A Perfect Proposal (31 page)

‘Really? That much?’

‘Probably. But don’t worry, the coach would be cheaper.’

‘I’m never going on a coach again,’ he said firmly. ‘And, Sophie, it’s not that I want to rush back but once we’ve found your relatives and I can, hand on heart, tell my grandmother that her house is no more, I do have to get back to real life.’

‘I knew that,’ she said and plunged into the thick of the traffic, looking for a car park. The sooner they got the map, found where they were supposed to be heading and got out of the town, the happier she would be. If they only had a short time left together she didn’t want to spend it trying to work out a one-way system.

‘Don’t give me that women-can’t-read-maps crap,’ said Sophie irritably. ‘I’m an excellent map-reader, I’m just not brilliant at left and right. I just went the “other left”.’

‘Which is right,’ stated Luke.

‘OK!’

They were lost. Luke, the map on his knee, no longer neatly folded, was being patient but with gritted teeth. ‘Maybe if you’re so good at navigating I should take my chance with the stick shift.’

‘That’s not necessary. Now just tell me where I should go now.’

Sophie was trying hard to make Luke feel better. She knew he hated not being in control of the vehicle. She was a perfectly competent driver so he had no reason to feel unsafe, but he clearly needed the wheel between his hands to feel comfortable.

Luke stared down at the map but didn’t speak. Eventually Sophie took it from him, making a huge effort not to snatch. ‘I think we should head on to this road, which we can join here. Can you see?’

‘Yes!’

But he was obviously struggling with the map. ‘Maybe you need reading glasses?’ suggested Sophie. ‘You are a bit older than me.’

‘That’s it. Pull over. I’m driving.’

Aware his patience had expired, Sophie slowed down and
prepared to pull over so they could have this discussion in safety – just in case it became a bit more than a discussion. She found a lay-by and turned into it.

‘OK, Luke, currently you have no driving licence.’

‘I have one, just not with me. And Ali is arranging a duplicate. It’ll be in my hands in days.’

Sophie thought better of exclaiming at how quickly this was being organised; she didn’t believe it was possible.

‘I’m not sure you’re insured …’

‘I’ll take my chance with that too.’

‘You’re a lawyer. It’s your duty to obey the law.’

‘Ali will hire me an attorney who’ll have me out of jail in seconds.’

Sophie sighed. Ali again – the solution to all his problems, just as she longed to be.

‘Ali can’t do anything about the stick shift,’ she said, grumpily. This should have been a lovely adventure for them to have together and now, because he couldn’t read a map or be a passenger, the all-powerful Ali had intruded into it.

‘I can handle the stick shift on my own. Now take the map and point me in the right direction!’

Annoyingly, Luke, much happier once he was driving, got the hang of driving on the left and the gears very quickly, and, because Sophie really was good at navigating, they were soon on their way towards Falmouth. She could do left and right if she had time to think about it. Matilda’s ring, now on her right hand, was helpful. Her mind went back to when Matilda had given it to her before they had gone to the brunch, where she had met Ali. She, Sophie, had been the saviour then. Now that role had been usurped by charming, efficient, sophisticated Ali. An unsettling thought suddenly occurred to her but she’d have to pick her moment to pursue it.

They drove pretty much in silence apart from a few
directions from Sophie. When they were on the main road she had time to have a private fume about the unfairness of men being better at spatial awareness and mechanical things.

‘We’re meeting our contact in a pub,’ said Sophie after she’d swallowed her indignation at this essential truth.

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? Just don’t ask me to drink British beer. I’m sure it’s very authentic but I don’t like it.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to drink anything,’ said Sophie, offended, although she didn’t like traditional bitter either. ‘You can have what you like in a pub. Coffee even. In fact, if you’re driving, you’d better stick to soft drinks. Left at the next crossroads.’ She gestured firmly with her hand to prove it was left she meant.

‘So how much further is this place?’ asked Luke after they had negotiated high-banked Cornish lanes for half an hour or so. ‘We saw the sign for it ages ago and I’m getting hungry.’

‘Me too. I don’t think it can be too much further. Another couple of miles and we should be in the village,’ she said. ‘It’s near the river.’ She paused. That unsettling thought would not go away. ‘Luke?’

‘Yes?’

‘Does Ali still think we’re engaged?’

It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. ‘Oh no,’ he said easily. ‘I explained all about that to her. It wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark.’

Why not? Sophie longed to ask. Why wasn’t it fair?

‘It was just to keep the Blonde Bimbos off me,’ he explained.

‘You could have used a big stick,’ said Sophie. ‘That would have worked. Pretending you were engaged to me cost you loads and Matilda a very nice ring.’

‘Worth it, I assure you. Down here?’

‘Yup,’ said Sophie. ‘Oh, isn’t this pretty?’ The sudden view
through a gateway distracted her from this little niggle. ‘And it feels like spring down here.’

‘When I left home, we were under a couple of feet of snow,’ said Luke.

‘I love snow!’ said Sophie. ‘Proper thick snow though, not the stuff that turns to slush the moment it hits the ground.’

‘You might not like it if you had to live with it,’ said Luke.

‘I’m sure I would. Now let’s not argue. Golly, the road has got terribly steep.’

Slowly they wound down and down until they saw the river at the bottom. The road seemed to lead straight into it. Fortunately, just as they seemed on the point of getting their wheels wet the road widened and they saw a large pub. ‘Oh goody,’ said Sophie. ‘They’ll definitely do food.’

‘And we have money to pay for it,’ said Luke, equally enthusiastic. ‘I’m not used to having to watch every cent.’

‘Watching every cent – or even every penny – is character building,’ said Sophie. ‘Consequently my character is like the Great Wall of China.’

Luke gave her a glance that made her wonder. It was amused, indulgent and something else. Could it possibly be attraction? The thought made her blush.

They weren’t due to meet Sophie’s contact, Jacca Tregorran, until two, so they had an hour to enjoy their lunch. The pub was delightful, full of small, dark-beamed rooms, interesting artefacts, comfortable chairs and tables and a couple of crackling log fires. They found a table right next to one and examined the menu.

‘We should have fish,’ said Sophie. ‘It’ll be brilliant down here.’

‘And they have chips on the menu,’ said Luke. ‘Will they be soggy?’

‘I hope not. It’s only chips in fish-and-chip shops that are
like that. And then not always.’ She really wanted Luke to have a good culinary experience. She didn’t want him to think badly of Cornish food; she knew that it could be amazing.

Cornwall, as represented by this particular establishment, didn’t let Sophie down. The soup came promptly, smelling delicious with crusty bread that seemed to be just out of the oven. The crab cakes were tasty and fresh and the chips were fabulous: crisp and golden on the outside and soft and yielding on the in. They went extremely well with the home-made mayonnaise.

They shared a bottle of mineral water, having decided that either of them might need to drive.

‘This is great food,’ said Luke. ‘Is it always this good in Cornwall?’

‘I hope so,’ said Sophie, trusting that it was. ‘Have another chip.’

‘Mm.’ Luke carried on eating hungrily. ‘It’s the best meal I’ve eaten that you haven’t cooked since I’ve been in the UK,’ he said.

Sophie blushed and looked away, inordinately pleased. He hadn’t had to add the bit about the meals she’d cooked; he must really have liked them. ‘Thank you.’ To reward him she added, ‘I’ll drive next if you like. You should look at the scenery. It’s so beautiful. No wonder Matilda is nostalgic about Cornwall.’

‘I do understand better now why she’s so keen to find her old house. I think as you get older you want to gather up your memories and have them safe around you so you know where they are.’

‘Luke!’ said Sophie. ‘That was almost poetic.’

‘I do have a spiritual side, you know.’

‘You just keep it hidden most of the time, under your smart suits and crisply ironed shirts.’

‘You have no idea what goes on under my suits and my shirts, young lady,’ he said sternly.

Sophie smiled, scooping up the last of the mayonnaise with a chip. ‘Are we going to have pudding?’

‘Dessert? I think so. We don’t know when we’ll eat again, after all.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I think we’ll know roughly what time we’ll eat, it’s where that’s the mystery. That and where we’re going to lay our heads. I quite like this gypsy lifestyle. Do you?’

‘Hm. I suppose it is fun. My life is very ordered, usually. Meeting you has changed all that.’ His gaze lingered on her and she couldn’t quite read his expression. He was almost frowning. Was he annoyed with her?

‘Don’t blame me for this! This is all because of Matilda!’ Then she remembered ‘the Mattingly widow’. ‘Well, mostly.’

‘OK, I’ll rephrase that. You and Matilda meeting has changed my life.’

‘For the better?’ Sophie said this as if she didn’t care about the answer but she desperately wanted him to say yes. She’d put him through a lot of slightly strange experiences since he’d been in England. She didn’t want him to have hated every moment of it.

‘Well, you’ve opened my eyes to a whole different sort of life and that’s always a good thing.’ He paused. ‘Sophie—‘

Just then a large man with a handlebar moustache and matching personality came into the bar. ‘Aha! You must be Sophie Apperly!’ he declared. ‘Jacca Tregorran.’ Sophie’s hand disappeared for a moment and re-emerged slightly crumpled.

Jacca Tregorran was a character. Sophie decided that he probably worked on it. His large frame, loud voice and expansive personality would mean he was recognised by the locals and admired by the tourists as a genuine Cornishman
wheeled out for their entertainment.

‘Hello,’ she said, reeling back slightly from the force of his personality. ‘Let me introduce you to Luke Winchester. It’s his grandmother who’s looking for the house.’

Luke’s hand was similarly crushed. ‘What are you drinking? Water? That won’t do.’

‘I’m driving!’ said Sophie quickly. ‘And I’ll just pop to the Ladies.’

When she came back Luke and Jacca had stretched out their legs in front of the fire and were clutching pint mugs of cloudy amber liquid.

‘Luke!’ she said, surprised. ‘I thought you weren’t going to drink? Not that it’s anything to do with me, really,’ she added hurriedly, before Jacca could accuse her of being a nag.

‘This is cider,’ explained Luke. ‘That’s not alcoholic.’ He took a huge long gulp and then choked.

‘Not quite what you were expecting?’ asked Jacca, amused.

‘No,’ said Luke. ‘In America cider is more like apple juice.’

‘Here – the genuine kind anyway – is quite like vinegar, in my opinion,’ said Sophie. ‘I only like the fizzy stuff.’

‘Ooh, you don’t want to drink that gassy rubbish! You want the genuine thing. Good Cornish cider …’ Jacca Tregorran expounded on the topic for some time, implying that what Sophie had said was sacrilege, that good honest cider would never do you any harm, and that there was no truth in the rumour that they put dead rats into the mix – or if they did it was a perfectly harmless practice.

‘So, about the house?’ asked Sophie quickly, hoping Luke hadn’t been able to follow Jacca’s broad accent. It appeared he hadn’t, because he took another long draught, presumably enjoying it.

‘Well now,’ said Jacca. ‘About the house.’ He paused to get the level of liquid in his glass down to that in Luke’s, not wanting to be left behind. ‘I don’t think the house is still
standing, but there was a big house just near here. Thought of it straight away when I saw your ad in the paper. Got in touch.’