She came out of her thoughts with a start, finding that the doctor had come to her side. As she looked at him he gave a sympathetic shake of his head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think she can even hear me,’ she said sadly.

  He shook his head again. Then after a moment: ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get you back to your room.’

  *

  She was spending most of the daylight hours out of bed now, and with each passing day she could feel the positive signs of her progress. And the letters, the cards and the flowers continued to arrive. One letter, headed Adrimar Productions, was of particular interest. It said:

  Dear Miss Paul,

  Please forgive me for writing to you at what must surely be a very stressful time, but I want to say how very shocking and distressing it was to learn of your accident. I do so hope that by now you are well on the road to making a complete recovery.

  I would also like to say how very much I was looking forward to your concert, and how disappointed I was – along with so many, many others, I have no doubt – that it could not take place. What a tragedy, and what a great pleasure we were denied.

  I do hope you won’t regard this as an intrusion at a difficult time, but with regard to your planned concert I am wondering what the situation is now, and whether you have any thoughts or intentions in respect of holding such an event in the future. I realise that such a thing might be the furthest from your thoughts, but if you are at all interested in discussing the possibility of any such event I would be very happy to visit you to discuss it at any time that’s convenient.

  Whether or not such a suggestion is of interest I send you my most sincere good wishes for your future happiness and success.

  Yours sincerely,

  Adrian Marlow

  She read the letter through several times, then placed it on her locker and sat staring into space. Later, with the aid of a laptop borrowed from one of the nurses, she did a little research. As an entrepreneur, Adrian Marlow, it turned out, was well thought of, and very much up-and-coming. Not that long in the business, he had nevertheless already made his mark with some notable successes to his credit.

  But no, she said to herself – she could never perform now. The idea was insane. On the other hand, it would certainly be nice to have a visitor, some bright, intelligent person to talk to for half an hour.

  As she sat there, Nurse Bainbridge came into the room in the course of her rounds. ‘You’re looking well today, Miss Paul,’ she said. ‘A bit brighter, too. Something happened to buck you up?’

  She didn’t respond for a few moments, then with a slow nod and a smile she said, ‘Well, maybe. I’m not sure. ‘But – I think I might be having a visitor.’

  ‘A visitor. Well, that’ll be nice for you – see a different face for a change.’

  ‘Yes…it would be nice. And it’ll be a change.’ She nodded. ‘Sharon, darling – would you be kind enough to get me some notepaper? I want to write a letter.’

  ……TWENTY-ONE

  The April sun shone down on the trees, bright in their new leaves, in the hospital grounds, and through the window touched the white collar and cuffs of Adrian Marlow. He had driven from London that afternoon to see Rosemary, and the meeting was now coming to an end.

  Earlier, when word had come from reception that he had arrived, there had been a frantic, last-minute flutter in private room number seven, where the young nurse, Greg, had hovered, trying to reassure his patient.

  ‘Stop worrying, Miss Paul,’ he said. ‘You look fine. You look terrific.’

  ‘Terrific?’ she said, holding her little hand mirror out before her. ‘More like bloody terrifying.’ Then, as the young man moved towards the door she said quickly, ‘No, wait – just a second!’ Her tone hinted at panic. ‘My hair – how does it look?’ Her orange-nailed fingers patted frenetically at the loose blonde locks of the newly-fitted wig.

  ‘It looks nice. Believe me, it really does.’

  ‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?’ She frowned at herself in the mirror. ‘Oh, God, look at my eyes. And those scars. Will they ever go?’ She picked up her dark glasses, slipped them on, adjusted them, then waved a resigned, dismissive hand. ‘Ah, what the hell. If I’m not ready now I never will be. I’m Rosemary Paul, and even at my best I’d never have been up for the beauty pageant.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Okay, Greg, ask him to come up, will you?’

  Adrian Marlow was a divorcee in his fifties, a man of medium height and build, with dark hair, now greying, and square-cut, rimless spectacles. His South London accent betrayed his beginnings, and the fact that his considerable success was something that he had worked for. She found him easy to talk to, and after her initial nervousness began to relax a little in his company. A chair had been placed for him a little way from hers, but even from that distance she knew he could see the scars that she had tried so carefully to hide. A tray of tea was brought in from the pantry, and after they had broken the ice with small talk he got to the point. They were on first name terms now.

  ‘Well, Rosemary…’ he took a sip of tea and set his teacup down, ‘– to business. I think I made it fairly clear in my letter as to why I wanted to see you today.’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And I have to say that it came as a huge surprise. I wasn’t prepared for anything like that.’

  ‘It isn’t something you’ve been considering?’

  ‘In my situation?’ she said with eyes wide. ‘I mean, look at me. Are you kidding.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘But your doctor tells me you’ve made great strides, and that you’ll be fit enough to be discharged in a day or two.’

  ‘That’s right – they’re throwing me out, the devils. I’ve been freeloading long enough, they tell me.’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, that is wonderful. So you’re feeling okay, yes?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, yes. And I can’t wait to get out. Everything considered, I’m feeling pretty good.’ She gave a nod. ‘Yes, I feel well.’

  He was silent for a moment, then: ‘Well enough to do a show?’

  She gave a deep sigh. ‘Oh, Adrian, I knew that question was coming up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I really don’t know. It isn’t something I even thought about until I got your letter.’

  ‘But you’ve thought about it since – a little, I hope?’

  ‘Well, yes, a little.’ She paused, then went on, ‘But Adrian, it’s not just a question of whether I’m fit enough. I mean – what about you? Aren’t you afraid you might be wasting your time, not to mention a small fortune into the bargain? What if I turned out to be some godawful flop?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘don’t talk that way. I don’t think for one minute that you’d be some godawful flop. If I thought that, I’d never have written to you.’

  She sat silent. His initial letter had raised within her a little spring of hope; but now, faced with the possible reality, fear had taken its place. ‘You’re willing to take the risk?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I’m willing to take the risk. If you are.’

  After a moment she said, ‘I have to be honest with you, and tell you that nobody we approached before thought that way. In fact – we put up the money ourselves.’

  ‘You did?’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘Well, not me exactly. Carrie did.’

  ‘Carrie – your friend? She put up the money? Well, that’s news.’ He gave a nod. ‘So – there’s someone who believes in you.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Always.’

  ‘Well, let me tell you that Carrie isn’t the only one,’ he said. ‘Things have changed, Rosemary. I admit that I would have had doubts about backing your venture earlier – after your long absence, I mean. But now,’ he leaned forward a little, ‘I don’t see how it could fail.’

  ‘You don’t? Well, you have to know that they weren’t exactly fighting each other for tickets at the theatre box office. We checked. The bookings were slow.’

  ‘Yes, well, that doesn’t exactly surprise me,’ he said. ‘After all, you didn’t have any publicity out there, did you – not to speak of? No PR at all – no pictures, just a few ads here and there. That’s not enough.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘But it was just Carrie and me, doing the best we could. But, I mean to say – well, what did we know?’

  ‘Of course you didn’t know,’ he said. ‘That side of the business isn’t for you. I understand, absolutely. But things are different now – a lot different. The picture has changed, totally.’

  ‘Changed?’

  A moment of hesitation, then he said, ‘Well, I mean – now, with your – your terrible accident … I don’t think you can lose.’

  ‘What?’ She gazed at him. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never more so.’

  ‘You mean it?’ There was a note of wonder in her voice. ‘You say you don’t think I can lose?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ He spread his hands before him. ‘Look at the coverage you’ve had in the papers. It’s unbelievable. The columns have been full of you. I mean – here you are, having made the most miraculous recovery after hovering between life and death for days and days. You’ve been through the most terrible time, both with the accident and then with all your reconstructive surgery. You’ve been through hell, Rosemary, absolute hell. And everybody knows about it. They’re all aware of the hell you’ve gone through – and they love you for it. They love you for it, Rosemary. You’ve become a hero – an icon.’

  She gave an ironic smile. ‘So, it was a smart career move, my accident – is that what you’re saying?’

  He gave a little chuckle. ‘You could say that. But seriously, it has made the most incredible difference. Your songs are being played on the air, your album has sold out a second pressing, and they’re rushing to get out more. Like I said, you’re a hero. Everybody loves you and wants to be your friend. They all want you to succeed. Everybody’s cheering for you.’

  ‘I can hardly believe this,’ she said. ‘You – you mean it?’

  ‘Every single word.’ He smiled. ‘You wanted PR – well, my God, you’ve got it. After what’s happened to you, your audience is guaranteed. And your success.’ He looked at her face, watching the idea, the realisation, settle and take root. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what do you think?’

  Moments passed. ‘But – but my voice,’ she said. ‘Let’s be honest, it – it’s not what it was. We have to face that.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘And nobody will expect it to be. They’d be amazed if it were. You can’t go through what you’ve been through and be untouched by it.’ He paused. ‘So – what do you think? Just give me the word and I’ll have a contract drawn up at once.’ He waited for her answer. ‘Well?’

  ‘You really think I can?’

  ‘I don’t have the slightest doubt.’ He watched as the fear and indecision faded from her face. After a moment she gave a little nod.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes!’ His smile was wide. ‘Yes!’ He gave a little punch into the air. ‘Rosemary Paul,’ he said, ‘you have just made a very wise decision. You are going to take London by storm.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Trust me.’ He paused. ‘And now – the next big question.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You think you could be ready in a month?’

  ‘A month?’ She looked at him with mouth open. ‘My God, I’ve only just started walking unaided. I mean, it’ll take me at least –’

  ‘I know it’s short notice,’ he broke in, ‘but we have a theatre available. We’d booked Trevor Halliday for a show at the New Century. May, a Sunday. But now he’s in trouble and he can’t make it. Like I say, the theatre’s booked and paid for, so if you can make the date, it’s yours.’

  ‘The New Century,’ she said. She had read about the theatre in London, a new, spacious venue that was attracting many of the top names. ‘That’s quite an offer.’

  ‘It’s not made lightly.’

  ‘But – in just a month? What about a musical director, the publicity?’

  ‘You leave all that to me. I’ll get you a great MD.’ He paused. ‘You want a day to think about it? But we can’t take too long. If we’re going to start we’ve got to start at once.’

  After a moment she rose from her chair and reached out her hand. He got up and took the hand she offered. Her touch was firm, warm.

  ‘I don’t need to think about it any further,’ she said. She gave a nod. ‘A month. I shall be ready.’

  *

  After Marlow had left, Dr Bloom called in to see her. ‘Word’s getting round that you’ve had a visitor,’ he said. ‘An important visitor.’

  ‘Yes.’ With excitement colouring her voice, she related her news. ‘But it’s only a month away,’ she added, a look of doubt clouding her face. ‘What have I done? I must be mad.’ She shook her head. ‘I must be out of my mind even to think of it.’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘You can do it.’ He gazed at her steadily. ‘I know you can. I’ve watched you over these weeks, Rosemary – and I’m convinced there’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it. I’ve seen your strength, your will. And I have an idea of what you’re capable of.’ It was true; he had never failed to be impressed by her spirit. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who, two months earlier, had entered the hospital broken, bleeding and a hair’s breadth from death. If she dealt with her concert the way she had dealt with her injuries and her stress, he had no doubt that she would triumph. ‘Rosemary,’ he said, ‘there are thousands out there who believe in you. You can’t let them down. You have to believe in yourself. You can’t back out now.’

  After a moment she gave a nod, her face calmer. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I can’t. And I won’t.’ She smiled with her last words, then turned her head away. Studying her, Bloom saw sudden doubt in her face again – and something else, some dark shadow behind the new look of hope. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Rosemary, what is it?’

  ‘I – I want you to tell me something,’ she said. ‘And, please – I must know the truth.’

  ‘Go on.’ He waited.

  ‘Is there,’ she said after a long moment, ‘– is there any chance at all that – that Carrie will get well?’

  Ah, so that was it, he said to himself. In her own happiness she was thinking of her friend. He hesitated for a second then said:

  ‘Well, I did tell you there’s the possibility that – she mightn’t recover, and –’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she cut in, ‘– but how strong is that possibility? Tell me.’

  He gave a sigh and sadly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Rosemary, but I don’t believe there’s any great chance. Not now. There’s been no significant change in her condition since the day she was brought in.’

  ‘But – but she breathes unaided, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, she does. Other than that, though…’ He sighed. ‘Oh, I’d like to hold out some hope for you, but – her situation just doesn’t change.’

  ‘Is she –? Oh, God, I don’t know how to say it, but is she…?’ Her words trailed off.

  ‘Is she in a – a vegetative state? Is that what you’re asking? No, she’s not. Her brain is responsive. And we know that miracles are said to happen, but I have to be honest with you.’ He sighed. ‘Rosemary – I’m sorry to say it, but you should – should try to prepare yourself for the worst.’

  She turned her face away. ‘Thank you.’ A little nod. ‘I had to know.’

  …..TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Hello, Rosemary.’

  ‘Adrian – hello!’

  With a warm smile of welcome, she stood in the cottage doorway, hand outstretched as Adrian Marlow stepped across the porch towards her.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some coffee on.’

  He followed her into the bright interior and took off his jacket. As he seated himself in the high-backed chair by the fireplace he glanced over at the open piano, saw the sheet music there on the stand. ‘You’ve been working,’ he said, with a nod of approval.

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ she answered. ‘Every day.’

  ‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘And how’s it going? Are you pleased?’

  She returned his smile, but faintly. ‘It’s too early to say.’

  She got the coffee and brought it in, setting the tray on the small table between them. As she poured the coffee she felt his eyes on her face. He couldn’t miss the scars. Raising her head, she gave a nod. ‘They didn’t do too bad a job, did they?’ she said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ He pretended not to know what she meant.

  ‘Oh, come on, now,’ she said, ‘you know what I’m talking about. But you should have seen me before those wonderful fellows got to work on me. I’m glad I wasn’t faced with such a task.’ She handed him his coffee. ‘They showed me photographs later, when I was leaving. I must have been one awful mess.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Practically nothing’s my own any more. New nose. New jawline.’ She raised a hand to her hair. ‘And this is a wig. Still, at least my own hair is growing back. At least that’s not gone for good.’

  ‘Rosemary,’ he said warmly, ‘I think you look absolutely great.’

  ‘Well, thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘And with a kind lighting man, and the right make-up, maybe I’ll pass. Anyway, I’m not knocking it, believe me. I’m lucky to be here – I know that.’

  He nodded. A moment, and then: ‘Is – is there any news?’ he asked.

  ‘You mean – about Carrie?’ She shook her head and turned away. ‘No. No, nothing.’

  Watching her, he observed her quiet strength. To see her going ahead so bravely with her plans filled him with the greatest respect and admiration. He could only guess at how she must be feeling, knowing that her dearest friend was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and showing no signs of recovery.