How to Find Love in a Book Shop(62)

‘It’s all under control,’ repeated Sarah, who had no idea of the answer to any of Alice’s questions. But she wasn’t going to let her know that. All that really mattered was that Alice got better. If no one tweeted for a few weeks, or the reindeer didn’t turn up, it wasn’t the end of the world.



After visiting Alice, Sarah drove back home, observing how the first of the leaves were now leaving the trees. Of course Peasebrook Manor was glorious in summer, an abundance of colour and greenery, but she rather liked being able to see the structure underneath, the bare branches, the absence of colour, the golden stone of the walls and balustrades and terraces dulling to a more subdued grey. The starkness certainly suited her mood, as she watched a flock of starlings scatter themselves across the sky.

She got out of the car. She could see Dillon moving some of the lead planters on the terrace. She’d been avoiding him rather since Alice’s accident, because she wasn’t sure what to think about what Hugh had told them about the events leading up to it. She didn’t want to believe that Dillon could have been instrumental in the accident, yet she could hardly ask him for his side of the story. So it was easier not to think about it. There was too much going on in her head already.

But she was fond of Dillon. It wasn’t fair of her to give him the cold shoulder. He’d been devastated to hear about Alice, but was that because he felt guilty? Did he know he was responsible for Hugh’s fast driving?

She walked along the terrace to the French windows that led into the morning room. A light autumn breeze caressed her. It lifted her heart just a little. To the right and left of her the velvety lawns of Peasebrook had just had their last cut before the winter and she breathed in the grassy scent. Clusters of great oak trees lined the horizon. The grey ribbon of the drive stretched out into the distance: she could just see the gates.

Dillon looked up as she approached. He stood up, his hands smothered in rich peat. He was planting the bulbs for her favourite tulips: dark purple, almost black.

‘How is she today?’ he asked.

‘She’s not too bad,’ Sarah told him.

‘Will you tell her I said hello? Next time you go in.’

‘Of course.’

‘When will she be back home?’

‘It depends on her leg. She’s just waiting for one more operation. We’re hoping not too long. But at the moment she’s best off in the hospital.’

Dillon looked away for a moment. He looked troubled. As if he was about to say something.

‘Is there something the matter, Dillon?’ Sarah wondered if he wanted to confess. She would prefer everything to be out in the open.

‘No. No, it’s fine. I was just wondering – would – would it be all right if I went to see her?’

Sarah thought for a moment. If what Hugh had said was true, maybe Alice wouldn’t want to see him. On the other hand, Dillon and Alice had always been friends. Who was she to stop him seeing her?

Alice’s mother, that’s who. It was her duty to make sure her daughter wasn’t put into any more discomfort than she already was.

‘I think perhaps not, at the moment, if you don’t mind.’

She turned and stepped into the morning room. She felt awful. Dillon had looked crestfallen. But she couldn’t deal with what Hugh had told her at the moment, because there would be too many consequences. She couldn’t manage without Dillon, therefore she didn’t want to investigate any further. But in case it was true, she needed to keep him away from Alice. For the time being, anyway.



Dillon was furious with himself. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he just come out with it and tell Sarah what had happened in the White Horse? It wasn’t as if they weren’t close. Or as close as they could be. Dillon didn’t fool himself that Sarah thought of him as an equal. Of course she didn’t.

He’d talked to Brian about the Hugh thing, in the pub.

‘I don’t understand why he didn’t get done. You saw how much they’d all been drinking, and he was partying with them.’

Brian chuckled. ‘You are a bit green sometimes, Dillon.’

‘What do you mean?’

Brian tapped his nose.

‘What does that mean?’

‘He’s a little bit fond of the old Bolivian marching powder, isn’t he?’

Dillon still looked puzzled.

‘Didn’t you see how many times he nipped off to the toilet?’

‘For a slash?’

‘No, idiot. For a line of cocaine.’

Dillon blinked. ‘Cocaine? Bloody hell.’ He thought about it. ‘So he wasn’t drunk?’

‘No. Just high as a kite.’

‘How come the police didn’t notice?’

‘He’ll have charmed them, won’t he?’

‘You mean they turned a blind eye?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Just gave him the benefit of the doubt when he passed the breathalyser. They wouldn’t suspect him, would they? He’s marrying a Basildon.’

‘So the bastard got away with it.’

‘Yep. And it’s too late to grass him up now.’

‘Do you think Alice knows what he gets up to?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Probably not. She’s a nice girl. He wouldn’t want to blot his copybook with her.’