“Any luck?” Ollie calls as he dashes past with a tray of jellies.
“Not yet,” I call after him. “Do you know if Izzy is having—”
“I’m Switzerland!” Ollie yells over his shoulder. “You’re getting nothing out of me!”
“Anything on the ring?” Barty calls down the newly functioning stairs as he dashes along the landing. Everyone is dashing today. It is giving the hotel a faint buzz, as though someone has dialled all the appliances up at once.
“Not yet,” I call. Everyone’s support is appreciated, but also, when I have no updates, slightly irritating.
“Lucas! Anything on the—”
“Not yet!” I snap, and then look up to find the cool gaze of my girlfriend.
“—Christmas party menu that’s vegan?”
“Oh.”
I soften instantly. Izzy looks amused.
“Yes. Here.”
I show her Arjun’s latest scribbled version of the menu. She scans over it and I watch, hungry for the sight of her. All that time I spent thinking I could do without Izzy Jenkins in my day, and now I truly cannot have too much of her.
“Have we—”
“Yes. They’re set up in the orangery.”
She taps her bottom lip, still scanning the menu.
“Does Arjun know about the—”
“Yes. He swore a lot, but we got through it.”
Izzy nods. She looks up at me.
“And—”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t actually—”
“I am confident that it is already done.”
“It’s not, because—”
“Have a cup of tea. Stop thinking so hard.”
“I was going to say, have I told you that I love you today?”
“Oh. No. You haven’t.”
“See?” She looks smug as she turns away. “Told you it wasn’t all done yet. Mr. Townsend! How can I help you?”
Mr. Townsend is making his way over from his armchair. He is doing a remarkably good job of dodging various members of the housekeeping team, as well as a small chihuahua that arrived with Dinah today. “Doggy daycare problems,” she announced as she walked in with it on a lead. “Do not give me shit about this.”
“It’s Lucas I need, actually,” Mr. Townsend says. “Will you join me in the orangery? I’d like to try out those new sofas.”
He smiles as he takes my arm.
“Oh, fine!” Izzy says, shooting me an arch look, as if to say, So you’re the favourite now!
I raise my eyebrows back at her—Of course I am. Then my phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to see Ant?nio calling. My breath hitches. It’s Saturday. I didn’t phone him on Thursday. I didn’t forget—I just didn’t want to.
And I don’t want to speak to him now, either. I have noticed that the more I value myself, the less grateful I feel to my uncle, and the more I wonder why I put myself through these conversations at all. For now, for a while, he will have to wait until I feel ready to talk to him.
The call rings out as Mr. Townsend and I make our way through to the orangery. I exhale slowly.
“I have something for you,” Mr. Townsend says as I settle him on a sofa.
Izzy found this sofa on Gumtree, being sold . . . by us. It’s an old one from Opal Cottage—once a bold shade of red, it is now russet and faded, but somehow it has come to life again under the patterned cushion covers that Izzy created from an old set of hotel curtains. She has such a gift for this: bringing out the best in things.
“Here.” Mr. Townsend opens his palm. The emerald ring sits in the folds of his hand, circling the point where his lifeline splits. “It’s for you. Or rather, it’s for her.”
Ai, meu Deus.
“Mr. Townsend . . .”
“I’ve been carrying it around since we went to Budgens, not knowing what to do with it. The fact is, it doesn’t quite belong to me anymore. That’s how it feels. Because Maisie lost it and replaced it. The ring she wore on the day she died was hers, and this one . . . It was lying in wait for someone else to find it, perhaps.”
“I can’t possibly . . . And it’s far too soon . . .”
Mr. Townsend looks up at me shrewdly. “Is it? I only met my Maisie a dozen times before we were married.”
“But these days . . .”
“Oh, yes, these days, these days.” Mr. Townsend waves his other hand. “Some things change, but love doesn’t. When you know . . .”