Chapter 20

"You dislike being praised," he said."I dislike crying in public.""You managed admirably.""I shall send you all future compliments to answer on my behalf.""I will draw plans for them."She smiled. For a while, they stood side by side, listening to the music.At last, Jonathan said, "I have been asked to design improvements for the Pump Garden.""Have you?""With sensitivity to existing character.""How revolutionary.""And a modest office may be available near the square."Phoebe looked at him. "You will stay?""If my wife wishes it."The word wife warmed her to the fingertips."She does," Phoebe said softly. "Very much."He took her hand, hidden slightly by the shadow of the portico. Inside, the Assembly Rooms glowed with candlelight and music; outside, the spa town that had nearly lost its heart shone under a summer moon.Phoebe thought of the crack in the ceiling, the rain, the whispers, the ledgers, the fear. She thought of how near they had come to losing everything because powerful men had mistaken memory for weakness and community for sentiment.But hope, she had learned, could be organized: it could be entered into ledgers, tied with blue ribbon, sung beneath candlelight, argued in committee rooms, drawn in careful lines by an architect's hand, and carried by ordinary people who refused to surrender what they loved.Jonathan's fingers closed gently around hers.The music changed to a waltz, still new enough to stir murmurs among the cautious and delight among the bold.Lady Enderby appeared in the doorway. "Miss Hartwell, Mr. Meer, you are not hiding from your own triumph, I hope?""Only resting from it," Phoebe said."Resting is for Bath chairs and invalids. Come inside!"Jonathan offered his arm; Phoebe took it. Together they stepped back into the light beneath the restored ceiling, into the room they had saved and the future they would build.And if, many years later, visitors to Ashcombe Wells asked why a small golden star above the musicians' gallery bore the initials P.H. and J.M., some old resident would smile and say that every building has its story.But this one, they would add, was a love story: a love story of stone and music, courage and partnership, a town restored to itself, and the woman who refused to let its heart be pulled down.

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