How to Find Love in a Book Shop (24 page)

‘Let me have your solicitor’s details,’ she said, ‘and I’ll get mine to draw up the contracts.’

He saw her out and she went and sat in her car. She wanted to feel victorious, as if she’d achieved something by letting go of the past. Instead, she just felt incredibly sad.

And alone. She rammed the key in the ignition, not sure where to go.

She had no job, no commitments, no ties to anyone or anything, and she’d just done a deal which would see her pretty well off. She slammed the car into reverse.

Cuba, she thought. She’d book a month’s holiday in Cuba and go and find herself. Drown herself in rum daiquiris and dance till dawn, feel the sun on her face and the music in her soul. Havana would be crazy and dirty and noisy: about as far away from Peasebrook as you could get. And she would be about as far away from herself as she could get. In fact, she could leave Emilia Nightingale at home and come back as someone else. She imagined a girl with a tan and a red ruffled dress and a flower in her hair.
That’s
who she was going to be for now.

Jackson’s phone rang. It was Mendip. His heart sank.

He was going to badger him about Nightingale Books. He steeled himself. He was going to tell him where to get off. He didn’t want any part in the duplicity any longer. If that meant he lost his job, so be it.

He answered, cautious. ‘Hello?’

‘Well done, my son.’

‘What?’

‘You could make a good living with your powers of persuasion. It’s a skill.’ Mendip laughed a horrible laugh.

‘What are you on about?’ Jackson asked.

‘Miss Nightingale is selling me the shop. Contracts are being drawn up as we speak. Soon as we’ve all signed on the dotted line, you’re in charge at the glove factory. We should be in there by the New Year. Good work, Jackson!’

He hung up.

‘What was that all about?’ asked Cilla.

‘Nothing,’ said Jackson. ‘Just Mendip’s usual bollocks.’

He felt sick. He should feel happy, that Emilia had decided to sell up without him putting any pressure on her. After all, he was going to have a plum job as a result. Head gaffer at the glove factory – that was something to get excited about. But Jackson didn’t feel excited at all.

The last thing he wanted Emilia to do was sell the shop.

Twenty-One

Alice was sitting in the polytunnel, wrapped up in her duckdown ski jacket and her Uggs, wearing a pair of fingerless mittens. The two girls who helped her with wedding flowers were sitting with her.

They had a long piece of rope lined up on trestle tables in front of them, and were attaching bunches of green foliage to the rope with pieces of wire. Once the rope was covered, it would be hung up on scaffolding so they could start adding individual flowers, stripping the leaves by hand from each stem so they could be easily inserted. Blooms of yellow, pink, blue and purple were mixed in with the foliage until the garland was complete, ready to be hung up in the chapel. It was a labour of love, but the Christmas garland had become a Peasebrook tradition.

Alice looked at all the dried flowers waiting in boxes. Dillon had cut every single one of them, choosing only the very best, and had put them away carefully to dry. She still hadn’t seen him properly since she got back. She had glimpsed him in the grounds, but every time she got to her feet and went to call him, he had disappeared.

He was avoiding her, she thought. She wasn’t sure why. Had she done something to hurt him? She needed to find out. She was going to go and find him. She stood up.

‘Can you two carry on with this?’ she said to the girls. ‘I’ll be back later.’

Dillon had purposely stayed out of the way when Alice had come home from hospital. It was like something from Downton Abbey – all the staff lined up to greet her when Sarah and Ralph drove her back in the Range Rover. He’d watched from a distance as everyone hugged her. Everyone loved Alice. There’d been champagne in the hall and Hugh had been there, of course, watching her fondly. Alice looked so happy, even though she still used a stick when she got tired.

He’d stay out of the way, if he could. At least until after the wedding. If he had the nerve, he’d find another job, but his loyalty to Sarah was greater than his awkwardness at the situation. Just. And a stubborn part of him wanted to prove to Hugh that he wasn’t intimidated by him.

So it took him by surprise when Alice cornered him by the entrance gate where he was clipping the box hedges into perfection before they were decorated for the wedding.

‘Hey,’ he said with a smile.

‘I’ve found you at last,’ she said. ‘Have you been avoiding me?’

‘I’ve been busy. There’s a lot to do.’

‘So much you couldn’t even have a cup of coffee?’

He couldn’t look her in the eye.

‘Never mind,’ she went on. ‘I want to go and choose the tree for the hall. I want you to come with me. Make sure I’ve picked the best one before everyone else gets there.’

There was a small field on the edge of the estate where they grew Christmas trees to sell. People came in early December and picked the one they wanted. It was marked with a label indicating the date they wanted to pick it up, then Dillon would dig it up fresh on the day. The trees made enough money to pay for the estate’s decorations and a staff lunch.

‘Are you sure you’ll make it?’ Dillon looked concerned but Alice waved her stick at him.

‘I’ll be fine.’

He took her arm and they walked across the soft ground around the edge of the estate.

‘Why didn’t you come back and see me in hospital?’ she demanded. ‘You promised you would.’

He hesitated. ‘It wasn’t appropriate.’

She frowned. ‘Appropriate? I don’t understand.’

No, he thought. You don’t. And that’s why I love you.

‘I don’t think Hugh would have liked it,’ he said eventually.

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Alice frowned. She stopped. ‘Dillon. I need you to be honest with me. You don’t like Hugh, do you?’

Dillon felt cornered. This was his chance to tell her what he really thought.

‘It’s more that he doesn’t like me …’ he said finally.

‘But why? Why would anyone not like you?’

‘Because – because he thinks I know the truth about him?’

‘What truth?’

Dillon hesitated. He had to be very careful. Whatever he said now could very easily backfire on him. But he owed it to Alice to tell her his suspicions. He couldn’t just say he thought Hugh was an arrogant cock, but he could warn her about what he’d heard. That might be enough to give her second thoughts.

‘It’s probably just rumours. But the word is he’s a bit of a coke-head.’

‘Hugh?’ Alice laughed. ‘He can’t be. I’d know, surely?’

Dillon shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.’

Alice thought for a moment. Then she looked at him with a bright smile. ‘Pub gossip, probably. People say things. What they don’t know, they make up. And Hugh wasn’t brought up round here, so they’ve just tried to fill in the gaps. It’s because he works in the City and he’s got a flash car. It’s just … stereotyping.’

She trailed off. Dillon could see she was desperate for reassurance. He didn’t have enough evidence to contradict her.

‘Probably.’

‘It’s important to me that you two get on. You’re very dear to me, Dillon. And I know you’re being protective, but Hugh’s all right, really. He’s just very different from you. But he’ll be a good husband. He loves Peasebrook and he’s going to help us take it forward. And you’re going to be part of that too.’

Dillon didn’t reply. He understood. It was all about money and power. Hugh had cash and influence and contacts. Of course he was going to take Peasebrook forward. He couldn’t wait to be lord of the bloody manor. That was how it worked. He couldn’t force Alice to see the truth, because it
was
her truth. He had no power to change that.

‘I just wanted you to be aware what people are saying. And you’re right. It’s because I want to protect you.’

Alice hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Then she pushed her hair back and showed him her scar.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s got much better. You can hardly see it now.’

I never did see it, thought Dillon.

‘And I’ve got some special make-up. It shouldn’t show at all. For the wedding …’

She looked at him. He really wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

She stopped to lean on the gate he had put up to stop members of the public going up to the folly. It was just starting to rain: a spiteful squall that reminded people not to be seduced by bursts of fine weather and bone-warming sunshine that could easily be whisked away in a trice.

She looked white, an awful grey-green white.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘My stupid leg. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I haven’t got the strength.’

He looked at her. He could carry her back to the house, he thought, give her a piggyback or hold her in his arms, but it was half a mile from here and the ground would be slippery.

‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get the quad bike.’

‘That would be brilliant. You’re a star. I’m sorry to be a nuisance.’ She shivered. ‘I’ll wait here.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Let me carry you to the folly. You’ll catch your death if you wait here. You’ll get soaked through. Here.’

He held out his arms to pick her up, sliding one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He lifted her easily.

‘I must weigh a ton. All that chocolate you fed me.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

He pushed open the gate and strode along the path to the folly, pushing through the undergrowth. When he got to the folly, Alice gasped.

‘My goodness! Look at it!’

Dillon managed a smile. It had been his secret project. He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing. It was taking him a while, because he just did half an hour here and there when he had a moment. But gradually he was restoring it to its former glory. He’d cut away all the overgrown ivy and brambles, revealing the golden stone underneath. He’d pointed up the brickwork, sanded down the windows and the door and repainted them the same teal blue the estate used on all its wood. Inside he’d sanded the floorboards too.

‘It’s a surprise,’ he said. ‘For your mother.’

‘Oh Dillon,’ said Alice. ‘What a wonderful thing to do.’

He put her down on the old sofa. He’d been going to take it away, because it was old and damp and musty. He took his scarf off to wrap round her neck and keep her warm. She protested, but he insisted.

‘I don’t want you getting a chill. Just wait here. I won’t be a tick.’

Alice lay back on the sofa. She felt terrible. She’d been trying so hard not to let her leg get the better of her, but her bones were aching; her painkillers were wearing off, and she was freezing. Darling Dillon, she thought. He was so lovely. She couldn’t believe what he’d done to the folly. Her mum was going to be so touched.

She tried to get comfy on the sofa. She thought about what Dillon had told her and felt a squiggle of panic. She knew some of Hugh’s friends were a bit on the wild side, and probably indulged in a bit of party powder – she wasn’t totally naïve. But Hugh had never hinted that he took part and she’d never seen any evidence. Not that she’d know what to look for, she thought. She was a bit green, she knew that.

But why was Hugh marrying her if that was his scene? He’d go for someone more flashy and glamorous, surely? He had plenty of friends who were, after all, but he’d chosen her. He loved her. She knew he did.

She shut her eyes and her mind wandered. Dear old Dillon: he was so anxious to look out for her. She remembered that moment in the hospital, when she’d thought Dillon was going to kiss her. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t wanted him to, but it would have made things a bit tricky. She’d always had a bit of a thing for Dillon, but he’d never shown any interest until that afternoon. Though now she realised he hadn’t been interested at all, really. The painkillers must have made her imagination run away. Luckily Hugh had turned up just in time. She felt herself blush at the thought of what might have happened. What was she like? Having fantasies about lovely, kind Dill. He was obviously totally embarrassed about it all. It was why he’d been avoiding her. She was an absolute nit.

She laughed at herself, then put her hands behind her to try and shift round a bit. She felt the corner of a book that had fallen down behind the sofa cushion.

She tugged it and pulled it out.
Anna Karenina
. A big fat Penguin classic. She flipped it open. The pages were damp and yellowing.

There was an inscription on the flyleaf. Written in fountain pen.

You are braver and more beautiful than Anna, and I hope I am a better man than Vronsky.

That was it. No indication who it was from or to. No date. Alice turned the page and began to read.

All happy families are alike. Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Well, thought Alice. At least my family is a happy one. She didn’t know where she’d be without them. And she began to read.

Dillon was reversing the quad bike out of the yard when Sarah came up to him, her Barbour coat flapping behind her. This was just what he didn’t want. But he couldn’t ignore her. She looked worried.

‘Have you seen Alice? She was helping with the garland and then went off somewhere but she hasn’t come back. She’s been ages and it’s raining.’

‘I found her up along.’ Dillon was deliberately vague. ‘I was just going to go and fetch her on the quad.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Just a bit wet. And tired, I think.’

‘Have you left her in the rain?’

Dillon paused for a moment. ‘She’s in the folly. She’s in the dry.’

Sarah eyed the quad bike. ‘I’ll come with you.’

He could hardly protest. But he’d wanted to save the surprise, until the job was properly finished. She wasn’t going to see it at its best – there was still a bit to do. But he couldn’t keep it a secret forever.

‘Hop on, then.’

He drove as quickly as he could across the lawns and cut up through the top of the woods along to the folly. He was the only person who’d been up here for the past few weeks. He drew up and killed the engine.

Sarah climbed off and stared in astonishment. ‘Did you do this?’ she asked, and for a moment Dillon thought she was angry. That he had overstepped the mark with his gesture.

‘I didn’t want it falling down. It was in a bit of a state. So I thought I’d do some repairs.’

She stared, and there were tears in her eyes. The folly looked loved and cared for again. It had gone to seed, like a middle-aged woman who has stopped bothering. Now it stood proud and gleaming, its paintwork immaculate, intriguing and inviting.

‘It looks wonderful,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Let’s go and see if Alice is OK,’ he said, gruff with embarrassment.

Sarah took in a deep breath and pushed open the door. She hadn’t been inside since Julius died. Again, Dillon had worked his magic. The walls were painted, the floor sanded, the woodwork repaired.

On the sofa, Alice was engrossed in
Anna Karenina
.

‘Darling!’ Sarah rushed over and started to fuss over her. ‘Your hands are like ice. You silly girl – what were you thinking? Come on, let’s get you back to the house.’

Alice held up the book. ‘Look what I found down the back of the sofa.’

For a moment, Sarah stood stock-still, as if she’d been turned to stone. Then she took the book from Alice. ‘Oh yes. I bought it in a charity shop. I was halfway through. I wondered where it had gone.’

‘Here you go,’ said Dillon, scooping up Alice again. ‘There won’t be room for all of us on the quad, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll walk back. Take her to the kitchen and make her a hot chocolate. I’ll be just behind you.’

Dillon strode out of the door with Alice in his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour.

Sarah stood in the middle of the folly. The musty familiar smell of it took her back. She looked at the sofa, grey with dust, and remembered all the times the two of them had sat there, wrapped up in each other, while the rain, and on occasion, the snow, fell outside. It had been so cosy. Their little hideaway.

If she turned, she might see him pushing his way through the undergrowth, his face breaking into a smile as he saw her.

She clasped the book to her chest. She’d never see him again. Would it get any easier, she wondered? The gaping hole in her heart where Julius had been?