A Perfect Proposal (25 page)

Her heart singing, Sophie took hold of his suitcase. It was huge and on wheels. It looked very, very expensive. He carried a laptop bag. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a car,’ she explained. ‘We have to take a bus and then a train.’

Luke exhaled, disguising a tired sigh as a breath. ‘Fine.’

‘You can sleep on the train,’ she said reassuringly, wishing she had borrowed a car so she could have whisked him away without having to put him through more stress. But she didn’t drive much and it would have taken her a long time to negotiate with her parents and subsequently with the road system round one of the world’s biggest airports. ‘Just a little bus ride first.’

To his credit, Luke didn’t complain at all, but Sophie could tell he was more used to a uniformed chauffeur and a limousine than putting his suitcase into a cave-like area under a bus and then, later, having to get it on to a train.

Fortunately for her, he soon fell asleep so she could make a phone call.

‘Mum? It’s me, Soph.’

‘Hello, darling,’ said her mother.

‘I’m bringing a guest home.’

‘Are you? Aren’t you at the wine bar?’

‘No. I’m on a train from Heathrow. I’ve got the grandson of the woman I stayed with in Connecticut with me.’

‘Yes?’

‘I was just wondering if he could stay for a few days. He’s had his wallet stolen.’

There was a pause. Sophie’s mother was not inhospitable but it took a minute for this request to sink in. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll bake a cake.’

Sophie would have been happier if her mother had said, ‘I’ll get the spare room ready,’ as her cakes weren’t that good on the whole (which was why Sophie had taken over making them when she was nine). But she was grateful that her mother was relaxed about having a complete stranger as a guest.

Although Sophie’s family home was a bit chipped about the edges, it was spacious. There wasn’t too much furniture but what there was included some antiques. It had a sort of arty stylishness that could look wonderful. There was even a guest room right next to the bathroom, which was the nearest thing to an en suite. What worried Sophie was the fact that the spare room was currently full of her mother’s canvases and the cleaning lady who came about once a fortnight hadn’t been for a while. Still, there was no point in worrying about that. She paid the taxi that took them back from the station and ushered Luke up the path to the front door.

Sophie’s mother stood in the hall, ready to welcome them. She was wearing a long V-necked fitted cardigan and at least two scarves draped round her neck and shoulders. Her hair was coiled up into a nest on her head secured by combs and several strings of beads made their way down her front. Her long skirt was one Sophie had made her, large triangles of brightly coloured velvet connected with feather stitching. She wore green woollen tights and suede shoes. She looked ‘arty’, believing that looking the part was halfway to becoming an artist.

‘Hello!’ she said as Luke preceded Sophie into the house. And then, when she’d had a chance to look at him properly, she said it once more, with feeling. ‘Darling, who is this gorgeous man?’

Sophie blushed deeply. She almost wished she hadn’t been so impulsive and invited Luke home. Looking at her mother now, Sophie was aware that she’d gulped down a quick glass of sherry – to give herself courage, no doubt. It was making her sound a bit like a female Lothario. She trusted Luke wouldn’t notice either the smell or the slightly unhinged behaviour. She kissed her mother’s cheek.

‘That skirt looks lovely. Mum, this is Luke. He’s the grandson of the wonderful woman I met in New York and went to stay with. Remember? Thanksgiving? House in Connecticut?’

One glass of sherry hadn’t affected that particular memory.
‘Oh, the mansion? Of course I remember now. Luke, I’m very glad to meet you.’ Her mother took Luke’s hand in hers and held on. ‘You and your family were so kind to Sophie.’

Cringing with embarrassment, Sophie said hurriedly, ‘Luke, this is my mother, Sonia Apperly.’

‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Apperly,’ said Luke, shaking the hand that was still clutching his.

‘Oh, call me Sonia, do.’ She stayed staring into Luke’s eyes.

‘Mum!’ Sophie interrupted this reverie, which she knew was partly caused by Luke’s eyes being such an unusual colour. ‘Mum, why don’t you take Luke through to the sitting room and see if he’d like a drink? Luke, I’ll go and get your room ready.’

‘I’m putting you to a lot of trouble, Sonia.’

‘Not at all! It’s a pleasure to have you. Sophie’s boyfriends are usually quite different.’ Sophie’s mother had now slipped her hand through Luke’s arm. ‘Come on through. Are you interested in art? I think Sophie told me she met your grandmother in an art gallery? I’ll get you a drink and then you can tell me what you think of my work. Of course, time doesn’t allow me to …’

Sophie escaped to the kitchen. Looking at her mother’s not very inspiring paintings and hearing her bang on about what a great artist she could have been if only she’d had the opportunity would be the very last thing Luke would feel like doing but he would have to put up with it – at least until she could rescue him. She filled the kettle in case he wanted coffee, not alcohol, and then went back to the sitting room.

Luke was standing in front of a very large landscape of a wood, full of thick dark paint and symbolism. He seemed to have got rid of his hostess’s arm and had folded his own, possibly so she couldn’t grab his hand again.

‘Luke, you probably don’t want tea but would you like some coffee?’ She was a bit anxious about coffee. Americans
were known to be picky about it and the only way she could make it was in a jug, like tea, only using tablespoons instead of teaspoons to measure it out.

‘Coffee would be fine,’ said Luke.

Sonia Apperly put her hand on Luke’s sleeve. ‘But wouldn’t you rather have a drink? A glass of sherry? We have some whisky, I think.’

Sophie waited. Maybe Luke would welcome a stiff drink. He’d had a very long flight, his wallet stolen, an awkward journey and now her mother in entertaining mode. She’d want one herself.

‘Um …’ Luke hesitated.

‘A drink,’ said Sonia firmly. ‘Sophie darling, could you bring a tray? I’ll have sherry but I’m sure Luke would like whisky.’

Luke smiled. ‘I’ll have to learn to call it that. In the States we call it Scotch.’

‘People do here too,’ said Sophie and went back to the kitchen.

Another problem had presented itself to her. What had her mother planned for supper? Had she planned anything? Would it stretch to five? Sophie was to have been working that evening so she wouldn’t have been catered for and no one had known about Luke. She opened the fridge door, praying her mother hadn’t bought lamb chops for three. She sighed with relief when she saw some large chicken breasts. There’d be bits and pieces of vegetables and rice. She could make a stir-fry.

Having delivered the tray of drinks and poured for them both, hoping no one mentioned ice because she knew there wouldn’t be any, she said to her mother, ‘Shall I light a fire? Then I must get Luke’s room ready. He must be desperate to freshen up.’

‘I’ll do the fire for you, Sonia,’ said Luke, smiling
charmingly at Sophie’s mother. ‘I was a boy scout. I can light fires.’

‘How clever,’ said Mrs Apperly, although she wouldn’t have thought Sophie clever for doing it. ‘What did you say you did for a living?’

As Sophie went upstairs to the spare room she prayed that her brother hadn’t decided to shave that day and that the basin wouldn’t be full of bits of hair. With her mother in that mood, sucking up to Luke, she didn’t want to leave him alone with her for longer than she had to. Then she’d have to cook supper.

The sheets she found for the bed were a bit thin and bobbly but they were clean. She allowed a second’s thought to the wonderful, glass-smooth Egyptian cotton sheets in Matilda’s house and then let it go. Polycotton was fine, really. There was also a clean bath towel, which was a bit of a result. It was tiny compared to the bath sheets he was used to in Matilda’s house, but this would go round his waist with no problem. He was very slim.

She stashed her mother’s canvases and spare art materials under the bed. The bedside light worked, and she’d found him one good pillow that could go on top of the lumpy one. Getting the reading matter organised was a challenge. A quick look round and she transferred her energies to the bathroom.

This took a bit more to make tidy. But she used a large towel that smelt strongly of her brother to clean the bath and basin, gave the loo a quick scrub and (kindly) found a clean towel to replace the one she’d done the cleaning with. She found a new bar of soap that wasn’t cracked and streaked with black and then she went back downstairs and into the sitting room. What would her mother be doing to Luke now?

‘Luke, your room is ready,’ she announced from the doorway of the sitting room. ‘If you’re happy here, I’ll cook supper, otherwise I’ll show you?’

Luke got up. ‘I’d really like to invite you all out to a restaurant. I’ve arrived unexpectedly—’

‘You have no money,’ said Sophie, smiling but making her point bluntly. ‘And no credit cards. Don’t worry about it.’ She smiled. ‘Come up and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.’

‘Don’t be bossy, darling,’ said her mother. ‘Men hate that.’

Dying inside, Sophie led Luke from the room.

She didn’t speak as Luke followed her up the stairs, dragging his suitcase, its nifty wheels no use now. It was better not to try and explain her mother, she felt, even though she longed to. At least she was friendly. Her father was usually taciturn and her brother could be positively rude.

‘I think your mother is charming,’ said Luke when Sophie had opened the door to the spare room and indicated the bathroom next door.

‘Yes,’ said Sophie. ‘Would you like a bath? We do have a shower but it’s a bit … slow.’

‘You mean you have to run around to catch the drips?’

She nodded. ‘The bath is fine though and there’s plenty of hot water.’ She’d already checked this. ‘It’ll take me about an hour to cook supper. Are you starving? I could make you a quick sandwich if you’d like.’

‘Sophie, calm down. I’m fine. I’m used to foreign travel, you know.’

Sophie raised an eyebrow, feigning offence. ‘This is England, Luke! Hardly foreign!’

This said she swept down the stairs wishing his presence didn’t make her feel so twitchy. All would be well as long as her father and brother didn’t show her up. It was one thing adapting her behaviour to fit in with Matilda’s grand house-hold; it was unlikely her household would adapt to fit in with Luke. She had to hope he’d be able to cope with the vast
differences. She had imagined their first meeting in England taking place in a bar in London, all sophistication and elegance. She’d just have to rise to the challenge.

Sophie was calmer by the time everyone sat down to dinner. Luke, looking pink and prosperous and smelling of something lovely, was placed at the opposite end of the table to her father. Her mother was sitting on one side of him and there was an empty place on his other side, obviously designated as Sophie’s. Her brother Michael sat next to his father. They all looked expectantly at her as she brought in a steaming dish. Conversation seemed to have been flowing but everyone was very hungry. Although Sophie had worked as fast as she could, supper was a little late.

She was pleased to see that her father had produced a couple of bottles of his better wine and that everyone had a full glass. She just hoped someone would fill hers – she badly needed a drink.

‘I’ll just go and get the plates.’

‘Can I help?’ asked Luke, starting to get up.

‘No, no,’ said Sophie’s mother, patting his hand. ‘You stay there. You must be feeling jet-lagged. What time is it at home now?’

Sophie got the plates. Her brother showed no sign of moving to help. He’d been at work all day, after all. Sophie had just been flitting around, being Sophie, obviously.

Sophie doled out large portions of chicken stir-fry. She’d taken a lot of trouble with it. She’d garnished the pile with crisply fried onion rings and had fried the chicken in the bacon fat. She had added some toasted almonds, a handful of frozen peas for colour and tiny cubes of red pepper. She’d also added a little chilli. It looked lovely and it was full of flavour and she would have been proud of it if the memory of the Thanksgiving dinner, the brunch, and even the pizza
at Mystic hadn’t been so much in the forefront of her mind.