“Let me help to take your mind off the pain in your face,” said Nory. She walked across to where Guy was sitting, leaned over him, and tipped the contents of the cafetiere in his lap. Guy jumped up, yelping and pulling at his crotch. She heard Charles gasp in horror but caught Jeremy’s amused expression as she replaced the empty pot on the tray.

“Maybe some coffee will help you to sober up,” she said sweetly, and left the library, pulling the heavy door shut with a bang behind her.

Twenty-three

Nory was lying on her bed, staring at the canopy above. She’d called Andrew to ask about the shop, but also to tell him about the day’s events.

“Urrgh!” Andrew made a disgusted noise down the phone. “Men like Guy make my skin crawl.”

“There should be a place where people like Camille can go to build up an immunity to shit husbands,” said Nory.

“Like an anti-bullshit bootcamp,” suggested Andrew.

“Exactly.”

“Camille obviously sees something in him that you can’t.”

“I don’t know what!”

“Camille is an intelligent, articulate woman—I follow her on Insta, she’s my style guru. Your personal knowledge of Guy has gaps that span years. You’ve seen him, what, twice in the last five years? She’s lived with him day after day, she is privy to the parts of his personality that you don’t know. And maybe those parts are the sides of her husband that she’s in love with and doesn’t want to give up on.”

“God. I hate it when you’re the voice of reason.” Nory pulled a pillow over her face.

“Anyway, that’s enough about boring bloody Guy. I want to know when you are going to see the handsome gardener again.”

Nory couldn’t stop her smile. Isaac seemed to have that effect on her.

“I’m not sure. I think he’s going to take me to see a lost garden tomorrow.”

“How romantic. Maybe you can get him to service your lost garden while he’s at it!”

Nory laughed. “Bye. Kiss Matilda and Seb for me.”

A knock at the door caused her to lose count of the roses in the fabric swirls of the canopy.

“Who is it?” she asked, not moving from the bed.

“It’s Guy.”

“Fuck off, Guy.”

No sound of retreating footsteps. Another knock.

“Can we talk?”

“Nope. Fuck off.”

“Nory, please. I need to talk to you. I’m going mad here. I don’t know what to do.”

Nory pulled the pillow back over her face and screamed into it. Like it or not, this was Tristan’s legacy. She could never turn her back on a person who needed help, no matter how angry they made her. Suicide had left Nory forever in fear of the worst.