by Sarah Rayne
‘Nocturne,’ said Nell, staring at her. ‘Chopin’s Nocturne. Esmond’s music.’
‘Yes. It’s a hybrid tea-rose – very attractive, quite sturdy. It might not survive at Stilter House, of course – well, it might not survive the journey from America. And it ought to have some careful pruning, which we probably won’t be able to give it, not once the house is sold at any rate. But on the other hand—’
‘On the other hand, it might flourish,’ said Michael.
Michael and Nell walked slowly back through the gardens of Stilter House. The sun was beginning to set over the Derbyshire Peaks, and a spear of golden light fell across the newly dug earth and touched the small plant with its neatly printed label. Nocturne.
Emily and Beth had gone ahead of them, Beth enthusiastically talking about the rose bush, and Emily listening gravely.
Nell heard Emily say, ‘And we’ll come back here in the autumn because the house won’t be sold that quickly, and we’ll try to take some cuttings from that rose and strike them – I’ll show you how to do that. Then you can grow a separate one of your own in Oxford. You can look at it when you play Esmond’s music.’
‘I’d like that a huge lot,’ said Beth. Then, a bit uncertainly, she said, ‘Esmond was real, wasn’t he, Aunt Em? Because I was never ezzackerly sure.’
Nell saw Emily reach down to take Beth’s hand. ‘Yes, he was real,’ she said. ‘Here at Stilter House he was very real indeed. I don’t think you’ll see him again, but he’ll stay real, because we’ll still talk about him. And you’ll play his music and perhaps you’ll play it to me very soon.’ She smiled. ‘I’d like that a huge lot.’
‘And if Esmond does go back to Stilter House, he’ll see that rose bush and he’ll know we put it there for him,’ said Beth, pleased.
‘Precisely.’
Nell had to blink hard because the stupid sentimental tears were suddenly clouding her sight. But it’s all right, she thought. Beth’s accepting it at face value. Jack Burlap was right when he said children were more open to enchantments than adults. That they were still partly in heaven’s dreams, still trailing clouds of glory.
She paused to look back at the small shape of the Nocturne rose which would probably not survive, but which might perhaps flower for a season or so. And Beth would have a cutting and they would plant it behind their little shop in Oxford. Esmond, she thought. We won’t forget you, Esmond, I promise we won’t.
At her side, Michael suddenly said, ‘Oh God, I do love you when you look like that.’
Nell turned to stare at him, startled, and found him looking at her.
She said, ‘I thought you were waiting for the moonlight and roses to say that.’
‘Well, we’ve got the roses, if not the moonlight. So I thought I’d seize the moment.’
Nell considered this. ‘You did say we were booked into The Pheasant tonight, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’ Michael took her hand.
‘Will you say that again when we’re in the bedroom? About loving me?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said.