How to Find Love in a Book Shop (17 page)

‘That is the best present ever,’ Alice told her as she took it out of the bag. ‘Thank you. But what I really want you to do is bring me my laptop.’

‘No way,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘You need to rest, Alice. You’ve got enough to deal with just getting better. Everything’s under control. Your dad’s taking charge and being really helpful.’

She didn’t add ‘for once’. Ralph really had stepped up to the plate. Usually no one was quite sure where he was or what he was up to, and unless he was given a really specific task he did his own thing, but he had been magnificent.

Alice giggled. ‘I bet he’s driving everyone mad. But honestly, Mum – the thing is I just lie here and worry. If I’ve got my laptop I can keep up to speed on everything. Otherwise Christmas is going to be a nightmare. It’s all in the planning.’

‘Darling, we’ve done it often enough. The girls in the office have all your lists and timetables—’

‘But it’s the small things. And there were lots of new things I wanted to do this year—’

‘It’s out of the question.’ Sarah cut her off. ‘And if things aren’t perfect this year, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, we need you better for the wedding. That’s your big day.’

Alice gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘The wedding will organise itself. I’m not worried about that.’

‘But I want you to enjoy it.’

Alice looked stubborn. ‘I won’t enjoy it if I’m worried about work, will I?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Look – I’ll get one of the girls from the office to come in and talk everything through with you. Then you can see how well they are managing.’

‘Are you saying I’m replaceable?’ Alice looked indignant.

‘No. I’m saying you need to look after yourself otherwise you’ll end up in a worse state.’

The thing with Alice was that she never stopped. And now she’d been forced to, she didn’t like it.

‘Who’s organising the flyers to hand out at the farmers’ market? Who’s doing our tweets? Who’s ordering the presents for the Father Christmas visits? Who’s talked to the reindeer man about the reindeer?’

‘It’s all under control,’ repeated Sarah, who had no idea of the answer to any of Alice’s questions. But she wasn’t going to let her know that. All that really mattered was that Alice got better. If no one tweeted for a few weeks, or the reindeer didn’t turn up, it wasn’t the end of the world.

After visiting Alice, Sarah drove back home, observing how the first of the leaves were now leaving the trees. Of course Peasebrook Manor was glorious in summer, an abundance of colour and greenery, but she rather liked being able to see the structure underneath, the bare branches, the absence of colour, the golden stone of the walls and balustrades and terraces dulling to a more subdued grey. The starkness certainly suited her mood, as she watched a flock of starlings scatter themselves across the sky.

She got out of the car. She could see Dillon moving some of the lead planters on the terrace. She’d been avoiding him rather since Alice’s accident, because she wasn’t sure what to think about what Hugh had told them about the events leading up to it. She didn’t want to believe that Dillon could have been instrumental in the accident, yet she could hardly ask him for his side of the story. So it was easier not to think about it. There was too much going on in her head already.

But she was fond of Dillon. It wasn’t fair of her to give him the cold shoulder. He’d been devastated to hear about Alice, but was that because he felt guilty? Did he know he was responsible for Hugh’s fast driving?

She walked along the terrace to the French windows that led into the morning room. A light autumn breeze caressed her. It lifted her heart just a little. To the right and left of her the velvety lawns of Peasebrook had just had their last cut before the winter and she breathed in the grassy scent. Clusters of great oak trees lined the horizon. The grey ribbon of the drive stretched out into the distance: she could just see the gates.

Dillon looked up as she approached. He stood up, his hands smothered in rich peat. He was planting the bulbs for her favourite tulips: dark purple, almost black.

‘How is she today?’ he asked.

‘She’s not too bad,’ Sarah told him.

‘Will you tell her I said hello? Next time you go in.’

‘Of course.’

‘When will she be back home?’

‘It depends on her leg. She’s just waiting for one more operation. We’re hoping not too long. But at the moment she’s best off in the hospital.’

Dillon looked away for a moment. He looked troubled. As if he was about to say something.

‘Is there something the matter, Dillon?’ Sarah wondered if he wanted to confess. She would prefer everything to be out in the open.

‘No. No, it’s fine. I was just wondering – would – would it be all right if I went to see her?’

Sarah thought for a moment. If what Hugh had said was true, maybe Alice wouldn’t want to see him. On the other hand, Dillon and Alice had always been friends. Who was she to stop him seeing her?

Alice’s mother, that’s who. It was her duty to make sure her daughter wasn’t put into any more discomfort than she already was.

‘I think perhaps not, at the moment, if you don’t mind.’

She turned and stepped into the morning room. She felt awful. Dillon had looked crestfallen. But she couldn’t deal with what Hugh had told her at the moment, because there would be too many consequences. She couldn’t manage without Dillon, therefore she didn’t want to investigate any further. But in case it was true, she needed to keep him away from Alice. For the time being, anyway.

Dillon was furious with himself. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he just come out with it and tell Sarah what had happened in the White Horse? It wasn’t as if they weren’t close. Or as close as they could be. Dillon didn’t fool himself that Sarah thought of him as an equal. Of course she didn’t.

He’d talked to Brian about the Hugh thing, in the pub.

‘I don’t understand why he didn’t get done. You saw how much they’d all been drinking, and he was partying with them.’

Brian chuckled. ‘You are a bit green sometimes, Dillon.’

‘What do you mean?’

Brian tapped his nose.

‘What does that mean?’

‘He’s a little bit fond of the old Bolivian marching powder, isn’t he?’

Dillon still looked puzzled.

‘Didn’t you see how many times he nipped off to the toilet?’

‘For a slash?’

‘No, idiot. For a line of cocaine.’

Dillon blinked. ‘Cocaine? Bloody hell.’ He thought about it. ‘So he
wasn’t
drunk?’

‘No. Just high as a kite.’

‘How come the police didn’t notice?’

‘He’ll have charmed them, won’t he?’

‘You mean they turned a blind eye?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Just gave him the benefit of the doubt when he passed the breathalyser. They wouldn’t suspect him, would they? He’s marrying a Basildon.’

‘So the bastard got away with it.’

‘Yep. And it’s too late to grass him up now.’

‘Do you think Alice knows what he gets up to?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Probably not. She’s a nice girl. He wouldn’t want to blot his copybook with her.’

‘How do you know, anyway? That he takes cocaine?’

Brian scoffed. ‘You ask Pogo. That’s where all Hugh’s money goes – in Pogo’s pocket. Pogo supplies him and all his mates.’

Pogo was the local drug dealer who skulked about in the dodgier pubs in Peasebrook and thought he was a bit of a gangster, with his dreadlocks and gold front tooth. Dillon had been at school with him and thought he was an idiot. He wasn’t going to lower himself to ask Pogo for corroborative evidence to incriminate Hugh. Pogo would say anything if he thought it would save his own sorry arse.

‘Why haven’t you told me this before?’

‘I thought you knew.’

Dillon shook his head. He felt shocked. He hadn’t thought much of Hugh in the first place, but this was even worse. But what could he do?

If he told Sarah that Hugh had been off his head on cocaine the night of the accident, Hugh would deny it. And no one would believe Dillon over Hugh, because Hugh had passed the breathalyser test. They’d just think Dillon was trying to cause trouble. They wouldn’t want to think anything bad of Hugh, because he was the saviour of Peasebrook Manor. The one with the deep pockets. And one of them.

Yet if he said nothing, Alice was going to end up marrying him – a manipulative, amoral coke-head.

He kicked a clod of earth into a flowerbed. It was frustrating, being the lowest of the low. When it came down to it, he was just a nobody.

He walked back to the garden room. He felt angry with Sarah, even though she had done nothing wrong. But he was hurt she didn’t want him to go and visit Alice. It wasn’t as if she was whiter than white. What would Ralph say, if he knew the truth about her and Julius Nightingale? Not that Dillon would ever say anything, not in a million years. But that made it worse, not better. And Ralph himself was no role model. Dillon had worked out what had been going on years ago. Which was why he was so cross with himself for not seeing through Hugh.

He clenched his teeth. What was the point in behaving with loyalty to people, when they showed
you
none? He pulled off his wax jacket and put the kettle on. Was he the only person in the world who wasn’t a bloody hypocrite? Well, him and Alice of course. If anyone was the innocent party in all of this, it was Alice.

Dillon sat and drank his tea, and as he drank, he came to a decision. He’d go to the hospital and see Alice himself. He didn’t need Sarah’s permission. If Alice didn’t want to see him, she could tell him herself. He swilled out his cup and picked up his jacket. There was no time like the present.

Dillon had been to A&E often enough. As a gardener, it was an occupational hazard and tetanus injections and stitches were par for the course. But he’d never been onto one of the wards. The hospital was a maze, of arrows to different floors and places with different colour codes and letters, of lifts that went to different sections.

Eventually he found his way to the right area. He pushed open the double doors and asked for Alice at the nurse’s station. They pointed him towards a private room off the main ward.

He knocked gently and heard her voice. As he peeped round the door his heart leapt as he saw her. She was bundled up in bed, her leg in a cast outside the sheets, her face bandaged up, the one eye he could see still black with bruising.

‘Dillon!’ There was no hiding her delight.

He came in and held out the Terry’s chocolate orange he’d brought her.

‘I got you this.’

‘My absolute favourite! Let’s open it right now.’ She shuffled over and patted the bed next to her. ‘Come and sit down and tell me everything.’

He sat and started opening the box. He tapped the chocolate orange on the bedside table so it fell into segments, and fed them to her one by one as they talked.

‘I’m so bored cooped up in here. I really want to go on a ward, so I’ve got people to talk to, but Hugh’s insisted on a private room. It makes me feel as if people think I think I’m something special.’

‘Well, you are,’ said Dillon, smiling.

‘No, I’m not. And there’s so much to do at Peasebrook – Mum refuses to let me know what’s going on and tells me not to worry, but I worry more
not
knowing. What
is
going on?’

‘Everything’s under control, I think. Your mum’s doing a lot. And your dad, actually.’

Alice perked up as she had a sudden thought.

‘Could you do me a favour?’

‘What?’

‘Could you bring in my laptop? So I can check up on everything? I’ve asked Mum but she keeps forgetting. Accidentally on purpose, I think.’ Alice put her head to one side and looked at Dillon, eyes bright. ‘It’s in the estate office. The girls will know where it is. And don’t forget the cable.’

‘OK,’ said Dillon, pleased he could do something for her. ‘But should you be worrying about work?’

‘I can’t not worry. It’s impossible.’

‘You should try. Or you won’t get better.’

‘Honestly, you’re just like Mum. She’s worried I won’t get better in time for the wedding. To be honest, I’m starting to wonder if I should just cancel it. But if I do, I won’t be able to get married until next year, because Christmas will get in the way.’

‘What’s wrong with waiting till next year?’ Dillon felt a leap of hope. Given another year hideous Hugh might show his true colours.

‘No. We’ve got plans in place. Hugh wants to give up his flat and move into the cottage as soon as possible. We’ll forge ahead.’ She looked at her leg. ‘I’ve just got one more operation on this and then – then they’ve got a consultant coming to look at my face … They said it could be much worse. I could have lost my eye. So I’m lucky really. Aren’t I?’

She smiled at him, and he wanted to scoop her up in his arms because she was so brave, sitting there with her face all battered, thinking she was lucky. He didn’t know what to say. Yes, in a way she
was
lucky. He shuddered when he thought about what could have happened. But the whole thing could have been prevented. If it wasn’t for the awful man she was about to marry.

He wondered about telling her his suspicions about Hugh on the night of the accident. But Alice was so sweet natured, so trusting, she wouldn’t believe a word of it. She would give Hugh the benefit of the doubt. Dillon would just sound spiteful. And of course, he didn’t have any proof, except Brian’s hypothesis. He had nothing to go on except speculation and gossip.

Alice pointed to a book on the bedside table.

‘Read to me for a bit, would you?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘Mum brought me this in earlier. And I’m getting tired. That’s the thing that gets me. I feel all right and then I get exhausted.’ She sighed.

‘Snuggle down then,’ he told her. He picked up the book.
Riders
, by Jilly Cooper. It was huge. He flipped it open.

‘I’m not a very good reader,’ he warned her.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I almost know it off by heart. I’ve read it about twenty times.’

‘What’s the point of hearing it again, then?’

‘It’s literally the best book in the world.’ She managed a smile. ‘There are some rude bits, though. Really rude.’