Lilian had seen to it that a plot was reserved in the churchyard for Margaret, for when she was found: a sunny spot under the giant wych elm. Margaret’s skeleton, and her cat, were put in the coffin together. The village turned out to say goodbye to her. Una had discovered a real talent for flower-arranging and had made a wonderful autumnal wreath from simple coloured leaves and twigs and fruits, and she took great pleasure from the compliments she was given. She and Derek sat together in the church. Though they were better apart, somehow they had rediscovered the friendship that had brought them together many years ago.
Marnie lingered behind in the churchyard to inspect the new stone which had been erected at the head of Lilian and Emelie’s graves. It had just three words on it, apart from the names and dates: ‘Oh Perfect Love’.
Emelie, Marnie had been astounded to know, had been a celebrated Sapphic poet in Europe, writing in Italian and German. Marnie had had some of her work translated into English so she could read it and it was beautiful. She knew that many pieces had been inspired by her darling tortured Lilian with whom, Marnie hoped with all her heart, she lay at peace now.
Marnie and Lionel, when she’d had any time, had been working on an updated history of Wychwell. Emelie had written a chapter about herself and Lilian. It would cause a few eyebrows to be raised in surprise, Marnie knew, but it wouldn’t make any difference to the affection in which people had held them both.
‘Well, ladies, I hope I’m doing okay,’ said Marnie to the ground. Lilies and edelweiss had been planted there and it was too soon to know if the plants would take, but then again Herv had done it, so she bet they would. ‘I miss you both so much. I’m moving into the manor tomorrow but I don’t think anyone is going to be sneaking down a secret passage to see me. Say hello to Margaret for me. Oh, and I’m getting a dog. Greyhound rescue. She’s grey and was called Irish Lady – how could I resist? I’ll look like Rose’s portrait on the staircase.’ She blew a kiss. ‘God bless you, my darlings.’
She was picking the dog up the following week. Poor thing was the worst racer in history, lost every one despite coming from a champion mother and father. As soon as Marnie heard that, she decided that they were a match, because she knew what it was to be the family disappointment. She could imagine herself as a portrait on the staircase one day, black hair, green-eyed with a sleek hound at her feet, but she’d have no ring on her finger. She’d be the lonely lady of the manor, married to the village and all the people in it, the temporal version of a nun married to the church.
She joined the others for a drink in the Wych Arms after they had laid Margaret to rest. Lionel had upped his game to apricot brandy and David Parselow had to carry Pammy home. Herv stayed for a couple of drinks and then slipped away. Marnie wondered if he had a date. The thought of him with someone else still tore a hole in her heart.
She couldn’t sleep that night and she blamed it on the brandy. She didn’t know what Lionel had added to it to make her head spark with activity so much, but she suspected those apricots had been grown next to an amphetamine factory. She dressed and did a few laps of the green, as she so often did, and then flopped onto Jessie Plumpton’s bench in the middle of it and stared up at the manor – her new home – and thought how amazing it was. The moon was high above it, a huge pink-tinged round of light as if it was doing its best to impersonate an apple, she thought. A Pink Lady. She laughed and deduced she must still be half-pissed, having stupid notions like that. She should get back to bed, she had a big day ahead of her.
She had only taken a few steps, when she heard a voice behind her. A voice that sent shivers tripping down her nerve endings.
‘You too?’
She turned, tried to sound cool and not as if her heart had started flapping around inside her like a landed trout. ‘Oh hello, Herv.’
‘Sit with me for a moment. Help me find my sleep,’ he said, then immediately corrected himself. ‘Not that I think you’re boring.’
Marnie smiled. She sat beside him, a person-width away.
‘So, here we are again,’ he said, after a ridiculously long silence.
‘We are indeed.’ Well this wasn’t awkward at all.
‘We’ve barely spoken for weeks . . . months.’
‘It’s been a busy time, what with all the building work and stuff.’ The lamest excuse on the planet.
They sat looking in the direction of the manor for a few moments before he sighed heavily.
‘Do you know what I think?’ he said.
‘No.’ And that was true, she had absolutely no idea.
‘I think you’ve been avoiding me.’
‘Don’t be silly. I haven’t . . . at all . . .’ she said; the world’s most unconvincing reply.
‘Know what else I think?’
‘No.’
‘I think I’ve been avoiding you.’
‘Have you? Why?’ She didn’t even ask if he was joking because she knew he wasn’t.
‘You’re the lady of the manor and I’m the gardener.’
‘I’m still the same person.’
She wasn’t though and they were both more than aware of that. She was queen of a small private kingdom and his pride couldn’t take that people might think he wanted to be with her for that reason. At least, until he had come to his senses tonight thanks to Lionel’s apricot brandy. It might have made his walk wobbly but it also caused him think more clearly than he had done for a long time. ‘Til helvete med alle Kay Sweetmans i denne verden.’ To hell with all the Kay Sweetmans of this world. He wasn’t going to let them stop him from saying what he should have on the night of the big dig, when he had thrown the towel in instead.
‘Know what else I think?’
She chuckled. ‘No.’
He twisted to face her. ‘I think I love you,’ he said. ‘No, that’s wrong, I know I do. Because I can’t get you out of here’ and he hit his skull with the heel of his hand, ‘. . . you won’t leave it. And I told my head, “Look, you plant bulbs and dredge leaves out of the lake, Herv Gunnarsen. People will think you’re after her money.” But I watch you and I don’t see any happiness in your eyes and I think, Herv, you can make her happy. You can love her, you can mend her.’
She was aware of his eyes, his lovely blue eyes trained on her, waiting for her to respond. She didn’t because she knew he couldn’t mend her. She was beyond repair.
He reached for her hand and took it between both his own and felt it trembling like an injured bird. ‘I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I know you can’t say the same because of the brown sticky-out teeth and I don’t really look good in hessian.’
She laughed and she felt her eyes sting and she blinked hard because she didn’t want to cry.
‘I see you and my mood lifts, you walk away from me and it sinks.’
She pulled her hand from his because it felt too good.
‘Tell me what is it that stands between us, Marnie, please.’
‘There’s nothing.’
‘You’re a terrible liar,’ he said. ‘There can be nothing so bad that—’
‘There is,’ she insisted.