How to Find Love in a Book Shop(43)

At Peasebrook Manor, when Sarah Basildon heard the sound of a bell drill through the house, she sat up in bed and thought, Oh God, no. Please. Not so soon after Julius. Not someone else. I can’t take it.





Nine

Sarah sat upright, her hands pressed between her knees, staring at an awful painting of a wood in autumn hung on the pale green wall of the hospital waiting room. Waiting, she thought. Waiting for news. A diagnosis. A prognosis. Suddenly nothing else in life held any import or urgency. Eating, sleeping, drinking – all were irrelevant. They’d been here since two o’clock in the morning. Alice was having a brain scan, or an X-ray, or was in theatre, or something – she couldn’t remember which, or in what order. The information was a jumble and Alice was the staff priority, not giving out information. And they couldn’t give information until they had answers. Sarah kept telling herself everyone was doing their best, but it was agony.

Ralph came in with a mug of tea in each hand and held one out to her. He’d gone off to find the friendly Scottish nurse with the bleached blonde hair and the smiling eyes, to see if she had any idea what was going on.

Ralph, for all the blundering blustering hopelessness he usually used to dissemble, had come into his own. His mantle of fecklessness slipped away, and out came a man of integrity and grit. It must have been his army training. He’d only had a couple of years in the Blues and Royals, but it must have been lying dormant in him. Maybe that was what had been lacking in his life over the past years? A proper crisis.

Sarah stared down at her tea.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Drink up, darling. We’re going to need all our strength.’ He fished in his pocket and brought out a brace of digestives. ‘Not much of a breakfast, but they’ll see you through. An army marches on its stomach.’

Sarah took the mug and one of the biscuits. A tentative sip told her the tea was too hot, so she dunked the biscuit in.

‘The consultant should be here in a few minutes,’ Ralph added, and their eyes met. It was the moment they had been longing for and dreading, the consultant’s verdict. Ralph put a hand on her shoulder. ‘We’ll get through this, darling. She’s a fighter, Alice. That spirit of hers …’

He trailed off and his voice caught on his words. Sarah put up her hand and squeezed his arm. He needed reassurance too. He looked down at her, surprised and grateful, and she realised with a start of guilt that they barely had any physical contact any more. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but a gradual withdrawal. Sarah wondered for a moment if he had noticed, or, indeed, if he minded. She felt a rush of regret, tinged with guilt.

The door opened and they both stood to attention, Sarah sliding her arm into Ralph’s. Now she had touched him, she felt the need to be close. They both stood there, clutching their mugs of tea, staring at the young doctor in the maroon jersey.

He smiled. ‘Mr and Mrs Basildon?’

They nodded, mute with dread. They couldn’t read into his smile. Was it just a greeting, or a barometer? If it was bad news, would he bother smiling?

‘Well, she’s in a bit of a pickle, I’m afraid.’ He grimaced. ‘But the good news is we’ve done a brain scan and there doesn’t seem to be any great injury. Obviously we need to keep her monitored. There’s never any guarantee. Bleeds can occur unexpectedly after trauma. But so far, so good.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ Sarah leaned against Ralph, limp with relief.

‘It’s not all good news. Her left leg is in very bad shape. There are multiple fractures, and we’re going to have to operate and pin it all back together. It’s a bit of a mess. It’s going to be a while before she can walk. There’ll be a lot of rehab work. A lot of physio.’

‘We want the best people,’ said Sarah. ‘We can pay, if necessary.’ God knows how, but they’d find the money. Sell a painting. She’d sell her soul if necessary.

‘You don’t need to worry about that just yet. She’s in the best hands at the moment. Although there is more.’ He cleared his throat and Sarah looked at him. Somehow she knew this was going to be the bad bit. ‘Her face is badly lacerated. There’s a very nasty cut on her left cheek. She may well have to have some cosmetic surgery.’

‘Oh God,’ said Sarah. ‘She’s getting married in November.’

‘We’ll do our very best for her.’ He paused. ‘Look, there’s a lot to take in, and we don’t know yet which order we are going to be doing things. But in some ways she’s been very lucky—’

‘Lucky?’ Sarah looked appalled. Beautiful Alice, who was the least vain person Sarah knew.

‘We should tell Hugh,’ said Ralph. Hugh had gone out for fresh air. He said he was feeling odd after the crash. But he’d probably gone for a cigarette.

Sarah stiffened slightly at the mention of Hugh’s name. ‘It’s all his bloody fault.’

‘Darling. It was an accident. Black ice …’

‘Yes.’ Sarah didn’t sound convinced.

‘It must be awful. Imagine how he feels.’

‘He drives too fast. I know he does.’

More than once Sarah had had to brake in her Polo, meeting Hugh coming the other way in the narrow lanes leading to Peasebrook.

‘Boys will be boys.’