“I’m sure Finn wants nothing of the sort,” Lucy interrupted, losing patience completely, “and neither do I! I’ve no admin skills and anyway, I thought you wanted me to take a break? Stop trying to take control!”

She heard Cleo say something under her breath that sounded like, “I will when you stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Her sister started to stack up the plates with some ostentatious clattering, and headed off inside the barn without another word.

“Sorry,” Lucy said to Finn, feeling even more awkward, if that were possible. “I know that Cleo’s just trying to help, but sometimes I feel taken over. Since you know I’m here to convalesce, you probably also know I had pneumonia and post-viral complications that mean I’ve had to give up my career—” She stopped. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say other than express the frustration that Cleo was nagging her to take it easy with one breath but trying to organize her into new activities with the next.

Finn met her eyes directly. “I was sorry to hear that you had had to give up your orchestral career,” he said. “I imagine that’s incredibly difficult to come to terms with.”

“I... Yes.” Lucy was taken aback and the surprise pushed her toward honesty. “I don’t think I have come to terms with it yet. Nowhere near.” Then: “Did Verity tell you I played?”

“She did,” Finn said. “She also gave me some of your recordings to listen to a while back.”

Lucy felt like the small child whose parents had rather embarrassingly boasted about her to strangers. “Oh no,” she said. “How awkward.”

“I like violin music,” Finn said easily. “Mozart and gardens sort of go together, I find, with all that creativity and brilliance and yet a sort of mathematical order as well.” He looked at her. “Like I say, I’m sorry about what happened. Life can be utter crap sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, I imagine you know that all too well.” Lucy bit her lip. She felt embarrassed. She wanted to be able to say something meaningful and empathetic about loss and grief, but barely knew where to start. Her own losses, whilst painful, were nothing compared to Finn’s loss of a brother. He’d barely spoken of Charlie, yet she had been able to tell how close they had been. And she at least could rebuild her life once she had had time and space to heal. Finn had to live without Charlie forever after.

Cleo reappeared, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re still here,” she said to Finn. She cast Lucy a less-than-friendly glance. “I thought my sister might have scared you away by now with her bad moods.”

“We haven’t finished looking at the garden designs yet,” Lucy said quickly to forestall further bickering. “Tell us more about how you think it might have looked, Finn. It sounds fascinating.”

Finn’s lips twitched, and for a second, Lucy thought he was going to call her out on her sudden interest, but instead he pulled the sketchbook toward her and flicked over a few pages.