curtains, I watched him sit down and flip through some papers with a tired sigh. For one hopeful second, I thought maybe he would stay distracted. Maybe he’d answer emails. Maybe he’d take a call. Maybe— He suddenly paused. My stomach tightened. Without warning, he leaned toward the lower shelf and pulled the books aside.

I try to keep a serious face, but his expression makes it difficult. “Of course there’s a printer,” he says, waving toward the stairs. “It’s in the library. You should ask Cruz someday why any one man needs that many books.” I look where he pointed, to a part of the house I’d never paid attention to. Julian’s library. I’d been here days and never even knew it was there. Walking in, the smell of leather and old books fills the air. The walls are covered with shelves from the floor to the ceiling, packed with books that look like they haven’t been touched in ages. It’s beautiful, and strangely comforting. Julian’s own private world.