After the service, Emilia was putting away her cello in the vestry. She was glad to have something to occupy her. It had all been so perfect, and all she could think of was how much her father would have enjoyed everyone’s contributions. She reminded herself she would have to send everyone a thank you letter.
‘You played beautifully.’
She jumped, and turned.
There was Marlowe, smiling. ‘You see? I told you. Practice makes perfect.’
‘I don’t know about perfect.’
‘It was at least a merit.’
She pretended to pout. ‘I got a distinction when I did it. For Grade 6, I think.’
‘Good. Because there’s something I want to ask you.’
He looked a bit awkward. Emilia felt her cheeks go slightly pink. Was he going to ask her out? Surely not, just after her father’s memorial service? But a little bit of her hoped he might. She could do with a drink, she liked Marlowe, and her father had thought a lot of him. He was interesting and fun and—
‘I wondered if you’d take your father’s place in the quartet.’
‘What?’ This wasn’t what Emilia had been expecting.
‘Poor old Felicity is so limited with what she can do now and I don’t want to put her under pressure. If you join, Delphine can go back to second violin, which will make her happy.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Which makes my life easier, I can tell you.’
Delphine. Of course. She had been at the service today, demure in a black shift dress. How on earth had she thought Marlowe might be interested in her?
Emilia shook her head. ‘No way am I good enough. Look how long it took me just to get one piece right.’
‘No way would I be asking you if I thought you weren’t up to it. It’s my reputation at stake. I wouldn’t risk it.’
‘I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how long I’ll be around. I don’t know what I’m doing with the shop.’ She was gabbling excuses.
‘Just join till the end of the year. It’s quiet for us, except for a few carol concerts. And Alice Basildon’s wedding.’ He was looking at her, his brown eyes beseeching behind his glasses. ‘I can give you some lessons. Get you up to speed.’
Emilia could feel herself weakening. Of course she wanted to join the quartet. But it was daunting.
‘I don’t want to let you down.’
‘We’ll just be doing carols, and the usual wedding repertoire. No Prokofiev or anything too fiddly.’
She looked at him. How would she resist that disarming smile? Being in the quartet would be the perfect distraction from the stress of the shop and all the decisions she had to make. And even if she were to close Nightingale Books tomorrow, she would be tying up the loose ends for a few months yet. Most importantly, Julius would be so proud and pleased to think she had taken his place. She remembered his patience as he had taught her to pick out her first notes; shown her how to hold the bow correctly. They had played duets together, and Emilia remembered being transported by the music, the joy of being in sync with someone else. She missed that feeling. The quartet would give that to her.
‘Promise me that if I’m not up to it, you’ll say.’
‘I promise,’ said Marlowe. ‘But you’ll be fine. Is that a yes?’
Emilia thought for a moment, and then nodded.
‘It’s a yes.’
Marlowe looked delighted. ‘Your dad would be so proud. You know that, don’t you?’
He hugged Emilia, and she felt a warm glow.
She told herself it was the pleasure of doing something she knew her father would have wanted.
Sarah drove back to Peasebrook Manor feeling dry-eyed and hollowed out, numb with the effort of trying not to feel. She had suppressed her emotions so ferociously she thought she might never feel anything ever again. A wave of gloom hit her as she turned into the drive. Oh God, Friday night fish pie and false smiles. That was what the evening held. Could she really live the rest of her life like this?
Eight
That evening, Dillon stopped off at the White Horse. He always dropped in on a Friday. He and a few mates met for a pint of Honeycote Ale, a bag of cheese and onion crisps and a chat about how their week had gone, before they all drifted off home for a shower and their dinner. Some of them had wives and girlfriends to go home to; some of them came back later, for a few more beers and maybe a game of darts or pool.