How to Find Love in a Book Shop(80)

She knew she looked rough in her jogging bottoms and hoodie. To add to her malaise, Delphine was looking particularly stunning in an electric blue silk blouse with a *cat bow which she wore with a tiny leather miniskirt.

Marlowe went to give her a hug, but she dodged out of his way.

‘Don’t come anywhere near me. I’m full of germs.’ She thrust his hand-washed cashmere sweater back at him.

Usually, playing the cello took Emilia out of herself. Music soothed her soul, and playing music soothed it even more. They were playing ‘Salut d’Amour’ by Elgar, one of the tunes they would play for the congregation while waiting for the ceremony to start. It reminded Emilia of the Elgar piece the quartet had played at her father’s memorial service: ‘Chanson de Nuit’.

She couldn’t play for toffee. Her fingers were all over the place, her bow kept slipping and she lost her place.

Marlowe stopped them all and looked at her.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You did know we were doing this?’

His tone was even, but she sensed he was hiding his annoyance. The unspoken accusation was that she hadn’t practised. She had. But she was a human being. Not a bloody robot.

She put down her bow on her music stand.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on. And I don’t feel well …’

Everyone was looking at her. Only Petra looked sympathetic. Delphine looked inscrutable.

Marlowe just looked exasperated.

‘If you’re feeling that bad you should have cancelled. We’re just wasting time.’

Emilia got up and headed for the door. Marlowe followed her outside.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I always get stressed before events. I just want us to get it right and I know you can do it. You were amazing when you came to my house. You’d cracked it. What’s going on?’

‘It’s my father’s birthday today.’ Emilia looked down at the ground.

‘Oh, you poor baby.’ Marlowe softened immediately. ‘Oh shit – I’m a bastard. I’m sorry. Come here.’

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.