This Could Change Everything(103)

‘You don’t have to wear—’

‘And the green-keepers get cross if you play golf in high heels. Anyway, you’re dressed very smartly. Nice suit.’ She dusted a speck of lint from the lapel of the jacket. ‘Alice is in her room. She can’t wait to see you.’

Matthew collected a basket of flowers from the boot of his extremely clean Peugeot and followed her into the building. She had forewarned him about Alice’s frailty, so that he wouldn’t be visibly shocked.

When they reached the room, she tapped on the closed door. ‘Alice? It’s me.’

The ensuing silence was long enough to make her wonder if Alice had fallen asleep. Or died, which would be just unbearable.

Oh God . . .

Then she heard Alice say, ‘Come in.’

Phew, not dead.

Zillah signalled to Matthew to wait outside and opened the door with considerable relief. Alice was sitting up in bed, wearing her best peach silk bed jacket. Her fine white hair was brushed back from her thin face and the parchment pallor of her skin had been softened with a touch of powder and blusher. By the look of it, she’d also just applied a dab of apricot lipstick.

She said, ‘Is he here?’

‘Oh yes.’ Zillah nodded. ‘He can’t wait to see you.’

‘He’s going to get a fright when he does.’

‘Rubbish. You look fine.’

‘Could you do me a favour? I just tried to get something but couldn’t quite reach.’

‘Of course.’ Zillah went to the bedside cabinet and opened the drawer Alice was pointing to. She passed her the bottle of scent that had rolled to the back, and watched as Alice applied it behind her almost translucent ears.

‘Don’t worry,’ Alice confided. ‘I’m not trying to seduce him. I just want to smell nice.’

Then Zillah opened the door to let Matthew into the room, and watched from the doorway as Alice’s face lit up.

No digital camera filter could ever mimic that effect.

‘Oh . . . you’re here, it really is you.’ Her voice quavered with emotion as she gazed at him.

‘It’s really me. Oh Alice, it’s so good to see you again.’

‘Did Zillah tell you I thought you were dead?’

‘I know, but I’m not. And these are for you.’ Matthew placed the flowers on the bedside table, then bent to embrace the first love of his life. As he did so, he murmured, ‘You’re wearing the scent I bought you for your birthday. Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ Alice told him with a shrug. ‘I’ve worn it for the last sixty years.’

Zillah silently withdrew, leaving them alone together. An alternative story flickered through her mind, the life Alice and Matthew could have shared if they’d stayed together: a beautiful home in the country, happy holidays by the sea, adorable children who’d grown up to become loving, responsible adults with children of their own . . .

Except that thanks to me, none of that exists.

Twenty minutes later, Zillah checked her watch and looked at Essie. ‘OK, all ready. Time to bring them through.’

The spacious hall had been transformed by Essie and various helpers, and was now almost full. Outside, the sun was still shining, but in here the dark velvet curtains had been drawn. Swathes of midnight-blue netting covered the back of the raised spotlit stage. Rows of chairs were occupied by patients, relatives and staff. Some of the patients were in wheelchairs. In the centre of the front row was space for the most important guests.

‘Let’s go and get them,’ said Essie. ‘I can’t wait. It’s going to be great.’

This time the door to Alice’s room stood open. Conor was in there taking photos of Alice and Matthew together.

The smiles on their faces as they sat with their heads tilted together were magical to behold.

‘All done?’ said Zillah when Conor had finished.

‘Oh, do you have to leave now?’ Alice looked at Matthew, who smiled and reached into the basket of flowers.

‘Not yet. Here, let’s just pin this on you.’ He produced a small corsage of pink rosebuds and fastened it to her bed jacket.

‘Well how lovely,’ Alice exclaimed, delighted but mystified. ‘You won’t remember, but you gave me a corsage once before, the night you took me to the Royal Opera House to see—’

‘I remember,’ said Matthew. ‘And I wish I could have taken you again, but—’

‘Oh I know.’ Alice nodded. ‘But sometimes these things just aren’t possible.’

‘Hopefully this is the next best thing,’ said Zillah. ‘We couldn’t get you to the ballet, so we thought we’d bring the ballet to you.’

Alice was helped into her padded reclining wheelchair, and everyone applauded as she was wheeled through to the main hall with Matthew at her side.

‘Oh my goodness, thank you so much. I can’t believe this.’ Tears of joy swam in her eyes as she touched Zillah’s sleeve. ‘I feel as if I’m in a dream . . .’

Conor was leaning against the wall at the side of the hall, ready to take more photos. The main lights went down, the ethereal opening chords of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake filled the air and a spotlight appeared in the centre of the stage. As the first dancers emerged from the wings and the music soared, he kept his gaze fixed on Alice, sitting in the front row between Matthew and Zillah, her face a picture of delight. He watched as Matthew turned to smile at her, then took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.