a special padded cushion with grooves for rings. She ran her fingers over it and her eyes welled with tears again. Dennis had always been thoughtful like that. He was kind and sweet and, unlike most men, he was unselfish. She thought of her brother in Australia. She hadn’t seen him for about eight years. He rarely called their mother. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, only that he cared more about himself. Dennis wasn’t like that. She knew he’d move mountains for her if he had to.
When she got into the bath she felt a little better. With the brandy inside her she felt better still. Finally in bed, when sleep overcame her, she sank into a cloud of down.
The following morning when she went for her walk over the cliffs, she took care to look where she was going. She didn’t walk as fast and she lifted her feet. She stopped to focus her attention on the beauty of the dawn, on the soft golden light and the way it danced about the waves and on the pink clouds that drifted beneath the sky like candyfloss boats. She asked herself the question, What’s wrong with now? And the answer was nothing; nothing was wrong with now.
When she bumped into Mary and Bernie again, she smiled as if she hadn’t fallen over the day before and commented on the weather. It was a bright, sunny morning, which was rare, and the hills were a vibrant shade of green. ‘I’m on Marigold patrol,’ said Mary heartily, beaming a smile. She looked at the dressing on Marigold’s cheek. ‘You took quite a fall, didn’t you?’
‘Bernie and I aren’t taking any chances. While you’re walking up here every morning, we’re keeping an eye out for you. It gives Bernie a feeling of importance, which is good for his morale. He’s taken a few knocks recently.’ Mary gave Marigold a look but she didn’t put anything into words.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mary. Thank you.’
‘Don’t be silly. That’s what friends are for.’ And as Marigold walked on, she felt warm inside knowing that she wasn’t alone.
Daisy cut across the countryside to the Sherwoods’ house. She thought of Sir Owen as she walked along the farm tracks. It was hard to believe he had been here, in these fields, only the day before. The cornflower-blue sky and bright sunshine seemed incongruous in the wake of such a tragedy. Bluebells were beginning to open in the woods and bracken and ferns were slowly unfurling. Butterflies basked in the sunlight, spreading their wings and showing off their pretty colours. It wouldn’t be long before the leaves were all out on the trees and the bluebells turned the forest floor into a sea of purplyblue. When surrounded by such beauty, it was impossible to imagine there was anything ugly in the world.
When she arrived at the house she didn’t go straight to the barn, as she usually did, but went into the house to see Lady Sherwood. She found her in the kitchen, perched on a stool at the island, staring into a cup of coffee. ‘Good morning, Celia. I hope I’m not intruding,’ she said softly, hovering in the doorway.
Lady Sherwood raised her bloodshot eyes and gave her a thin smile. She was barefaced and her hair was uncombed, which made her look older. ‘Of course you’re not, Daisy. I’ve been waiting for you. Come and have a cup of coffee. I’m glad you’re here.’
Daisy took off her jacket and went to the machine to make herself an espresso.
‘You know I keep expecting to see him,’ said Lady Sherwood sadly. ‘I keep thinking I hear him, pottering around his dressing room, or walking along the corridor. It’s such a squeaky old house. But I think it just squeaks on its own.’
‘You’re in shock,’ said Daisy, heating up some milk at the Aga. Lady Sherwood had the most elegant kitchen, all pale greys and white with shiny marble worktops and a bleached oak floor. No clutter anywhere. Not like Marigold’s kitchen. ‘I imagine it will take time to accept that he’s gone.’
‘You know, I thought we’d grow old together. I thought we both had years ahead of us. I never imagined that a healthy, athletic man like Owen would be snatched away so soon. It seems dreadfully unfair.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I only have Taran now and he lives on the other side of the world.