A Perfect Proposal (42 page)

Sophie put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. ‘I don’t understand. Is Matilda trying to get us together or some mad thing? She’s never mentioned Luke in her emails, never given me a hint that she’d like us to get together. Thinking back, she did a bit in America, but not since Luke came over to England. But why else would she get us both down here? It can’t need two of us to check on the builders – even if they did need checking on. And Luke was against it all the last time we saw him. She asked me to think about colour schemes.’

‘Colour schemes?’

‘Yes. She said you can’t expect builders to deal with them, which is fair enough.’

‘I know, but Matilda asked me to hire an interior designer! They do colour schemes!’

‘So why the hell does she want me here?’

Moira considered for a while and then shook her head, obviously having failed to find a reasonable explanation. ‘I wonder if Luke knows you’re going to be here?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘He might be so horrified he goes back to London the moment he sees me. Which would be the best thing, really.’

Moira opened her mouth as if to question this and then shut it again.

‘But he’s definitely not bringing Ali?’

‘He certainly didn’t mention her and they’ll have to find a hotel if he does. That single bed is only three feet wide.’

The thought that a three-foot bed would have been quite wide enough for them, that one spectacular night, flashed into Sophie’s mind. She forced the thought out again.

‘I’m not sure I can do it, Moira. I’ve tried so hard to get him out of my mind; I’m not sure I can cope with seeing him again.’

Moira regarded her sympathetically. ‘The trouble is, you
haven’t got a choice. And it might be good! You might think: What a dork! He might not even be good-looking any more, although I suppose he will still have those amazing colour eyes.’

Sophie exhaled hard. ‘OK. It’s like you said before, it’s a performance. I can do it. Drama was one of the things I was good at at school. I just have to pretend I’m fine. Which I am!’ She went on. ‘Did you find one – an interior designer?’

Moira nodded.

‘Friend of yours?’

Moira nodded again. ‘Friend of a friend. And it’s a she. She wants to make a mood board.’

Sophie put on a scowl. ‘I can give her a mood, no problem,’ she growled.

Moira laughed, as she was meant to. ‘Don’t be like that. She’s lovely. She’s got some wonderful ideas. The trouble is, she doesn’t know what the house is for.’

‘What do you mean? Houses are for living in!’

‘I know but Becky, that’s the designer, says she doesn’t know if it’s going to be a family home or for holiday lets, or what. Matilda hasn’t told her.’

‘Don’t the builders know? They must have had instructions.’

‘They’re doing the roof, replacing anything rotten – just stopping it from falling down, basically. Becky’s there to say if they’re to knock walls down, put on a conservatory, put in a Jacuzzi – stuff like that.’

Sophie’s nostrils wrinkled. ‘Not keen on that idea. But I don’t know what Matilda wants it for either, so I don’t see how I can help. Luke may know, of course. In fact she’s probably told him everything.’ She sighed. ‘But why get me involved?’

‘Your general taste and discernment?’

Sophie acknowledged this gentle tease. ‘I do understand
why Matilda bought it. She’s got the money and she couldn’t bear the thought of it falling down. But now what? She’s getting on a bit. She’s not going to want to be popping down to Cornwall for weekends from Connecticut.’

‘Well, as you say, maybe Luke knows. Do you want more wine?’

‘Actually, I’d kill for a cup of tea. And then I must tell you about my course. I’ve found one down here! Uncle Eric gave me some money. Isn’t that sweet of him? My family are furious, of course – they thought giving money to me was a complete waste. But we’ll all get loads of money eventually, so I don’t see why they’re making such a fuss.’

Sophie went over to the house really early the following morning. It had rained a lot in the night and the day had that just-washed feeling that made it especially beautiful. She wanted to see the house before anyone else got there, so she could have it all to herself. She wanted to think about Matilda being there as a little girl, to imagine what she might want from the house now. She also wanted to have her own daydreams.

She thought she’d be fine seeing Luke again. She hadn’t slept well and whenever she woke up she rationalised her feelings, practised her first words, rehearsed how she would behave. When she finally got up she thought she had it all worked out.

There was a faint mist in the valleys: a promise of a beautiful day ahead. Birds sang and the hedgerows were dotted with flowers. Sunlight caught spiders’ webs so they shone like fairy cloth. As a little girl, Sophie had believed in fairies; there were moments when she still did. Sunlight on dewdrops creating a prism counted as seeing one and that was always a good omen. Sophie didn’t believe in bad omens, only good ones, and had she not been trying to get over Luke – not very successfully – she’d have been feeling very positive.

Now, with nature going about its business so urgently and vocally, she couldn’t decide if it all made everything sadder by throwing her own melancholy into relief, or if she felt comforted that life went on in its relentless, optimistic way.

She arrived at the house glad to be able to see it without the noise and bustle that would soon envelop it.

It had been a lovely house when she and Luke first discovered it in winter when it was sad and neglected. Now it was beginning to look cared for and in good condition. It sat on its little hill proudly surveying the countryside. Not for the first time Sophie speculated on how lovely the views must be. You might be able to see the sea from the top of the house.

The roof had largely been replaced, as had the eaves and many of the window frames and doors. The climbing plant that twisted its way over the house was still there. Although she couldn’t identify it, Sophie was glad it had been left. The house would have looked undressed without it.

Sophie began to inspect the house in more detail. Peering in through one of the windows she could see new floorboards in the downstairs rooms. The garden had been cleared but not landscaped; the cement mixer and generator made it look like a work in progress but there was an air of promise about it, an expectation of being once again beautiful.

Luke was due at about midday, so until he came Sophie could enjoy the house without the tension his presence would cause. She rambled about, investigating, and speculating, until eventually hunger became pressing and she drove back to Moira’s for breakfast.

‘Do you want eggs and bacon?’ Moira asked. ‘You didn’t eat much last night and all this fresh air and exercise would justify it.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘Not sure I could face that.’

‘OK, sit down and I’ll heat up a croissant. I’ve got some in the freezer.’

Sophie pulled out a chair. ‘Do you think I actually have to be here?’

‘What do you mean? You are here!’

‘Yes, but I could go home again. I just don’t think I’m going to be that useful, and …’

‘You can’t face seeing Luke?’ Moira put the warm croissant in front of Sophie.

‘No! I just think with the interior designer, the builder and Luke, I’m surplus to requirements.’ She reached for the jam. ‘OK, I can’t face seeing Luke.’

‘You wouldn’t want him to think you were too cut up to see him, would you?’

‘No.’

‘Well,’ Moira pressed on, ‘if you’re here and fine he won’t think he broke your heart. And you don’t want to let Matilda down. What would she think if she found out you came all the way down here and then just went away again?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘She should know better than to matchmake.’

‘Are you sure that’s what she’s doing?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps for some sentimental reason – probably to do with her being English – she wants to see us together. But Ali is perfect for him. They’re the same age, same nationality, same culture. Luke and I have nothing in common at all. When I think of the things I put him through – fish and chips, Marmite, trains on a Sunday …’ He had coped well, she remembered. He hadn’t moaned or compared England unfavourably to America, he’d just gone with the flow and experienced being hard up without complaint.

Moira said, ‘He did seem a good sort of man. Good-looking, wealthy, all that, but not a snob.’

‘No, well.’ Sophie licked her finger and collected her croissant crumbs. ‘If I’ve got to stay …’

‘You’ve got to stay,’ Moira confirmed.

‘I think I’ll go and sort myself out. If I’m going to see Luke
I want to be looking my best – or as “best” as I can manage.’

After breakfast, Sophie went upstairs, brushed her teeth and redid her hair, but she didn’t put on make-up. She didn’t often wear it and she didn’t want Luke thinking she’d put it on for his benefit. Then she compromised with some mascara and a tiny bit of lip-gloss. Then she wiped off the lip-gloss. She had a kohl pencil in her hand when she heard him arrive.

She felt almost physically sick – with anxiety, excitement, indecision and, cruelly, desire. She wanted the man who had caused her so much pain. She pushed her fists into her stomach in an attempt to quell the butterflies, and then she took a couple of deep breaths and opened the bedroom door. She went downstairs before she could talk herself out of doing it.

Luke was in the kitchen with Moira. The shock of seeing him, even though she was fully prepared, was almost physical. He was so good-looking and she fancied him so much she almost cried.

He turned as she came into the room but didn’t smile.

‘Luke!’ she said.

‘Sophie.’ He sounded bleak. His eyes bored into her as if he was trying to see into her soul.

Frantically thinking of something to say, she said the last thing she wanted to say. ‘You haven’t got Ali with you?’

He frowned slightly. ‘Ali? No – no, she’s gone back to the States.’

‘Oh.’ This was something. Not exactly good news but not bad, either.

‘I’ll be going back there myself soon.’

‘Oh.’ This was definitely bad news. In fact she felt tears prick her lashes. She thought she’d been so utterly bereft already. She wasn’t prepared to be even more so.

‘Yes. My grandmother wanted me – and you, obviously – to sort out the house before I go back.’

‘I see. I don’t know why it needed two of us.’

He shrugged. ‘Good to have a woman’s eye on things, I guess.’

Moira broke the silence. ‘Would you like coffee or anything? I’ll be making soup and salad for lunch a bit later, but if you’d like something now I could easily—’

‘No thank you,’ said Luke. ‘I had a cup of coffee while I waited for my hire car to be ready.’ He looked at Sophie. ‘Shall we go to the house now?’

Sophie opened her mouth to refuse but Moira said, ‘Yes, do go. Becky said she’d be there at half past twelve. She’s joining us for lunch here.’

‘Come on, Sophie,’ said Luke. He moved round the kitchen table to where she stood. ‘And by the way, how are you?’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said crisply, still fighting tears. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good too,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

He led them to his car in the car park; she didn’t argue or insist they travelled separately or in hers. She wasn’t going to show him she cared; she was going to keep her feelings hidden whatever happened.

‘I was surprised that Matilda wanted me to help decide on paint colours and things,’ she said after they had set off. ‘Especially as she’s hired an interior designer. A friend of a friend of Moira’s.’

‘I think Moira must know an example of every kind of tradesman there is,’ said Luke.

‘Yes, she is that sort of person. I love her,’ she added, in case Luke thought she was being critical.

‘She’s a great woman,’ Luke agreed.

‘Talking of great women, your grandmother—’ Sophie stopped, suddenly aware that she was about to be critical of someone very dear to Luke.

‘Yes? What about her?’

‘I think she might be up to something,’ said Sophie.