A Perfect Proposal (33 page)

‘I have money! I can pay!’

‘Don’t let it go to your head, Rich Boy. You’ll have lots of things to spend your money on. But it won’t be much,’ she added.

The car parked, she said, ‘OK, let’s see if any of these cottages do bed and breakfast.’

They were just wondering which of the two little streets they should try first when they saw a woman walking her dog. Sophie ran over and asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said the woman. ‘Moira does B & B. She lives in that little thatched cottage over there. Lovely woman. Great cook. I think she opens out of season.’

‘When you go back to the States you can tell people that you’ve slept in a thatched cottage,’ said Sophie, and then listened to herself and realised how silly that sounded and chuckled. ‘I’m sure they’ll be very impressed down at the country club.’

Luke laughed. ‘Well, my half-brothers and sisters in California will be impressed anyway. And my grandmother.’

‘That’s the most important thing. Right, here we are.’

They walked up the little path to the front door, in Sophie’s case revelling in the quaintness of the house. There was no bell, only a knocker in the shape of an anchor. She banged it hard.

They waited in silence. Then Sophie said, ‘You can sort of tell when there’s no one in, can’t you?’

‘Mm. The clue is no one answers the door,’ said Luke.

‘I didn’t mean that! But how annoying! How sad! I so wanted to stay here.’

‘Well, why don’t we put a note through the door with your cellphone number on it and we can go for a walk or something? Then if this Moira comes back within an hour or so and is open for business, she can ring us. If not we’ll probably have to find a larger town with a hotel.’

‘You want a hotel really, don’t you? A decent shower, Egyptian cotton sheets, big towels …’

He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed, but she
couldn’t read his expression. ‘I want what you want, Sophie.’

As this totally confused her she didn’t reply, just burrowed in her bag for some paper and a pen. Surely he didn’t really want what she wanted? He wouldn’t even know what that was – and she wasn’t going to tell him.

‘It’s just beautiful here! So peaceful!’ said Sophie for about the third time. They were looking at all the yachts bobbing up and down on their moorings, the halyards tinkling against the metal masts. ‘Look at the lights over there on the hillside. Imagine all the people snuggled in for the night. I’d so love to live nearer the sea. Where I live is lovely – you’ve seen it – but this is more special, somehow.’

‘It is,’ agreed Luke. ‘But I’m getting cold. Let’s walk along a bit. There’s a church there.’

‘Good plan. I love churchyards, although I do always find them terribly sad. Especially old ones that have children in them.’ She paused. ‘I’m just warning you, in case I cry.’

To Sophie’s relief, Luke didn’t seem too put out by this admission. Maybe he was getting used to her.

‘Would you rather not go? I’d hate to make you cry,’ he said.

‘Oh no, I want to. Exploring the graveyard means we can put off making the decision whether we should give up on staying here and find a town.’

Luke put his arm round Sophie’s shoulders and hugged her to him. ‘You are funny, Sophie.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ said Sophie doubtfully.

They opened the gate and went in. Sophie had her torch and set off on the tiny, narrow path between the graves. ‘It’s really quite large for such a small village, isn’t it?’

‘It seems to go right up the hill,’ Luke agreed, following her. ‘Still, if it’s an old village, lots of people would have lived here over the years.’

‘They seem really packed in.’ She shone her torch at some of the graves so they could read the inscriptions. ‘Look how old they are. And how sad! Look – there’s been space left on this one for other family members but they obviously got buried somewhere else.’

‘Here’s a sad one: “In Memory of Alan, who died doing what he loved best: sailing.”’

‘I wonder how I’d feel if my husband loved sailing more than me,’ said Sophie.

Luke seemed amused. ‘I’m sure no one would love sailing more than you, Sophie – especially if they were your husband. But sailing was his favourite activity.’

Was he flirting or teasing? Or both? The thought made her heart flutter. They’d shared some mad, quite intimate times together since he’d arrived in England and she’d got to know him far better. But she still couldn’t really read him in the way she usually could other men. The uncertainty intensified her growing feelings for him and about him. She accepted now she found him very attractive, but did he feel the same about her?

The path was too narrow for them to walk side by side. As they got to the top of the hill the graves were a little newer.

Sophie had just decided that churchyards weren’t sad places and instead terribly romantic when she spotted a grave which held a mother’s entire family, who had died, one after the other, a few weeks apart, in some dreadful epidemic. Luke touched her arm and her hand stole up and held on to his coat. Luke’s arm instantly wrapped around her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Mm. Just sentimental.’ She stayed there, half suffocated by aged leather until she got herself under control. She knew it was partly because all her senses were heightened by the moonlight, Luke, and finding the house, and she should just get a grasp on reality. ‘I’m fine now,’ she said, having cleared her throat.

‘Well, come over here. Look at this. I want to show you something.’

It was a fairly plain headstone and almost covered in ivy and lichen and Sophie didn’t know why Luke had drawn her attention to it.

‘Look!’ he said. ‘The names!’

‘They don’t mean anything to me.’

‘I’m fairly sure that Pencavel was the name of Matilda’s family. Can you read the date?’

Sophie produced her tiny torch and directed it towards the gravestone. ‘Well, the husband was born in 1860 and died in 1930 and the wife was born in 1865 and also died in 1930. Maybe she died of grief.’

Luke did some calculations. ‘These must be her grandparents – my great-grandparents. They lived here. Look, there’s the name of the farm where they must have lived.’

‘So they would have known the owners of the house. I wonder if they’re here too. Oh, Luke! It’s like going back to the past. Your past!’

She paused and breathed deeply, hoping the rush of emotion she had just experienced wouldn’t make her cry. It was foolish to cry about people she’d never met, who’d died a long time ago and had enjoyed, going by the dates, long and happy lives. But she couldn’t help thinking of their bones lying under the stone. As she shone her torch away from the main names she saw a child’s name. She really hoped that Luke would be too taken up with reading the headstone to notice her reaction.

He wasn’t. ‘Sophie, honey,’ he breathed and took her into his arms. ‘No need to be sad!’ he whispered. And then he kissed her.

For a second his lips touched hers in comfort but soon it became a proper kiss. They clung to each other, their mouths
at first pressed together, and then parting so their tongues could explore each other.

When they finally separated they were both breathing heavily.

‘Sophie,’ Luke began when a sound, familiar yet alien, intruded upon them. ‘Your cell.’

‘Oh yes.’ Sophie groped for it and caught it just before it went to voicemail. It was Moira.

‘Is that Sophie? I’ve just got back and got your note. I’ve got a lovely room and can give you supper if you’d like that. There’s nowhere else to eat around here.’

‘That would be great,’ said Sophie. ‘We’ll come right away.’

‘She’s got a room,’ she said to Luke when she’d disconnected.

‘Good,’ said Luke.

‘And she can give us supper.’

‘It sounds perfect.’ Then he kissed her again, for quite a long time.

They walked back in silence, neither of them mentioning the fact that only one room seemed to be on offer. From Sophie’s point of view, this was not a problem and, judging by his recent behaviour, Luke would be perfectly happy with this situation too.

It was a lovely room: white walls and plain furniture and an enormous bed covered with a patchwork quilt.

‘What a beautiful quilt!’ said Sophie immediately she saw it.

‘Yes, it was left to me by an old lady who died before she could finish it,’ said Moira, who was checking the bedside lights worked.

‘How sad!’ said Sophie.

‘Not really,’ said her hostess matter-of-factly. ‘She always
had a quilt on the go. It was inevitable that she’d die before she finished one of them. This has got my school dresses in it, and my sister’s. Now, your bathroom is just across the hall. I’ll find you some towels.’

‘I’d love a shower!’ said Sophie, thinking she wanted to be extra clean and buffed for Luke.

‘Me too,’ said Luke. ‘You go first.’

‘When you’ve finished, come downstairs and I’ll find you a glass of wine and something to eat,’ said Moira. ‘There’s plenty of hot water.’

She went out of the room and opened a cupboard and produced two large, warm towels from it. She handed one to Sophie. ‘Use any of the products you want. They’re there for guests.’

‘Lovely!’ said Sophie, buzzing with happy anticipation. After the shower and the meal she and Luke would have that huge bed. Life just couldn’t get better.

‘Before you disappear in there, can I borrow your cell?’ asked Luke. ‘I should check in.’

‘Help yourself!’ Sophie practically skipped into the bathroom.

There was a good fire going in Moira’s sitting room, half of which was used as an eating area. There were candles on the mantelpiece and on the table and some classical music emanated from somewhere. Luke was sitting by the fire reading the paper when Sophie came down.

‘Is it my turn?’

She nodded, wondering if he’d notice she was wearing the one skirt she’d brought with her and had put on make-up. The anticipation was almost the best bit, she decided, now pretty certain she’d spend the night in Luke’s arms. Even she couldn’t have misread the signs this time.

Unable to settle to reading the newspaper, Sophie went and found Moira in the kitchen chopping cabbage. Like the
other rooms, the kitchen was very much to Sophie’s taste. The furniture probably wasn’t antique but it was old and serviceable and simple.

‘Can I do anything to help?’

Moira, an attractive woman in her forties, smiled. ‘If you like. It’s not professional to let guests help, but I’m not very professional. I just take in the odd guest when they happen to pass by. I’m an acupuncturist really.’

‘How interesting!’ said Sophie, taking over the chopping. ‘Do you get many clients in this area?’

‘Oh yes. I’m very busy. I started doing the B & B. when my husband left me. It makes the house pay for itself. Now,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a casserole and I thought I’d do mashed potatoes and cabbage – maybe some cauli? That sound all right?’

‘Delicious! It smells amazing.’

Moira nodded. ‘I’m not a bad cook, although I say it myself as shouldn’t. Now, pudding? I’ve got some bananas and some rum and of course, clotted cream. I think I could make something fairly edible with that.’

‘I’m sure you could!’ Sophie agreed, laughing.

‘Let’s get the wine open. Your young man will be down soon.’

Luke had been referred to as such, in various ways, since he’d been in England but for the first time Sophie didn’t take offence. For tonight at least, he was her young man. The thought of it made her catch her breath. She hoped Moira wouldn’t guess they weren’t an established couple. She didn’t want embarrassment to spoil the wonderfulness of it all.

Luke appeared, looking damp and fresh with his hair wet. Moira handed him a bottle and a corkscrew. ‘Here, fight your way into that.’

‘Do bed and breakfasts usually give you wine?’ he asked.

Moira laughed. ‘No, but it’s out of season, there’s nowhere to eat and what’s a good meal without a bottle of wine?’ She looked at Luke. ‘I’ll put it all on the bill, don’t worry. Now pour yourselves both a glass and go and sit by the fire. This won’t take long.’

Sophie and Luke sat opposite each other, by the fire, glasses of wine in their hands. They didn’t talk and didn’t feel the need to. They just relaxed and gazed into the gently flickering flames. Sophie was thinking over their day and looking forward to the night ahead. Judging by the little smile at the corner of Luke’s mouth, he might well have been sharing her thoughts. Sophie took another sip of her wine.

Moira set the table with a candle and when she was happy with it she summoned them to it.

‘I haven’t got a starter for you, but there’s plenty of casserole if you want seconds.’

Two plates of stew steamed gently in the candlelight. Beside them were dishes of vegetables, including cauliflower cheese.

‘My favourite!’ said Sophie.

‘Cornish cauliflowers – can’t beat them,’ said Moira. ‘Bon appétit!’

They were both hungry and they tucked in eagerly. Eventually Luke said, ‘Moira’s such a good cook, I’m surprised she isn’t married.’

Knowing he was teasing, Sophie said, ‘Luke! That’s just the sort of thing Uncle Eric would have said!’