How to Find Love in a Book Shop(92)

‘Oh darling,’ said Sarah. ‘You look out of this world. Hugh is the luckiest man alive.’

Alice looked out of her bedroom window. The drive was filled with cars, bearing wedding guests in all their finery, crawling along, perfectly wrapped presents on the back seats. She could see the hats; almost smell the perfume. Almost everyone she had ever known in her life was going to be here today.

She could see Dillon moving a rope to allow a new slew of cars into the parking area. He was in his camouflage trousers and a high-vis jacket. Why did her heart feel warm when she saw him, whereas when she thought of Hugh it felt as if it had been dipped in a bucket of ice?

Because you aren’t marrying him, silly, she told herself. Of course she felt safe when she saw Dillon because there was no risk involved. He didn’t represent change. He was solid and reliable and always there, that’s all. And he always would be.

‘I feel sick,’ she told her mother.

‘I remember feeling terrified the morning I married your father,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s because your whole life is going to change from now on. But it’s not a bad thing.’

‘Have you always been happy with Daddy? Did you ever think it was a mistake?’

Her mother looked at her.

‘I suppose I would be lying if I said there weren’t moments I wished my life was different. But I don’t think I’m alone. There are always difficulties along the way. Times when you don’t always agree with the person you are married to, or see things from their point of view. But all in all, I’m glad I married Daddy. He’s a good person, a good husband. And a wonderful father.’

If Sarah chose not to mention that it was she who was the bad person, the bad wife – although she still considered herself a good mother – it was because she wanted to see her daughter enjoy her wedding day, to banish any doubts from her mind, to enter into her union with Hugh light of heart and fully committed.

She hugged Alice.

‘You’ve had a hard time and you’ve been very brave. You deserve a wonderful day and a life of happiness. I’m so very proud of you. But I want you to know that whatever happens, Daddy and I will be there for you. Whatever happens.’

Alice had been shored up by her mother’s words. Sarah was the one person in the world she respected. And trusted. And it was up to Alice to step up, take on the mantle of responsibility and make Peasebrook Manor her life with Hugh at her side. The cottage was waiting for them, bright with new paint and freshly hung curtains.

And now here she was, at the top of the aisle, the quartet playing. She took her father’s arm and stood as tall as she could. She could see Hugh’s straight back at the altar, tall and true in his morning suit, his dark hair slicked back. He turned and said something to his best man, and she saw his familiar grin.

The quartet was halfway through the entrance song. Any minute and it wouldn’t be an arrival any more. The congregation were turning round to see what the delay was.

Alice began to walk. No one could see her face yet, as it was hidden by the creamy lace of the Basildon family veil. No one could see her scar.

All they could see was Alice’s smile.

Alice always smiled.

The notes of the music died away just as she reached Hugh’s side. She carried on holding on to her father’s arm, not wanting to let go. These were her last moments as just a daughter. In a short while, she would be a wife.



Dillon had told Sarah that he wouldn’t be attending the wedding as a guest.

‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable,’ he told her. ‘I’d rather be on the sidelines, making sure everything’s all right.’

‘I don’t want you to feel as if you’re not welcome.’

‘It’s all right. I know I’m welcome. I’d just prefer not to, if you don’t mind. And could you explain to Alice?’

‘Of course,’ said Sarah, but she was sad that Dillon felt like that. She prided herself on having a good relationship with her staff. Although she suspected there was more to Dillon’s reticence than social awkwardness. There was no love lost between Dillon and Hugh, she could see that now.

Dillon was there first thing in the morning, to make sure the grounds were in perfect condition, that the logistics of car parking were under control and the ground staff knew exactly what they were doing. The guests were to walk from the chapel to the grand hall, where lunch was laid, and he had made sure that not one pale chipping was out of place on the paths. The adjoining marquee had been laid out with military precision, and the Portaloos were positioned discreetly behind a bank of trees.

He thought that once everybody had made their way to the reception he could make his escape. He didn’t want to hang around and be witness to the sort of drunken revelry he’d seen the night of Alice’s accident. It was going to be inevitable. And he didn’t want to see Hugh’s smug face.

Dillon walked straight to his car. He didn’t look over at the chapel. Inside, he could hear the sound of triumphant processional music. He blocked the vision of Alice in her wedding dress out of his head. He started up the engine and drove to the White Horse, where he ordered a pint of cider and a Scotch egg.



‘You played a blinder.’ Marlowe smiled over at Emilia as she packed away her cello.

‘It wasn’t a football match,’ she told him, but she was smiling. She had played a blinder. For some reason, everything had fallen into place. Her bow had danced over the notes, through every piece they had played. Even the pieces she hadn’t rehearsed at all and had to sight-read, because they’d decided on them after she had left.