He was about to pull her into his arms when Delphine appeared by the door.
‘We’ve only got the hall till four,’ she told him.
Marlowe backed away from Emilia as if she had the plague. Which she felt as if she did.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ said Emilia. ‘I thought I was good enough but I’m not. You’ll have to get Felicity back.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Marlowe.
‘Honestly. It’s much better that I pull out now than mess it up on the day. Felicity knows all the music, I know she does. I’m sorry.’
She hurried back in and packed up her cello. She didn’t want to talk about it. Nor, it seemed, did the others, which confirmed she was doing the right thing. They’d obviously been longing for her to pack it in, but hadn’t had the heart to tell her. She left the hall as quickly as she could, so they could get on with their rehearsal. Without her messing it all up for them.
She walked past Delphine. Delphine tried her best to give her a smile of sympathy, but she really wasn’t that good an actress.
When she got home, she didn’t even stop to go into the shop and see how Dave was getting on. She didn’t feel like pretending she was all right. He’d be closing up in a couple of hours – they shut at four on a Sunday.
Instead, she went upstairs to the flat and felt plunged into stifling gloom. She decided to phone Sarah Basildon. Maybe they could have a glass of wine, share some memories of Julius, and raise a glass to him.
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Sarah. ‘Any other time, but Alice is coming home from hospital today. Ralph and I are just going to collect her. You’re welcome to come here, of course: we’re doing a celebration tea to welcome her back.’
Emilia lay on her bed. Even Sarah Basildon had moved on. She hadn’t even mentioned his birthday. She stared at the ceiling. She missed her dad more than ever.
Maybe staying in Peasebrook was the wrong thing to do? Maybe keeping the shop open was a romantic gesture, but a foolish one? She shouldn’t be trying to live her father’s life. She should be living her own.
She decided to run a bath, get warm and put clean sheets on the bed and fresh pyjamas and get an early night. She poured half a bottle of Badedas into the bath and turned the taps on, then went into the kitchen to make a Lemsip, adding two spoons of honey to soothe her throat. She sat on the sofa while she sipped at it: it was scalding hot, but she knew it would do her good. By the time she reached the unmelted honey at the bottom of the cup, her eyes felt heavy and were closing. She curled up in the corner of the sofa and let sleep take over.
Alice was packing up the last of her things before going home. She couldn’t wait. Her room was starting to drive her mad. Although all the staff had been wonderful, she’d had enough. The last operation on her leg had been deemed a success and it was up to her now to build up her strength. It still hurt horribly, and she got very tired, but she longed to be at home, at Peasebrook, and felt sure she would heal more quickly there.
She shut her case and looked around the room to see if there was anything else. Her book, Riders. She picked it up. It reminded her of Dillon. She had loved him reading to her. It had been so comforting, lying there listening to him, and if she drifted off it didn’t matter, because she knew the book so well. He hadn’t been in to see her recently and she wasn’t sure why. She supposed he was busy putting the garden to bed for the winter.
Hugh had refused to read to her. It wasn’t his thing, reading. He was always on edge when he came to visit. He hated hospitals, he told her. Alice wasn’t sure anyone liked hospitals all that much, but she didn’t say anything. She chatted to him and he pretended to listen and spent most of the time on his BlackBerry. He was doing a few deals he wanted to get out of the way before the wedding so she understood he was under pressure.
‘You don’t have to come and see me every night if you don’t want to,’ she told him, but he insisted. He never stayed long, though.
She tucked the book into her case and zipped it up. She couldn’t wait to get back to Peasebrook. There was so much to do. Not just for the wedding, but to get things ready for Christmas. And there was the Christmas garland to make. A sixty-foot rope of flowers from the gardens at Peasebrook. Dillon had been cutting and drying them in one of the potting sheds all year. It was going to be a labour of love to assemble it, but Alice was determined. It was going to be a celebration of everything that had grown at Peasebrook over the year. She was itching to get it done.
Her door opened, and there were Ralph and Sarah, beaming with excitement. She felt a lurch of love for her parents, who had been so caring over the past few weeks.
‘Come on, then,’ said Ralph, picking up her case. ‘The car’s waiting.’