A Perfect Proposal (41 page)

She didn’t know where he was. He’d been vague about how long the project at work would take. He might still be in London. The thought of him there with Ali gave her a cold feeling. She could imagine them living in a smart flat in Canary Wharf, surrounded by glittering high-rise buildings, working together, leading a smart and glittering life, which she could never have been part of, even if he had loved her.

Maybe he had loved her in Cornwall, in the way that you can have a lovely holiday somewhere without wanting to live there. She was his Cornish, away-from-home romance. Ali was the woman he’d marry and spend the rest of his life with.

‘Well, never mind about that,’ said Uncle Eric. ‘What I want to tell you is, I’m planning to give you some money. In fact, if you rummage around in my desk – which I know you like doing – you’ll find a cheque. No, don’t go all sentimental on me. It’s my money and I’ll do what I like with it!’

He did sound sufficiently cross for Sophie to go to the desk, find the cheque and bring it to him.

‘Well, I don’t want it!’ he declared. ‘It’s for you. I know you
want to do some course or other – although education is wasted on women, if you want my opinion – and if you have to wait for this oil money to transpire, well, you’ll be too old to learn.’

Sophie couldn’t help laughing. ‘Uncle Eric! You mustn’t say things like that! And I don’t want to take it. It’s not right.’

‘Why isn’t it right? If I want to give you money I will!’

‘But I’m going to get all this money from the drilling rights. We all are. Even you!’

‘But you said it was going to take time to get the actual cash – as if I didn’t know – and that’s why I’m giving you the money now. Planning to leave you everything when I die but even if I drop dead tomorrow, it’ll be years before you get your hands on the boodle.’

‘Uncle Eric!’

‘Got to leave it to someone,’ he went on. ‘Not so fond of cats I want to leave it to a cats’ home or whatever charity it is that muddled old people are supposed to leave their money to. Might as well be you!’

‘But—’

‘Do stop banging on, child,’ he said. ‘Take the cheque and give me the satisfaction of doing something with my money when I’m still alive and can see it do some good.’

Chastened, Sophie looked at the cheque. It was for twenty thousand pounds. ‘Uncle Eric!’ she squeaked. ‘You can’t give me all this!’

‘Why not? It’s mine. I can do what I damn well like with my money! Mind you, if I peg out before seven years are up – and I well might – you might have to pay tax on it. But still.’

‘But it’s such a lot of money!’ Sophie was staring at the figures, wondering how long it would have taken her to earn that much in the normal course of events.

‘Not particularly. You couldn’t buy a house with it, although I suppose it would be a deposit.’

‘I don’t want to buy a house with it.’

‘Apart from your course, what do you want to do with it then?’

Sophie considered. ‘I could spend some of it on a trip to New York; take Amanda, so we could see Milly. Have I told you about my friends from school?’

He nodded, making it clear he hadn’t found them that fascinating. ‘And I could pay for the course and have enough left to support me through it. It’s brilliant!’ Then her bubble of enthusiasm collapsed. ‘But I still feel it’s wrong to take your money. You might need it.’

‘I think that’s very mean-spirited of you. I’m an old man, I don’t have many pleasures left in life, and you’d deprive me of those still available to me. And I won’t need it. I’ve made provision for the rest home when the time comes. That’s spare.’

Sophie got up and put her arms round him. ‘Then I’m very, very grateful, darling Uncle Eric. Thank you so, so much. This means I can get on with my life and not have to work in bars and run up debts. It’s brilliant. Thank you!’

He patted her arm, indicating he’d been hugged quite enough, thank you. ‘Does that mean you can stay a few days?’

She chuckled. ‘Oh yes. The course I want to go on doesn’t start until September.’ She’d been doing some research and found the perfect course for her. It could have been designed specially for her.

‘Good. You cook better than Mrs Thing.’

But in bed that night Sophie realised one of the things she ought to do with the money was to pay Luke for the legal work to do with the drilling rights. But how much should that be? She didn’t want to give him too much or too little but what was the right amount, approximately?

As she had no real idea of even how to find out she decided
to grit her teeth and get in touch with Ali. She had her card with her email address on it.

The following day, having arranged to spend a few more days with Uncle Eric and paid in her cheque, she set off to the café where she knew she could borrow a computer – even if it did mean she had to do a bit of clearing up, or cake-making, or even a whole shift, in exchange.

Jack, the owner of the café, was happy to see her and agreed she could use his computer in exchange for the occasional shift.

‘I’ll have to check with Uncle Eric, but I’m sure he doesn’t want me underfoot all the time.’

‘I’d pay you, of course,’ said Jack.

Sophie hesitated.

‘If you work, you get paid. It’s not a lot, but you’ll earn it.’

As Sophie didn’t know if every penny Uncle Eric had given her would have to go to Winchester, Ambrose and Partners, she accepted thankfully.

After her first session, which involved making scones, pizzas and a couple of quiches, Sophie was let into Jack’s office and offered the laptop.

‘This is terribly kind.’

‘It’s fine. Now I must press on.’

After she had logged on to Hotmail, Sophie got out Ali’s card and composed her email.
Dear Ali, Circumstances have made it possible for me to pay Luke and his firm for the work they did for me regarding the drilling rights. Would you kindly let me have a bill, and I’ll arrange to pay it forthwith.

She realised it was staying with Uncle Eric that had made her say ‘forthwith’ and not ‘immediately’ but she was glad she had; she didn’t know how long Uncle Eric’s cheque would take to clear. And if the bill was for the entire twenty thousand pounds (or the equivalent in dollars) could she morally keep back a bit for her course? After all, that was
why Uncle Eric had given her the money.

The next day she went to the café there was a reply:
Dear Sophie, Thank you for your email. This firm charges $400 an hour. I’m currently searching for records of how many hours have been spent on this and I’ll let you know the exact figure as soon as I can but I imagine it’ll be about ten hours, possibly more.

Sophie sucked her teeth at the amount, tempted to write a cheque immediately so she need never think about it again. But maybe it would be better to wait for an accurate figure?

Eventually, she wrote a cheque and enclosed it with a letter.
Dear Ali, I have pleasure in enclosing a cheque for the equivalent of four thousand dollars on account. Please let me know if I owe any further money.

There was a great deal of satisfaction in paying her dues, she realised, although contrarily she felt a bit guilty about it. Luke had been so adamant in the car that he didn’t want paying. Still, he might not find out. He might not trouble himself with the accounts department.

She stayed with Uncle Eric for a week before reluctantly deciding she should go home. She needed a proper job, to go back to saving money. Although she now had a sizeable nest egg, she didn’t want to mooch about spending it and a job would give her less time to think about Luke, for in spite of all her instructions to herself she still couldn’t stop doing so.

Back home she returned to her job at the bar, had regular meetings with Amanda and was taken out a couple of times in the hope she might meet someone else, because Amanda said watching your friend mooning over a man was no fun.

Dressing up to go out and meet men who were as unlike the man in her head and in her heart as was possible, given that they were male, wasn’t a lot of fun either, but Sophie didn’t say so. She tried hard to appear as if she was enjoying herself.

She heard nothing more from Ali. Either that was the exact amount owed or she’d forgotten about it.

February had finally come to an end, and March was halfway through, when Matilda, via email, asked Sophie to do something for her. She and Matilda had been exchanging emails regularly and, so far, Matilda hadn’t mentioned Luke. This was a little strange, Sophie felt, because she mentioned other family members frequently. What Sophie always dreaded, until she’d scanned down the email, to make sure it wasn’t there, was the news that Luke and Ali were getting married. She didn’t even know if Luke and Ali were still in England and she didn’t care – just as long as they didn’t marry each other. Matilda had gone ahead and bought the house from the old lady, with Luke’s blessing Sophie assumed – or perhaps not? Matilda kept her regularly up to date. Moira too – she had kept in touch with her Cornish friend and saviour.

Matilda’s email went straight to the point:
Darling, is there any chance you could go down to Cornwall to look at the house? I want to make sure the builders are doing their job?

Sophie wrote back to say that Moira would do that for her if Matilda felt it was necessary, but as the builder was a friend of Moira’s, he was probably very reliable.

The next day Matilda was more insistent.
Colour schemes, darling. You must agree you can’t rely on a builder to do that! Please go down for me; I’ll be happy to pay your expenses. I just want you to go! You could take a little break from your job, couldn’t you?

Sophie was even more happy to tell Matilda that she didn’t have to pay her expenses.
My lovely great-uncle has given me a huge cheque. I’m a rich woman! And of course I can take a break from my job and I’ll go and see about colour schemes if that’s what you want.

Sophie rang Moira and arranged to stay, found a good deal on a ticket for the train and set off for Cornwall on 1 April.
Although thoughts of Luke still made her desperately sad, she was excited to think she’d be seeing the house again and she loved Cornwall dearly. She felt it was her spiritual home and hugged to herself the thought that soon she’d be spending loads of time down there: she’d applied for the perfect course in Falmouth and had been accepted.

She hired a car from Truro and set off for Moira’s, concluding as she drove down roads she had driven with Luke that melancholy could be a liveable-with condition. Heartbreak was harder, but she’d get over that soon, surely? She hadn’t seen Luke for nearly three months.

As she left the town her spirits rose a little. Spring had definitely arrived and the lanes that had enchanted her in January were even more delightful now, dotted with primroses, celandines, violets and daisies; life without Luke might be bleak, but she could still take pleasure in the beauties of nature.

Moira opened the door wide with her usual welcoming smile. ‘Sophie, darling, how lovely. It’s been doing nothing but rain for days and days and you’ve brought the sunshine with you. Come on in.’

In spite of this cheery greeting Sophie felt Moira was not her usual self. Something wasn’t right. ‘What’s up?’ Sophie kissed her friend. ‘There’s something the matter. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine! Really, it’s just …’

‘What? Isn’t it convenient for me to stay? You could have said.’

‘Come into the kitchen. You need a glass of wine. Trust me.’

Sophie followed Moira into the kitchen, feeling instantly embraced by the warmth and the homely surroundings, even though the last time she had been there, over two months ago, she’d thought she would never smile again.

Moira poured a glass of wine. ‘I’ll make you tea in a minute if you’d prefer. Sit down.’

Sophie pulled out a chair and sat. ‘Don’t tell me, Matilda’s house has burnt to the ground.’

‘No, of course it hasn’t! Don’t be so melodramatic!’

‘It’s your fault! You’re filling me with doom and gloom and giving me wine when …’ She glanced at her watch. ‘… it’s only five o’clock.’

‘Don’t you know? Five is the new six.’ Moira poured a glass of wine for herself and took a bracing sip. ‘The thing is … Luke. He’s coming.’

‘Luke?’ Sophie stiffened. She’d spent so much time and energy striving to forget him, she really didn’t want him brought up in conversation the moment she got through Moira’s door. ‘I thought he might have gone back to New York by now.’

‘I don’t know where he’s coming from but he’s arriving tomorrow. I’ve put him in the single.’

Sophie felt sick; butterflies swirled in her stomach and she was glad she was sitting down because she suddenly felt boneless. ‘Oh God, I’m not sure – I don’t think—’ She stopped trying to talk and bit her lip instead.

‘I realise this must be really hard for you. I didn’t know what to do when I heard from him. I thought of ringing you but I really wanted to see you.’ She paused. ‘I had to put him up here as there isn’t anywhere else to stay. My friend who does B & B is away.’

‘But it’s only him?’

Moira nodded. ‘He didn’t say anything about Ali coming too.’

This was a huge relief. ‘But why? Why is he coming?’

‘The same reason as you. That’s what he said on the phone anyway: that he’d been asked to come by Matilda to check on the builders. Who do not need checking on, by the way.’