Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill_An utterly uplifting holiday romance to escape with

by Emma Davies

  ‘Will I do?’ she asked, looking down at the simple, pale blue dress she had changed into before leaving.

  He pushed aside the things he hoped he might say to her later, when all this was over.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Poised, elegant, confident and assured.’ He reached past her and slammed the van door shut, and then, offering his arm for her to take, added, ‘Let’s go kick some ass!’

  It was the perfect thing to say, thought Isobel. Tom was determined not to buy into her anxiety and that was just what she needed right now. The reassurance of someone with her, but without them trying to analyse how she was feeling every second, or worse, actually asking her. The warmth of Tom’s arm in hers felt nice as they strode across the courtyard. She would try, that was all she could do, and even just being here was a step further than she thought she would ever be able to take again.

  Sally had explained their set-up to her on the phone; literally all Isobel needed to bring was herself and her violin. She had quickly run through the repertoire of music they would be playing today, and not surprisingly all of the pieces were familiar to Isobel. In any case, Sally had sounded so grateful and relieved on the phone, she doubted whether she would be held to account for her lack of practice. It was now just before noon, and in an hour’s time they would be playing, not only during the reception, as Tom had suggested, but while the wedding ceremony itself was being conducted. She kept telling herself that people would be paying little attention to the music, but she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.

  Isobel found herself enveloped in a fierce hug as soon as she walked through the door. She only just had time to whisk her violin to one side before it too was crushed.

  ‘Goodness, I hope you're Isobel? I know there can't be too many people around here carrying violins, but all the same, I don't make a habit of hugging complete strangers.’ Sally gave a horsey laugh, turning towards Tom. ‘Although, in your case I might make an exception.’

  Isobel had to smile at the expression on Tom’s face. Sally was nearly a foot taller than he was, or maybe it was just that he seemed to have shrunk in her presence. She touched his arm lightly.

  ‘It's okay, Tom, you can get going if you like. I know you’ve got work you need to be getting on with, and Sally will look after me, I'm sure.’

  Sally was nodding vigorously.

  Isobel smiled again. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine.’ She was trying to make this as easy as possible for him. He had got her this far and now it was up to her. Besides which, if she did lose it completely, she’d really rather it wasn’t in front of Tom… again.

  ‘No, I said I’ll stay and I meant it,’ he said as Sally started backing away, taking Isobel along with her. ‘But I’ll go and loiter somewhere out of the way for now. I’ll catch you later?’

  She nodded encouragingly, keeping a smile on her face as he turned and walked back through the door. She felt a tug on her arm.

  ‘I can't tell you how grateful we are,’ said Sally. ‘And so lucky to have found you. Mary is devastated to be missing it, but at least her husband is okay. They're just waiting for his arm to be plastered now. Come on, we’re down this way.’

  Isobel trailed after her, along a sumptuous corridor with thick royal blue carpets, and pale lemon walls accented with gilt plasterwork along the dado rail.

  ‘Have you ever been here before?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Erm, no.’ Isobel was still looking around her. ‘I don't really ever come to… places like this.’

  ‘No? Where do you play then?’

  Isobel thought of all the things she could say, but they would only invite further comment. ‘It's a long story,’ she said instead. ‘How about you?’

  Sally turned and pulled a face. ‘No, first time. Always wanted to do a gig here though, it’s a fabulous venue.’

  They passed through a huge entrance foyer of jaw-dropping grandeur, with one of the largest chandeliers Isobel had ever seen, and carried on through into a room just off to one side. She stopped dead. It was a large space, more duck egg than royal blue this time, but with the same pale walls and heavily gilded panels. At its entrance two enormous urns of flowers stood guard, one either side, spilling over with an array of the deepest pink, purple and white blooms, seemingly of every variety. But it was not these that caught Isobel's attention. Neither was it the swathes of palest blue silk which hung from the ceiling, tied at each corner of the room with a matching bow. Instead, what rooted her feet to the spot were the rows and rows and rows of chairs. There must be well over one hundred, two hundred even. A sudden heat bloomed at the base of her spine.

  Once her eyes freed themselves from the seating arrangements she realised that one corner of the room held a raised dais, on which sat four identical chairs, each tied with an elaborate cream bow. Two of the seats were already taken, and the occupants rose to their feet at the sound of Sally’s voice.

  Isobel couldn’t run, and there was nowhere to hide so she extended her hand – the one that wasn’t throttling her violin – to Miriam and Annalise.

  Yes, it’s lovely to meet you too.

  No, that’s quite all right, I’m happy to help.

  Thank you, I bought it from a shop someone recommended.

  No, but it’s a beautiful setting, isn’t it?

  She sat down, smiling, willing herself to concentrate. She had to find the place in her head she always went to when she played. If she didn’t, she would never be able to make it through…

  Someone was talking to her again.

  ‘Now, I think you’re familiar with all of these pieces, Isobel, is that right?’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t played some of them in a while.’

  This was a really bad idea.

  ‘You’ll be wonderful, I know you will… Are there any that you’ll have real problems with?’

  She shouldn’t have come.

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t personally like “Ode to Joy”, but I guess it’s what everyone wants at weddings.’

  She would let everyone down.

  ‘Sad, but true. I’ve played it so many times I have to try and stop myself from yawning halfway through.’

  Isobel looked up at the smiling face in front of her. ‘Have we even got time to practise?’

  Sally looked at her watch and grimaced. ‘None, I’m afraid, but don’t worry. No one will be listening to us anyway. They’ll all be checking out each other's outfits, air kissing, and gushing at one another.’ She nodded. ‘Honestly, that's what it's like. So we just play. These first three pieces should be enough to get everyone in the room and settled, but if not, we've got the Battishill in reserve.’

  She checked to see that Isobel was following what she was saying. ‘Keep an eye on the lectern over there,’ she added. ‘You'll see the registrar come in at some point and go and stand beside it. That's our cue. We finish the piece we're playing, so watch me for the nod on that one, and then we’ll be straight into the “Wedding March”. The usher on the door will give us a few moments between the two pieces, and will signal when the bride is due to come in. As soon as we get that signal we hit it.’

  ‘Okay, I think I’ve got that.’

  ‘You’re sitting next to me anyway so I can always whisper to you. We obviously don’t play during the ceremony, but then once the bride and groom are about to leave, we play them out to the “Allegro Maestoso”.’ She gave a beaming smile. ‘And that’s it…! Or at least until we kick off for round two in the main function room for the meal and whatnot. But there we really are just background music. It’s very relaxed, honestly.’

  The others certainly looked relaxed. The cellist, whose name Isobel had already forgotten, was slurping Coke from a bottle, the other violinist was shrugging her arms out of her hoody, balling it up and stowing it in the bag behind the dais where it couldn't be seen. Sally was already tapping away on her phone, on Twitter probably. #notlongtogonow

  There was a rushing noise in Isobel
’s head that wouldn’t go away, her palms were slick, and her breath seemed to stick in her throat. She closed her eyes and then wrenched them open again. No, not the dark, that was where it all started. Instead, she looked down at her dress, trying to remember what she had felt when she put it on this morning – standing in her bedroom at Joy’s Acre, looking out over the fields, seeing the play of sunlight and shadow, and the look in Tom's eyes when she opened the door to him. Then she felt it.

  It was always the same. Like a bubble – there was no other way for Isobel to describe the sensation. It started from somewhere deep in her centre, growing larger, more buoyant, until it seemed to be filling her up from the inside, pressing against her so that her edges became thinner and thinner, as if she were the bubble herself, stretched taut around its outside. And then suddenly her perspective changed and she was inside the bubble. She felt lighter than air, floating gently in the swirling currents around her, shielded from everything that was outside. Here, all was calm and safe, and nothing could touch her.

  Her eyes flew open. No! This was wrong. This was not what she needed at all. It was what she had done as a child, what she had been taught to do; to push everything away from her, all the feeling, all the emotion, everything that existed on the outside which she knew could hurt her. And that had been her problem. Now, she needed to live again, to let everything back in. If she didn’t, none of it was real, and nothing mattered. And the Isobel who was beginning to find the things that mattered didn’t want to ever let them go again.

  She could hear the rustle of noise from outside becoming louder as people waited to enter the room, their voices becoming more distinct. Beside her the others began to straighten, and she wriggled in her chair waiting for Sally’s cue. She adjusted her music on the stand in front of her, and slowly looked around the room, breathing in the detail, the colour, the scent from the flower garlands. They were about to start. She sensed rather than saw Sally’s signal beside her.

  ‘One, two, three, four…’

  Lifting her violin to her chin, fingers poised on her bow, she flicked her hair back over her shoulder, and… nothing. She couldn’t do it.

  Despite everything she had told herself, everything she had been feeling, it hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference. Her bow was millimetres from the strings and she knew if she so much as touched them a raucous noise would ring out into the room; her hand was shaking so much. She felt panic rise in her throat, her heart thudding in her chest, as she looked around the room for a way out.

  Beside her the others continued to play, but she could see their faces from the corner of her eye, confused and anxious, trying to gain her attention. She shook her head. How could she have been so stupid? She shouldn’t have come; it was ridiculous to think that things would change just because she wanted them to. She could feel a swell of emotion rising up, prickling her eyes, the threat of choking sobs becoming more of a possibility with every second. Her eyes swept the room again, searching for somewhere to run to…

  And that's when she saw him.

  Standing just inside the doorway was Tom. Feet planted, both hands in his pockets, completely relaxed and smiling straight at her. As their eyes locked, he gave the tiniest nod of his head in acknowledgement, and she felt his warmth, like an invisible pair of arms holding her, grounding her so that she could no longer float away, and reconnecting her with everything that she loved, everything that was real. He smiled again, the message in his look clear as somehow her heart began to find its rhythm again. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them Tom was still there, unchanged, calm and reassuring. She took a deep breath and let it out, and then another, until she could almost feel their breathing become one. He gave another nod, counting her in…

  ‘One, two, three, four…’

  She dipped her head, her eyes still on Tom, and this time, with only the gentlest intake of breath, she let the music pour out of her.

  Chapter 16

  There was no applause. In fact, there was scarcely any recognition that they had finished playing at all. But Isobel couldn't care less. It was exactly as it should be; the newly married couple had walked back down the aisle amid a sea of smiling faces, accompanied by Handel’s ‘Allegro Maestoso’, and, as the last of the guests had filed out behind them, the four musicians simply laid down their instruments and grinned at one another.

  Of Tom, there was no sign. He had slipped out with the other guests, leaving Isobel to quite literally, and quite rightly, face the music, so that she could do so on her own terms. And she did. She pulled it to her, claiming it as her own. It danced inside of her like a small child, exuberant and unashamed, and Isobel let the feeling fill her up, finally chasing away the darkness.

  After a few moments three excited faces turned to her.

  ‘Oh my God, that was amazing!’

  It was Sally who spoke first, standing up and placing her viola down on her chair before throwing her arms around Isobel.

  ‘I can't thank you enough. You have so saved our bacon, and to play like that… bloody hell, I'd hate to hear what you sound like if you do practise.’ She laughed. ‘Or rather I'd love to hear what you sound like. Where on earth do you usually play?’

  ‘In the living room at home. I haven't played professionally in years.’ She paused, realising as she said the words that the image filling her head was not her living room at home, but her small rented cottage back at Joy’s Acre. Any doubts she still had about the decision she had taken only that morning simply melted away.

  The second violinist came forward. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘I don't really know who you are, or where you came from, but I'm so very glad that something saw fit to send you to us today. I don't believe in God, but if I did, I'd say it was a bloody miracle.’

  Isobel laughed. ‘I think I may well agree with you,’ she said. ‘I haven't enjoyed myself so much in a very long time.’ And then she giggled slightly, the absolute joy she felt inside overflowing. ‘I'm probably going to get very emotional now, and incredibly mushy, but I can't thank you enough for letting me play with you. It's been an absolute honour, you are all amazing.’ And as if to demonstrate her point she wiped a finger underneath one eye. ‘See? I'm a complete wreck now.’

  ‘So am I,’ replied Sally, grinning. ‘And very, very relieved. Now can we please go and find a cup of tea, before I pass out… What a day!’

  The four of them gathered up their things, and made their own way up the aisle, chattering as they went. Isobel paused slightly as she reached the door, and turned, taking in the detail of the room for one last time. She had a feeling it would stay with her for many years to come.

  It was strange the way that, in the crush of people all standing in the foyer talking excitedly, Isobel could find Tom in a matter of seconds. He was leaning against a wall on the far side, legs casually crossed at the ankles, a drink of something in his hand. As she took a step forward, he did the same, rapidly plonking his glass down on a table, his eyes searching for hers.

  She began to weave in and out of the crowd of guests, avoiding excited arm gestures, hands holding glasses of champagne, interrupting conversations, carefully avoiding toes, and murmuring Excuse me, and Thanks, as she went. When finally she and Tom stood opposite one another, there was just a moment of hesitation before her happiness came gushing out of her and she threw her arms around him in the tightest hug her violin would allow.

  ‘Oh my God, I did it!’ she exclaimed, releasing him. She knew her face was shining with excitement. ‘I didn’t think I was going to be able to at first, but then…’ She stopped abruptly, feeling suddenly close to tears. ‘I saw you and…’

  ‘And you were brilliant, just brilliant.’ He caught hold of her hand. ‘Come on, let’s find you a drink.’

  Tom steered Isobel through the foyer and into the main reception room where the wedding breakfast would be taking place. The finishing touches were just being attended to by the hotel staff, but almost immediately the bride a
nd groom would be taking up position ready to welcome their guests in the traditional receiving line, and once everyone was seated, Isobel and the others would be back playing again. There wasn’t a huge amount of time. He spotted Sally at the bar straight away, the others having already bagged a table, and he guided Isobel towards them.

  Sally turned just as he reached them, a laden tray in her hands. Tom rushed forwards to take it from her.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, ‘grab a seat.’ He waited until Isobel had sat down, before placing the tray down on the table and pulling out a chair for Sally.

  She giggled. ‘Goodness, what a gentleman.’

  Tom merely smiled. ‘I’ve played at few weddings now, and I know what a bit of a bun fight it can be to get your hands on a drink.’ He took the only available empty chair. ‘Shall I be mother? Or would you all like me to bugger off, so that you can have a natter?’

  Sally leaned forward. ‘No, I want you to tell me where you found Isobel, that girl can play.’

  Tom risked a sideways glance, but Isobel seemed perfectly composed. In fact, she was grinning from ear to ear. He had deliberately whisked her away, not wanting to give her the opportunity to dwell too long on her feelings. She was riding high on a wave of adrenaline right now and he didn’t want her to confuse her feelings about today with anything other than her music, whatever he felt about the matter. The important thing was that she concentrate on her playing, and how that made her feel. Even if he hadn’t known her history, he would have been able to see how much it meant to her.

  He smiled at Sally, beginning to pour out the tea. ‘Well, actually Isobel found me really, or rather found us, isn’t that right?’

  ‘It seems an extraordinary coincidence, but yes, that’s pretty much it,’ added Isobel. ‘I don’t live too far away from here, but I’m trying to finish a composition I’ve been working on so I rented a holiday cottage for the summer. I thought the peace and quiet might be conducive, but it seems to be a place full of creative endeavour and now I’m getting rather caught up in it.’