A Perfect Proposal (16 page)

Sophie hesitated. She didn’t wear much make-up usually and although she did have her samples, a drying mascara and a bit of lipstick retrievable only with the use of a lip brush, she did wonder if she’d need a bit more here. The samples were mainly eye-gel and things that didn’t make much difference to someone of Sophie’s age. ‘You think I do?’

The housekeeper nodded. ‘The girls who usually hang around Luke wear a ton of it. You don’t need a ton – you have great skin – but you might want to add something.’

‘Maybe if you could …’

‘I’ll bring it all along. You can have fun playing. Dinner is at seven, when the rest of the family are all ready. There’s a gong. You’ll hear it. But if you’re ready before then, Mrs Matilda always has a glass of sherry at half past six. She’d be pleased if you joined her.’

At half past six precisely, Sophie tottered out of her room, grateful she didn’t have to negotiate stairs, clutching the truffles she’d made at Milly’s apartment. She hoped the home-made thing would make them seem special and not just cost-cutting. The wonderful shoes with scarlet heels she’d bought at the vintage shop were slightly too big but she’d bought them anyway because they were so gorgeous and it would have been rude not to. Milly had said they were a bit transsexual in style but Sophie felt willing to take the risk of being mistaken for a man in drag.

Her skirt was her trademark mini, again a bargain unless you
considered how much fabric you got with it, and on top she had a simple cashmere V-necked cardigan. She’d bought this in New York – one of her most satisfying charity-shop finds. Her tights, or pantyhose, had cost the most, but as Milly pointed out, there was more of them than anything else and went on to say ‘as your legs are so fabulous they are cost-effective’.

She had put on, and taken off, quite a lot of the make-up Consuelo had brought her and had sprayed herself lavishly with the Guerlain scent provided in her bathroom. She’d felt fabulous in her bedroom but her confidence was diminishing with every step she took towards the drawing room. She could hear voices. She was soon going to have to present herself to Matilda’s family, who would, she was certain, all be like Luke and see her as a sponger disguised as a tramp. Maybe the skirt was too short.

At least getting across the hall gave her plenty of walking practice, Sophie decided, determined to get over her nerves and enjoy herself. And Matilda was lovely: it was quite possible that her relations would be too. Luke could be a throwback to a stuffier branch of the family.

There was a moment’s silence as Sophie stood on the threshold of the largest room she had ever seen in private hands. At the far end of it a castle-sized fireplace crackled with tree-sized logs.

Although they were far away, the group of people who stood by it had obviously been watching for her. They looked at her appraisingly. Matilda, who’d been talking in a low voice to a man of about her own age, became aware of Sophie’s appearance and set off towards her.

‘Sophie, my dear, do come and join us,’ she said as she reached Sophie and kissed her cheek.

‘Hello,’ said Sophie, kissing her back. ‘I’ve brought you a little something. Nothing much, just some truffles I made.’ She was aware of how much more comfortable she’d have
felt if she’d been waitressing at this gathering, and not a guest.

‘How lovely of you! But that wasn’t necessary, you just had to bring yourself!’

‘I know, but I’d have felt bad if I’d come empty-handed.’

‘Well, I’m sure they’re delicious.’ She handed them to a uniformed butler with a tray who had silently appeared at her elbow. ‘Have a glass of sherry. Unless you’d prefer something else?’

‘Sherry would be lovely,’ said Sophie. Actually a strong cocktail would have helped but while she was sure the butler could have produced the perfect Manhattan or Old-Fashioned, Sophie wasn’t sure what these tasted like. Besides, she didn’t want to add ‘lush’ to the list of complaints Matilda’s family doubtless had about her.

‘Come and meet the family,’ said Matilda, once a glass had been put into Sophie’s hand. ‘You won’t remember everyone’s names, I don’t suppose. We Americans have a little trick whereby we say the name of the person we’re introduced to. That helps.’

A woman a little older than Sophie’s own mother stepped forward, laughing. ‘So you’re American today, Mother. Usually, you’re proud to be a Brit. Hi, Sophie, I’m Susannah, one of Matilda’s daughters. I live in California. I’m Luke’s aunt.’ The woman sent a teasing glance towards Luke, who had his nose in a tumbler. He was standing next to a very pretty girl with long blonde hair dressed in pink. Sophie instantly felt dowdy in her predominately black outfit, and desperately ‘thrift store’.

‘Luke, why don’t you introduce Bobbie to Sophie first,’ said Matilda.

Luke smiled. ‘Sophie, this is Bobbie, she’s the daughter of very old friends of the family.’

A woman laughed. ‘We’re not that old, sweetie.’

Bobbie stepped forward and made as if to kiss Sophie, which came as something of a surprise. Bobbie hadn’t looked that friendly. ‘Hi, Sophie! Come and meet my parents!’

She had exactly the same accent and intonation as the girls at the club. Sophie wondered if they knew each other. Bobbie, who must have been about the same age as she was, made Sophie feel very old.

The rest of the introductions were made and, on the whole, Sophie was made to feel welcome. But she did feel poor. The pre-dinner conversation flitted from private jets to the credit crisis (which didn’t seem to have affected anyone present) via how impossible it was to get a good organic gardener these days. Sophie nearly put up her hand and said that she was quite good at gardening, and so get herself a job, but Luke’s eye was on her, so she didn’t. She didn’t want to embarrass Matilda either. She restricted herself to fielding questions about England, many of which she couldn’t answer: she had no idea of the population of her home town.

Luke led her into dinner: a casual family affair that required the butler, several housekeepers, including Consuelo, who winked at Sophie, and a lot of what Milly would have described as ‘tra-la’.

Sophie was seated next to Matilda’s old friend on one side and Luke on the other. Bobbie was on his other side, and seemed happy to talk to Sophie across him. Initially, Sophie had to focus quite hard to follow her conversation but after a couple of sentences, she tuned into the speech pattern and was able to follow, the words at least. The world she talked about made Sophie feel she was watching a very glitzy film: fascinating but nothing to do with her.

The food was superb. First, a tiny cup of soup, mostly froth, but underneath was the most delicious taste of fresh
peas. Sophie asked Luke, ‘Do you think this is where the word
soupçon
came from?’

The corners of his eyes crinkled, making him look quite different for a moment. ‘Possibly,’ he said before Bobbie captured Sophie’s attention again.

‘We must sooo spend some time together tomorrow!’ she said excitedly.

Oh, we sooo mustn’t! thought Sophie, wondering why on earth Bobbie had suggested it and how she could refuse.

‘I think Grandmother has a job for Sophie, if Sophie doesn’t mind,’ Luke said, with a smile that was almost charming.

‘Yes! I’d forgotten,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m helping the younger ones decorate biscuits – I mean cookies, which are in the shape of turkeys.’

Bobbie wrinkled her nose. ‘Sounds sticky, even if kind of fun.’

‘Well, do join me! I don’t know how many children will be involved and how good they are with icing.’

‘Frosting,’ said Luke.

‘Frosting,’ echoed Sophie, and then said, ‘Maybe the British and the Americans are truly two nations divided by a common language.’ She’d heard her father say this often enough, maybe he was right.

‘How do you mean?’ asked Bobbie, her perfect brow slightly wrinkled.

‘I think Sophie means, “You like ‘tomayto’ and I like ‘tomahto’”,’ Luke explained.

‘Yes, only that doesn’t work for “potato”, does it?’ said Sophie.

‘No. Why would anyone say “potarto”?’ asked Bobbie. ‘It sounds kind of silly.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Sophie, ‘and the funny thing is, if I were in a restaurant and ordering “tomarto” it would sound silly if I said “tomayto” – even if I was over here.’

‘I don’t understand!’ said Bobbie.

‘Because it wouldn’t sound like me. It would be as if I was putting on an American accent.’

‘You mean instead of a British one?’ said Luke, his head slightly on one side.

‘I don’t have an accent,’ said Sophie primly. ‘It’s you colonialists that have the accent.’

Bobbie’s eyes widened in confusion and Luke pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Now, don’t you go patronising us. The Winchesters came over on the
Speedwell
, I’ll have you know. It travelled more or less at the same time as the
Mayflower
.’

Sophie thought she could detect a twinkle in the corner of his eye. ‘Very impressive. But it’s still you who has the accent.’

Just for a moment their eyes met. Some sort of communication went on that Sophie couldn’t have defined, but she liked it. ‘If you say so,’ he said.

Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe you’re conceding me a point!’ she said.

‘Just one,’ he said.

Sophie turned away, confused. If that exchange had been with anyone other than Luke she’d have thought he was flirting.

‘What are you going to wear tomorrow?’ said Bobbie.

‘Um, haven’t decided,’ said Sophie, wondering if Milly’s little black dress was going to be too eccentric for this gathering.

‘Really?’ Bobbie was astounded. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know what to wear for Thanksgiving – the day before! If I hadn’t decided by now I’d spend all tomorrow going through my closet, tossing things on to the bed. Nightmare!’

‘You must remember that they don’t have Thanksgiving in England,’ said Luke.

‘Oh really? But you do have Christmas, right?’

‘Oh yes, all the other festivals, Easter, Whitsun …’

‘But not the fourth of July?’ Luke was definitely teasing now.

‘We prefer to celebrate Bastille Day,’ said Sophie. ‘The weather is more reliable later in the month.’

Bobbie studied them for a few seconds before dipping out.

One perfect course followed another until Sophie was so full she felt she couldn’t move. But before the dessert course Matilda clapped her hands. ‘Gentlemen, if you’d all move two places to your left.’

It was only when Luke was about to be taken from her that she realised how much she’d been relying on him. He might be harbouring all sorts of suspicions about her, but at least he hadn’t grilled her about Britain’s economic growth, which the man on her other side had done.

‘Well, hello,’ said the elderly man who replaced him. ‘What’s a wild English rose doing in this neck of the woods?’

Sophie was prepared to be charmed and to treat this seemingly respectable gentleman rather as she had Uncle Eric. But with this compliment came a hand on her leg that squeezed in a way that made her wince.

She looked at Luke, hoping he could rescue her, but she could see his ear was being bent, probably on something very technical and important, by another man, who was talking across the woman between them without seeming to notice her.

She moved her leg and did her best to smile. The man then went on to give her a detailed account of his exploits in Vietnam, all the while hunting for her knee. She draped her napkin over her lap and sat on it, so if he attacked her thigh he would only get napery. She looked around desperately for someone else who could help her. She could of course make a fuss about being sexually harassed but felt it would be rude. She might mention it to Matilda,
if the opportunity came up, but she thought the man was doing it from habit rather than anything more threatening.

About a year later, or so it seemed to Sophie, Matilda got up.

‘Well, my dears, I’m going to leave you to have coffee, tea and anything else you might like in the drawing room. I’m going to bed now.’

Sophie was on her feet so quickly her elderly dinner companion nearly fell off his chair as the absence of her leg made him lose his balance. She got to Matilda in seconds. ‘Would you think I was terribly rude if I went too? I think I might still be suffering from jet lag.’ She wasn’t sure if she could still use this excuse, but she did feel extremely weary. It could just have been the strain of the evening. Whichever, she just wanted to leave the room.

‘No, of course not, dear,’ said Matilda. ‘You must feel free to do exactly as you like. And old soldiers’ tales do take it out of you,’ she added with a wink.

‘I’ll go then.’ Once certain that Matilda wouldn’t think badly of her she didn’t care about the others. A quick nod to her immediate neighbours and she set off across the vast acres of hall to her bedroom. She deliberately hadn’t looked at Luke; she didn’t want to see his disapproval.

She was wearing the robe Matilda had thoughtfully provided, having rinsed out her underwear in the wash-basin, and was considering having the first bath she’d had in America when there was a knock on the door. Imagining it might be Consuelo offering to run the bath or do some other task that Sophie was perfectly capable of doing for herself, Sophie went back into the bedroom and called, ‘Come in!’