He looked at her, impressed. ‘She’d love that. You’re a genius.’ He looked around the shop. ‘Where do I find them?’
Thomasina led him over to the fiction shelves and found the books in question.
‘These two are keepers,’ she told him.
He looked puzzled.
‘You know, some books you lend or lose or give to a charity shop, but these are books for life. I’ve read Heartburn about seventeen times.’ She blushed, because she always blushed if she ever talked about herself. ‘Maybe I need to get out more.’
More? To misquote Alice in Wonderland, how could she go out more if she didn’t go out at all?
He patted her on the shoulder and she felt all fizzy inside. Fizzy and fuzzy.
‘Well, you’re a star and no mistake. I’ll see you in the shop?’
She smiled at him and wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, and he sauntered off to the counter and she realised she didn’t even know his name.
She watched him chatting to Emilia while he paid. He was so warm and friendly and open. And she realised something. He hadn’t made her feel shy and tongue-tied. She had almost felt like a normal person when she spoke to him. It had been easy. Yes, she’d gone pink, but she always went pink. It was just what she did.
The only other person who hadn’t made her feel self-conscious was Julius. Maybe it was the shop? Maybe there was something in the air that made her the person she wished she were? Someone who could actually hold a conversation.
She went to pay for her books and plucked up the courage to ask Emilia.
‘You don’t know what that bloke’s name is? The one I was just talking to? I know he works in the cheese shop.’
‘Jem?’ said Emilia. ‘Jem Gosling. He’s a sweetheart. He always used to bring my father the last of the Brie when it was running out of the door.’
Thomasina looked down at the counter. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t, ask if he had a girlfriend. She knew there were women, more brazen than she, who would be bold enough. But that just wasn’t the sort of person Thomasina was.
Emilia was looking at her. She looked knowing. But not in an unkind way.
‘As far as I know,’ she said casually, ‘he’s unattached. He had a girlfriend but she went off to Australia. He used to come and talk to my father about it, when she first left. But I think he’s probably over it.’
Thomasina felt flustered. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to protest that she didn’t need to know any of that, because it would seem rude. But she was mortified that Emilia thought she was after Jem. She hoped Emilia wouldn’t say anything to him if she saw him, even in jest. The very thought made her feel ill. She changed the subject as quickly as she could, hoping Emilia would forget she’d ever mentioned him.
‘By the way, I’d love to do a reading,’ she found herself saying. ‘At the service.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Emilia smiled. ‘If you can let me know what you’re going to read, I can put it into the order of service.’
Thomasina nodded, hot blood pounding in her ears. What on earth had she said that for? She couldn’t stand up and speak in public, in front of a full church. It was too late now, though. Emilia was writing her name down on a list. She couldn’t back out, not without looking disrespectful to Julius.
Feeling slightly sick, she paid for her book as quickly as she could and left.
Four
‘The Desprez à Fleur Jaune is going to have to come out. It’s just not thriving. It’ll break my heart. It’s been there ever since I can remember. But I don’t think there’s any hope.’
Sarah Basildon spoke about her rose as if it were a beloved animal she was having put down. Her fingers moved gently over the space on the planting plan taken up by the sick flower, as if she were stroking it better.
‘I’ll take it out for you,’ said Dillon. ‘You won’t have to know about it. And once it’s actually gone, perhaps you won’t notice.’
Sarah smiled a grateful smile. ‘Oh, I’ll know. But that’s good of you. I’m just too much of a wimp.’
Of course, Sarah was far from a wimp in reality. She was redoubtable, from her gumboots to her chambray denim eyes. Dillon Greene thought the world of her.
And she him. They were as close as could be, the aristocrat and the horny-handed son of toil, thirty years apart in age. They loved nothing better than sitting in the dankness of the garden room, drinking smoky builders’ tea and dunking custard creams. They could easily get through a packet in a morning as they put the world and the gardens to rights.