Chapter Forty-Two

Libby's eyes began flickering as the first of the blue lights flashed in the Square, but Patrick kept his vigil, holding her hand, smiling a little as her fingers curled around his.

'Come on, Libs,' he whispered, kissing her forehead for the hundredth time. 'Fight through it. The ambulance is here, princess.'

'Actually, it's not.' Grace peered through the window. 'It's one of them ER docs on a motorbike. Fingers crossed for a George Clooney lookalike.'

As Grace went out to meet the doctor, Patrick took a deep breath, but didn't look away from Libby's face.

'Dad?' He cleared his throat. 'If she... when Libby's okay, we're going to go out. Scott's sorting things out to stop Wray printing any ludicrous stories, but people will talk. I can't stop that and if it breaks the Rules...'

'Patrick, now's not-'

'I know it might take some time to gain your respect, but if you do sack me, I was thinking, maybe I could buy the practice. I don't want to set up shop in competition with you, but I'm not giving up everything I have here.' Patrick dared to face his dad.

Please don't hate me.

Malcolm rocked on his heels. 'Obviously, I'd rather there was no scandal, but under the circumstances, if there is...'

'If there is?'

'Well, I can't think of anyone better to take over the practice than you.' Malcolm nodded, his eyes shining. 'You're a hell of a vet, Patrick, but for the last couple of years, you've not been quite the man you should be.'

For the first time since Patrick graduated from Vet's School, his dad hugged him. Just for a few seconds, but it meant the world.

'I'm sorry for letting you down, dad.'

'I know. We could tell when you came back from Spain. You'd changed.'

Their smiles and relief were short-lived as Grace showed the motorcycle doctor in, presenting the situation as she would an animal to Patrick. Patrick closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Libby's fingers. There were the expected exclamations of shock, horror, disbelief that a vet would assume they could treat a human. Patrick expected nothing less.

'Duncan, good to see you,' his father said, standing up and shaking the doctor's hand.

Doctor McNamara, a friend of his father's, began his examination of Libby, his equipment saying exactly the same as Patrick's. Finally, he stood back and sighed. 'I don't... You may well have saved her life, but-'

Malcolm shook his head. 'Let's worry about Libby for now.'

Libby's eyes flickered open, her head shaking a little. '...the snakes...'

'Libs? It's Patrick. I know you're seeing weird things, but listen to me. Focus on me. I'm here, holding your hand, can you hear me?'

Libby stirred again. '...can't be Zoe... don't leave me.... where's Patrick?'

'I'm here.'

'... don't like the snakes...'

'Libs, they aren't real. There are no snakes. I promise you.'

'Who is she?' Dr McNamara asked.

'Olivia Wilde. She lives next door,' Malcolm answered.

'Her next of kin?'

'They're in Australia,' Patrick replied.

'But she must have someone here.' Duncan McNamara placed an avuncular hand on Libby's head.

'She has me,' Patrick said, his voice sounding more authoritative than it ever had. 'Do you think she'll be okay?'

Libby babbled a little more, none of it making any sense, but all of it more animated than earlier. Finally, she turned her head, her eyes opening.

'Patrick?'

'I'm here.' He couldn't stop a smile. Okay, she wasn't out of the woods, but the drugs were working.

'Is it really you?' She turned her head, lifting a hand to his face. 'Not Jack?'

'It's really me.'

'Are you castrating cows today, or can we catch up on the last sixth months?'

He almost laughed. 'I think you're still hallucinating, princess.'

'We could fuck in-'

'Shush.' He held a finger over her lips. 'Room full of people.'

She pouted.

'Belladonna can induce quite... provocative delusions,' Dr McNamara explained. 'Libby, can you hear me?'

She blinked, nodding, but shrank away from him, cowering into Patrick. 'Yes.'

'You're okay, Libs.' Patrick held her close. 'This is Doctor McNamara.'

'Please don't leave me,' she whispered, her eyes widening. 'No cold Patrick. I don't like the snakes.'

'There are no snakes and I'm not going anywhere.'

'Zoe's been taken over by the snakes.' Libby started scratching her arm, shaking her head. 'Big red snakes. They've eaten Zoe. The snakes have eaten Zoe. It's not Zoe any more. She's changed. It's not her-'

'Libby?' Patrick stopped her hands. 'You're safe, with me. Zoe's not here. Just me. Patrick.'

She relaxed again.

'Keep her talking,' Dr McNamara instructed. 'Grace, can you get her some water, please?'

Patrick leant on the table, holding Libby's hand, stroking her hair. 'Remember the night we had dinner?'

She nodded.

'I had a great time and when you're better, I want to do it again.'

She smiled.

For ten minutes, while Dr McNamara monitored her, Patrick kept her awake, calm and semi-lucid with tales of the last few months. They relived the steak and dauphinoise night, the bike ride and the night they made cheese on toast. And he finally knew. He loved her. More than that, he was in love with her. She wasn't a nearly, or an almost, she was a sledgehammer.

The blue lights of the ambulance arrived, but Patrick swore as Andy's police car pulled up with it. The paramedics came in, consulting with Dr McNamara, but Patrick tightened his grip on Libby's hand. As much as he wanted them there, to take Libby to hospital, he didn't want to let her go. He wanted to be with her. How else could he make sure she was safe? Reluctantly, he carried her out to the hallway, promising her she'd be fine.

'Don't leave me,' Libby mumbled as he laid her on the stretcher. 'The snakes will come back.'

'There are no snakes, Libs.' He kissed her forehead. 'And don't worry. I'm coming with you.'

Andy shook his head. 'You have to come in for questioning.'

Patrick grabbed Andy, pulling him close. 'Let's be clear, pal. Libby has been poisoned for the second time by the wine your mum laced with deadly nightshade. The second time, Andy. I'll take you down and I'll take your mum down too. I'm staying with her.'

'Why on earth are you taking anyone in for questioning?' Dr McNamara asked Andy. 'Malcolm and Patrick merely assisted me. I'll take Grace's IV skills into surgery with me any day. Now, Malcolm, when are we ever going to get in that round of golf?'

Trying not to smile, Patrick held Libby's hand as the paramedics took over.

*

Libby's throat hurt, her head throbbed and the even the dim winter light pained her eyes, but she lifted her head, trying to make sense of her surroundings - antiseptic, beeping machines, a woman in a blue uniform opening the blinds... hospital?

'Sorry to wake you, but it's seven o'clock,' said the nurse, her plump face breaking into a comforting smile as she offered Libby a glass of water. 'They said you'd be thirsty. I'm Katy. Do you know where you are?'

'Hospital?' Libby croaked, in between mouthfuls of blissfully icy water.

Katy nodded. 'There's not much waking him, is there? How are you feeling?'

'Confused.' Him? Libby glanced down. The mop of black curls resting on the bed shocked her more than waking up in the hospital. 'Has he been here long?'

'Long?' Katy laughed. 'He hasn't left your side since they brought you in. It's no wonder the poor lamb's still dead to the world. I reckon he's been up most of the night. If you came round, he'd be there, talking you down from the ceiling.'

'Really?'

Katy smiled at him. 'He's had a few pulses racing, I can tell you. Mine included. Do you remember what happened, love?'

Libby shook her head, sipping more of the water, but fuzzy memories were coming back, the ones of red snakes not fuzzy enough.

Zoe.

Zoe had red hair.

'They said someone gave you deadly nightshade. You're lucky to be alive, love.'

Zoe.

Zoe had poisoned her. Zoe had spiked Dorothy's wine. Zoe had given Gloria the ketamine. Zoe had pushed Maggie down the stairs.

Not Zoe. It couldn't have been Zoe.

'It was in the elderflower wine.'

'Intentionally?' Katy's eyes sparkled, even if she sounded blas\u00e9.

'A mistake. She's my best-friend.' Why was she defending Zoe?

Katy smiled at Patrick. 'They said she rang him and he gave you the antidote, probably saved your life, but the official line is the motorbike doc administered it. A and E pumped your stomach, then they gave you a sedative and brought you up here. If you need anything, just press your red button. Breakfast will be here in thirty minutes.'

Libby rolled over as Katy left, but Patrick still slept soundly. Wanting to go back to sleep, Libby closed her eyes for a moment, but the snakes leapt into her face. Gingerly, she touched Patrick's arm. He didn't wake. Oh god, he had to be exhausted if he'd been up all night. She really shouldn't wake him. Then again, she didn't want to have nightmares about snakes. A little less gingerly, she shook his shoulder. Finally, he looked up, his eyes softening, crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

'You okay?' he asked, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Libby nodded. 'The nurse has been filling me in on what happened.'

'Katy?' he asked through a yawn. 'She has the hots for me.'

'I gathered.' Libby smiled, watching as he helped himself to her water, loving it when he stretched and treated her to a snippet of bare abdomen between his jeans and jumper. 'She also said you saved my life.'

'You know me, can't stop looking out for you.' He leant on the bed again, his chin resting on his folded arms. 'Technically, my dad gave you the drugs, but since you didn't die, I don't mind taking the credit.'

'Thank you.'

'Do you remember much?'

'Too much.'

Patrick nibbled his thumbnail. 'Libs, you said some pretty crazy things last night.'

Her cheeks flushed, vaguely aware she may have suggested a little hallway action. 'I was hallucinating.'

'You were, but...' He took a deep breath. 'Did Zoe steal my ketamine? Did she give it to Gloria?'

'Has anyone claimed she did?'

'Yes. You did, last night.'

'Just me?' No one else? Not the police?

'Just you. What's going on?'

Ed can't have told them.

'Libs?'

She pushed a curl off his face. God, it was good to see him again. At times, in London, she felt she never would, but he looked so tired - stubble darkened his chin and shadows blackened his eyes. 'You should go home. Get some rest.'

He shook his head. 'Not happening. Besides, Grace'll only make me castrate the cats I didn't get done yesterday.'

With a weary hand, Libby beckoned him closer and when his face hovered beside hers, she kissed him, her lips gently pressing against his. Just for a moment, he kissed her back.

'You scared me.' He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. 'But you know one perk of this whole drama? The nurses cleaned off the black crap.'

Libby's cheeks flushed. Surely, she must look worse than she felt after a rough night on a cocktail of drugs and having her stomach pumped.

'Pretty Libby.' Patrick stroked her fringe back, kissing her again.

Libby closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his woody aftershave and just plain Patrick. Was this Hot Patrick because of the situation, or had something changed? As they kissed, his arm wrapped around her, stroking her back.

'Libby? Oh-' Katy stood in the doorway, grinning. 'Put her down, she's supposed to be resting.'

'Katy, you're timing's rubbish,' Patrick said, still holding Libby close. 'But I'll forgive you for a coffee. Libs likes tea.'

Katie pretended to cuff him around the head, but smiled at a giggling Libby.

'He's a cheeky one, but I wish all my patients came with their own nurse. Must be nice having a boyfriend like that. I doubt my Dan would sit with me all night.' She headed for the door, oblivious to the atmosphere she'd created.

Patrick had obediently let go of Libby, but not before she'd caught the fleeting moment of wide-eyed panic flashing in his eyes. Boyfriend. He'd freaked at the word. Sighing, Libby sat up, sitting cross-legged. Nothing had changed.

'Oh, that's what I came in for,' Katy said. 'Police are here, so is your lawyer. Do you want to see him first?'

'Lawyer?' Libby asked, glancing at Patrick. 'I don't have a-'

'It'll be Scott. Will you send him in please, Katy?'

Patrick was right. Scott came in, suited and booted.

'It's New Year's Eve. Don't you ever take a day off,' Patrick asked, back-slapping his friend.

'This is a day off.' Scott faux punched him. 'But for your sake, I want Wray to know we mean business when I tell him he can't write about this.'

'Wish I could be a fly on that wall,' Patrick said.

'What are you two talking about?' Libby asked.

'Sorry, Libby.' Scott came over, perching on her bed. 'Clara's coming to see you later. How are you feeling?'

'Like my best friend poisoned me.' She managed a smile. 'Pretty okay, considering. What's going on with Michael Wray?'

Scott opened his briefcase and took out a document. 'Are you fully in charge of your senses again?'

Libby nodded.

'We've a proposal for you,' Scott said. 'Bored housewives around the country are dying to hear about the Broken Ballerina and Michael Wray is prepared to barter for the exclusive.'

Libby shook her head. 'There's no way I'd-'

'It's leverage. You give Wray the Broken Ballerina story and he promises not to publish a single word about you or Patrick for the next six months. If he does, the Gazette has to pay fifty grand to Haverton Animal Rescue. The last part was Patrick's idea. He thought you'd approve. What do you think?'

Libby glanced across to Patrick, but he stared resolutely at the floor. Oh, she'd sign the contract. Crikey, even if Patrick hadn't saved her life, she'd do anything to protect him, but what did it mean, him asking her to do this? If the coast were clear, could they have a real relationship? She uttered a silent, prayer, as Scott held out a pen.

'Wray signed already,' he said. 'If you sign and date it yesterday, he can't publish anything about you being poisoned or Patrick treating you. The paper will crucify him over this if they can.'

'You've got his back, right?' she asked. Please, promise me you do.

'Always,' Scott said, before his six-figure, corporate lawyer eyes focussed on her. 'And you?'

Libby took the pen and signed, but as she did a niggle popped into her head. If Patrick knew he could go out with Libby without worrying about the paper, then why had he panicked when the Katy uttered the word boyfriend? Was this the return of Cold Patrick?

Scott fastened the contracts back in his briefcase. 'The police are waiting. They'll ask Patrick to leave while they question you, so do you want me to stay? It's not my area, but-'

'Yes, please,' Libby said, grateful.

'Lie down,' Scott instructed her. 'You may as well play up the weak and vulnerable angle.'

For twenty minutes, the two officers, thankfully neither Andy, asked endless and largely pointless questions. The ones concerning Patrick were easy. Libby could remember little, the little she could remember was fragmented and the bits she could make sense of, she didn't intend to share with the police in case it implicated Patrick in some wrong-doing. The questions regarding Zoe proved trickier. Libby knew she ought to tell them about Maggie, but she kept picturing a seven year-old girl, starving in the cupboard under the stairs.

'Miss Wilde, do you have any idea why Miss Horton might have given you the deadly nightshade?'

'She's my best-friend. I doubt she did it on purpose.' Libby crossed her fingers underneath the sheets, ignoring Scott's valiant effort not to look astonished. 'Her great-aunt would lace elderflower wine with belladonna, maybe there was a bottle of it in the house. Do you know where Zoe's gone?'

Both officers shifted uncomfortably.

'Mr McBride said she sounded like she was at an airport,' one said, 'but there're no Zoe Horton's listed on any flights.'

That's because they'd need to look for Zoe Keeley, her original birth name. Libby struggled not to smile and hoping for a distraction, she pressed the tube in her hand against the bed, sending a bolt of pain up her arm.

'Libby, you've gone grey,' Scott said, leaning on the bed. 'Are you okay?'

She turned her head, smiling. 'I'm just a little tired.'

With that, Scott stood up and the police officers thanked her for her time. Libby barely listened as the officers said it sounded like a genuine accident, but when Miss Horton returned from her holiday, they would like to speak to her. Libby nodded, staring out of the window, guilt lying heavily on her shoulders. She should've told them the truth - not just about the belladonna, but about Maggie, Gloria and Dorothy. Oh god, she hadn't just distracted them or omitted a few details, she'd lied. Why?

Because I've got her back.

'You're quiet,' Patrick said.

Libby frowned. 'Says you. That's the first thing you've said to me in an hour.'

He turned the Land Rover into the square, his jaw twitching. 'You were too busy turning down offers for B and B.'

A fair point. Her morning had been one steady stream of visitors. Grace had been the first, with a bag of clean clothes for Libby and an offer of a place to stay, swiftly followed by Robbie and Vanessa, who'd brought Patrick's car. They begged Libby to move in with them - an idea Libby laughed off, claiming they only wanted a babysitter.

'So are you leaving?' Patrick asked as he pulled up outside his house. 'Gosthwaite, I mean.'

'Why? Do you want me to stay?'

'Of course.'

'And what'll happen?'

'We can go out.'

'On a date?'

He nodded. 'In public.'

'And then what?'

He sighed. 'Why does there have to be a then what?'

Nothing had changed. Not really. Libby went to open the door, too weary to cry, but her hand stopped on the handle. Outside Maggie's cottage, sitting on the bonnet of a silver Jaguar, was Seamus Doyle.

'What's he doing here?' Patrick asked.

Libby closed her eyes. How could she tell Seamus that his illegitimate daughter murdered the love of his life? 'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

Patrick laughed. 'Ooh, Olivia Wilde used the F-word.'

Despite everything, she smiled. 'I think I've used it once or twice before.'

'Like on Christmas Eve?' He raised his eyebrows with fake innocence.

She swatted his arm. 'Look, I really need to talk to him.'

'You really need to talk to me.' He leaned on the steering wheel. At least his twitching jaw had gone if his concerned frown hadn't. 'Should I wait?'

She shook her head. 'Go and put the kettle on.'

Reluctantly, Libby climbed out wishing she could follow Patrick into his house. Maybe he was right, maybe there didn't have to be a then what.

'Hello, Miss Wilde,' Seamus said.

She sat next to him, steeling herself. Seamus deserved to know the truth. He needed to know the truth. He was the one person who could help Zoe. 'She's not here, I'm afraid.'

Seamus glanced around the square, not looking remotely disappointed. 'Do you have my photograph, Olivia?'

Libby stared at him, crossing her arms. 'Is that why you came here? You travelled three hundred miles for the photo?'

'It means a lot to me.'

'And your daughter? Doesn't she mean a lot to you?' Libby's skin crawled. He didn't deserve to know a single thing about Zoe.

'It's the only photo I have left of Maggie and me. Lucinda burned the rest.'

'But you have another daughter, right?'

Seamus frowned. 'Zoe has two perfectly good parents.'

Libby stood up, shaking her head. 'She also has the photo. I'd watch my back if I were you, Mr Doyle.'

And a small part of her hoped that, one day Zoe would catch up with him.

*

Patrick slumped against the front door, nausea taking over his body. Why the hell did there have to be then what? He couldn't do this. He really couldn't. A meow from the living room, pulled him back to reality and Patrick went to see his feline friend who, as he had for most of Christmas, sat curled up in front of the fire.

Crouching down, Patrick stroked Hyssop, letting the rhythmic purr relax him. For hours, Patrick had watched over Libby, praying she'd be okay. He loved her. Christ, the day before he'd seen Paolo's painting, The Fixed Ballerina, and come to terms with moving to London, so why did then what send him running? He just had to persuade her to stay.

'And I expect you to help, pal.'

After he'd let Isla out into the back garden, Patrick peeked out of the window, checking on Libby. She was still chatting to Seamus Doyle, so Patrick dashed upstairs to brush his teeth. He toyed with the idea of a shower, but made do with swapping his jumper for one he hadn't been wearing for the last twenty-four hours - he had to talk to Libby sooner, not later. He had to make this right.

Seamus' car had gone. Where was Libby?

Downstairs, Hyssop sat in the window, tapping his claw against the glass, something he only did when Libby was in the cottage. In the dim light of the cold December day, Patrick could just make out a forlorn figure sitting in the bay window. She shouldn't have gone in there by herself. Whistling for Isla to follow him, Patrick picked up Hyssop and headed over to Maggie's cottage. The door was ajar, but he knocked gently.

'Libs?'

'Come in.'

She sat, hugging her knees, a photo frame in one hand and tears rolling down her cheeks. Even Isla jumping up to say hello didn't raise a smile. Patrick sat beside her and handed her Hyssop. If anyone could cheer her up, it'd be the cat. Patrick took the photo - it was one of her and Zoe, in their teens, both in tutus, stood on their toes, an arm around the other's waist.

'What chance did she have?' Libby said, her voice muffled as he hugged Hyssop. 'Her mother gave her away, her parents ignored her pleas to let her spend summers at home and her father couldn't give a damn. He came here to get a photo I had, not to see Zoe.'

'He's her father? Do you mean-'

'Maggie was Zoe's mother.'

But then it all made sense. Why hadn't he seen it? They looked so alike, for Christ's sake. 'Libby, what did Zoe do?'

'It's better you don't know.' Libby kissed Hyssop. 'I didn't tell the police. I lied to them. I said it was an accident.'

'Poisoning you, or pushing Maggie down the stairs?'

Libby didn't answer.

'The thing is,' Patrick said, 'you told me everything last night. You told me about Gloria and Lynda's mum. Is it all true?'

She nodded.

Jesus Christ.

'But it's not just black and white, is it?' Libby let Hyssop jump down. 'Like when Grace gave me the emerald pendant.'

'That's not the same.'

'Grace nearly ruined your life, but you forgave her.'

'Zoe nearly killed you.'

'I know, but not intentionally.' Libby took a deep breath. 'She murdered Maggie, or at least assisted in her death. She stole the ketamine and sold it to Gloria. And she spiked Dorothy's elderflower wine.'

'But you're protecting her?' What happened to his moralistic Libby, the one who wouldn't turn a blind eye?

'What difference would it make if I told the police? Lynda's world would be opened up to new pain. Nobody forced Gloria to take the drugs and Maggie... well, let's be honest, this is all her fault.'

'How is it Maggie's fault?'

'She did this. She damaged Zoe years ago. When our flat was broken into last Christmas, Zoe needed her birth certificate to get a new passport.'

'And she found out Maggie was her mum?'

Libby nodded. 'Can you imagine what that did to Zoe's head? This was the woman who cultivated an eating disorder in her, who used to hit her around the ankles with a walking stick and lock her under the stairs. After you went blackberry picking that time, Maggie didn't let Zoe eat anything for two days.'

Patrick leant against the window. Zoe had been seven. It was child abuse and her own parents wouldn't listen. If I'm ever a dad...

Libby looked around the room. 'I used to feel sorry for Maggie. I thought she was this lonely old lady who'd been forgotten by the world. The truth was she wasn't a very nice person. She slept with her friend's husband, she wouldn't help a friend in need and instead of showering a little girl with love, she twisted her until she snapped.'

'You reap what you sow.' He reached into his pocket and took out the letter addressed to Libby. 'Zoe left this for you.'

Libby's hands shook as she ripped open the envelope and while she read, fat tears splashed onto the paper. Patrick put his arm around her shoulders, resting his head against hers as she let him read the letter too.

Lib, I'm so sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt you, but you wouldn't have let me leave. You're too good, too honest, too right - just what I've always needed in my life. I wish I had your strength.

I never meant to do any of this. Please don't hate me. I really don't want you to hate me because you're the only person who ever cared about me. Jonathon didn't. I loved him, truly loved him. I could've been happy with him, I really could, but let's face it, I don't deserve a man like him, not after the things I've done. But he didn't care, not really.

The oddest twist of fate is Ed might love me. And you'll love this. He's not some penniless hack for that bleeding heart rag. He owns it. The spell worked. A good shag with money. Be careful what you wish for!

But I don't deserve to live happily ever after. You do. Let Patrick make you happy.

I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of.

Zx

Ps. I've sold the cottage. Got £350k for it, but if you look behind the painting, I left you a gift for all your hard work. Later 'gator.

'In a while 'dile,' she whispered.

The Broken Ballerina stood against the wall and Libby knelt beside it, feeling behind the frame. A smile wavered as she produced the emerald pendant, but she sat twisting the stone between her fingers.

'I want to hate her for what's she'd done,' Libby said, wiping her cheeks, 'but I can't. More than anything, she needs psychiatric help, but that's why she quit ballet. She's never been able to rely on anyone, so she studied psychology to fix herself. But now even I can't help her. I've lost my best-friend.'

Hyssop meowed, rubbing his head against Libby's hand, but his affection set Libby off sobbing again.

'Oh, what are we going to do, Hyss? It's just me and you.'

Enough. Patrick pulled her to her feet, taking a moment to hug her, to let her cry and to summon the courage he needed for an overblown romantic gesture.

'We'll find her, Libs. We'll make sure she's okay.' He rested his head on hers. 'And it's not... It's not just you and the cat. You have me too.'

She shook her head. 'No. I have half of you, the indulgent, hedonistic half.'

This was it, his chance to show she was his first priority. After a confidence building deep breath, he took her hand and led her outside, to the bandstand in the middle of the Square.

'What are you doing?' she whispered, gazing up at him.

Christ, when she looked at him like that, with her perfume filling his head, Patrick couldn't breathe and his desire to flee kicked in. It was too much. But he stayed where he was and rested his forehead against hers, trying not to close his eyes. Why was this so hard?

'Not half of me,' he said. 'All of me.'

'But...'

'I'm shit-scared, Libs, but... I love you.'

Her eyes widened. 'What?'

'I love you.' He laughed. Actually, it wasn't so hard. 'While you were in London, Hyssop made himself right at home. He sits in the armchair by the fire and stares at Isla with utter disdain. Why don't you make yourself at home too?'

For what felt like five minutes she didn't smile, or react, she just stared at him. Oh Christ, what if she said no? Gosthwaite, London... did it matter where they were? She just had to say, yes.

'Look,' he said, 'I know you need to go back to London and I wouldn't want to do it forever, but I know it's important to you, so... well... I hear they have cows in Surrey.'

'But I don't want to go to London,' she said, her eyes still staring.

'Don't lie. I've seen Paolo's new painting. Ballet makes you happier than anything else. I get it.'

'What painting?'

He took out his phone, showing her the photo of the Fixed Ballerina. At first she frowned, as though confused, but then her cheeks slowly turned pink.

'I'm not happy in that painting because of ballet. Paolo made me talk about the thing I loved the most.'

Patrick's heart officially stopped as she stood her toes and held his face with both her hands.

'He made me talk about you,' she whispered. 'I love you. More than ballet.'

In the middle of the Square, they kissed and he hoped to God someone was watching. This was the love of his life and he wanted the world to know.

'How do you always smell like a rose garden?' he murmured between kisses.

She dropped her head back, laughing. 'I've spent the night in hospital and I really need a shower. The last thing I smell like is a rose garden.'

'It's mental, I know, but you definitely smell of roses and sweet peas.'

'Roses and sweet peas, really?' Glancing sheepishly to the sky, she plucked a little red pouch from her jeans pocket. 'This might sound... but I did this spell in July, to summon my true love.'

He struggled not to laugh. 'We hadn't even met.'

'I summoned someone...' She took a deep breath, turning adorably pink. 'Twenty-five to thirty-five, good-looking, honest, decent morals, non-brown eyes...'

'That's half the male population.'

'Good with animals.'

'Most people are.'

'And English.'

'You're in England. What are the chances?' But he laughed, remembering the Broken Ballerina evening. 'So that's why you freaked out when I said I wasn't Scottish.'

'That's when I knew you were the one I'd summoned.'

'Weirdo. But what's with the roses and sweet peas.'

'They're the flower petals I burned as part of the spell.' She opened the ties on the little pouch and emptied the contents, the ash drifting off on the breeze.

'If you believe in that nonsense, why are you throwing it away?'

'I didn't throw it away. I gave it to the wind. It seals the spell.' She grinned. 'You're mine forever now.'

'Define forever.' He pulled her to him, trying not to grin.

'Oh, you know... marriage, kids, dog, cat, crumbling farmhouse.'

To his surprise, his smile grew. 'Sounds tolerable.'

'Tolerable?'

He nodded to the house where Isla and Hyssop sat, obediently waiting for them. 'Well, we've got the dog and the cat already.'

'He's not your cat.'

'No, he's our cat. I told you I wouldn't rely on plying you with booze.'