A Perfect Proposal (28 page)

‘Marmite,’ supplied Sophie.

‘— if all else fails.’

Sophie chewed her lip. ‘I think maybe we’ve inflicted enough Englishness on Luke for one day without asking him to eat yeast extract. Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘Or would you rather have a drink?’ Uncle Eric asked Luke.

‘Uncle!’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s only four thirty! Though it does feel later than that. It was a killer journey.’

Uncle Eric looked questioningly at Luke.

‘I guess at home it’s about eleven thirty so just about time for a pre-prandial snifter,’ said Luke, apparently channelling Bertie Wooster.

‘Good man!’ said Uncle Eric. ‘Sophie, you go in the kitchen and ferret out something to eat and then come and join us in the study. There’s a good fire going. So,’ he asked Luke, ‘it sounds to me like you’ve got a good grasp of English.’

‘I’m a P. G. Wodehouse fan,’ Luke explained. ‘And my grandmother is British.’

As she knew her great-uncle was also a P. G. Wodehouse fan, Sophie went into the kitchen happily, knowing they had something to talk about while she produced a snack. Luke was good at fitting in with new people. First of all he’d known of that American author her father and brother were fond of, and now he knew about Jeeves and Wooster. He was either extremely well mannered or extremely well read – possibly both.

The fridge was depressingly empty but she knew there was a shop nearby that would be open until five, even on a Sunday. Her wallet was depressingly empty, too. She went
into the study where Luke and Uncle Eric clutched tumblers half filled with what seemed to be neat whisky.

‘Uncle-Eric-dear,’ she asked. ‘Have you got any money?’

‘Good God! I thought you were the only member of your family not after my money! Have you changed your spots since I last saw you?’

‘The thing is,’ said Sophie, feeling abashed in spite of her bold appearance, ‘I’m terribly short of cash and I need to pop down to the shop before it closes. There’s nothing to eat.’

Uncle Eric half rose out of his chair, feeling for his wallet in his back pocket. ‘Take whatever you need then. Would have been half a crown in my day. Probably a tenner now.’

‘A tenner would be plenty,’ said Sophie. ‘I’ll bring you back the change.’

‘I feel responsible for this,’ said Luke. ‘My wallet was stolen on the plane and I’ve been living off Sophie ever since. I could have arranged—’

‘Shouldn’t worry about it,’ Uncle Eric interrupted. ‘She works all the hours God sends. She’s probably loaded.’

A glance at Luke told him that the irony of this statement was not lost on him.

She bought more bread, cheese, milk, eggs and bacon. There was macaroni, which she knew was Uncle Eric’s favourite. Quite what he’d have eaten if she hadn’t appeared she had yet to find out. Probably toast and ‘brown stuff’.

When she got back to the house she realised she should have bought tomatoes but it was too late now. She made some toast, buttered it liberally, and then put Marmite on some and jam on the others. She took it into the study.

‘Not sure how this’ll go with Scotch,’ she said, ‘but it’ll stop you both dropping dead with hunger while I cook. Or getting drunk on neat whisky.’

‘Aren’t you hungry too?’ asked Luke. ‘You had the same hellish journey.’

‘Oh, I’ll have a bit of toast while I’m working. Luke, I’m making macaroni cheese. Basically, it’s—’

‘We have that in America. You don’t have to explain.’

‘Macaroni cheese!’ exclaimed Uncle Eric. ‘My absolute favourite! You’re a good girl, Sophie, I don’t care what they say about you.’

Sophie placed her macaroni cheese on the table in front of the men, who looked at it as lions look at a freshly killed carcass.

‘My word, Sophie! You’ve done us proud! She’ll make someone a nice little wife one of these days,’ he said to Luke. ‘You’d better get in there quick before she’s snapped up by some other greedy bugger.’

‘Luke and I aren’t romantically involved,’ said Sophie calmly. ‘We’re just thrown together by circumstance and a couple of joint projects.’

‘Joint projects? What’s that? Carpentry?’

Sophie shook her head in despair, as she was supposed to do. ‘No, Uncle. Luke is helping me find the beneficiaries of the drilling rights. Remember? I found some papers in your desk. And we’re going to investigate the box you found?’

‘Oh yes. Some nonsense that took your fancy because you had time on your hands.’ Her great-uncle finished his plate of macaroni.

‘More?’ asked Sophie, picking up the spoon. She loved to see Uncle Eric with such a healthy appetite.

‘Mm, little bit, but feed Luke first. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’

Sophie sighed pointedly and helped them both to seconds.

‘You’re named as the beneficiary of the woman Sophie hoped to trace in New York,’ said Luke, glancing at her.

He frowned. ‘Yes, I discovered that, but Sophie had already hared off across the Atlantic. Couldn’t tell her. Still, I
don’t suppose it amounts to much or the tax people would have been after it.’

‘Well, we don’t know. But maybe you wouldn’t mind if I had a look to see if you’ve received the share certificates – or whatever proves she left her drilling rights to you,’ said Luke. ‘I am legally trained.’

‘Wouldn’t make any difference to me. Young Sophie had a look. Don’t think she’s trained for anything, are you?’

‘No. I will be one day,’ although not as a lawyer, obviously, she added silently. She picked up the spoon and started scraping at the crispy edges of the dish. One day I’ll be a professional tailor, running my own business, living in a house by the seaside. ‘Do either of you want these bits?’ she said aloud.

The following morning, when Sophie had made her peace with Mrs Brown, who was slightly surprised but not entirely displeased to find her charge had eaten breakfast and that breakfast had been washed up, she showed Luke to Uncle Eric’s desk, cleared by her just before she went to New York. By it was the cardboard box retrieved from the attic.

She couldn’t help reflecting how much her life had changed in the couple of months since she’d dusted and polished the desk with love and then discovered the papers. She’d been to America, met Matilda and Luke, experienced the high life with them, eaten pizza in Mystic. She didn’t let herself even think about falling in love. What she felt for Luke was just a bit of a crush, wasn’t it?

‘I’ll leave you to it. I want to help Mrs Brown repair some curtains. Uncle Eric won’t have new ones. He said he won’t get value for money at his age.’

‘He is very entertaining,’ said Luke.

‘He speaks very well of you too,’ said Sophie. In fact he had said, ‘Very sound chap, that Luke. I’ll stand by you if your
family cut up rough about him being – you know – American.’

‘No problem there, Uncle, they think he’s wonderful too. It’s a shame we’re just friends and look like staying that way.’

Uncle Eric had grunted in disbelief and the matter was dropped.

Now Sophie said, ‘Shout if you want anything. I’ll just be in the sitting room. I wish I’d brought my sewing machine with me.’

‘Oh, that would have been fun, carrying a sewing machine on that train.’ He smiled. ‘I feel really out of touch not being able to catch up on emails.’

She hastened to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find an internet café or something. There’s one down the road that advertises having Wi-Fi.’

‘But don’t they expect you have your own computer?’

‘We’ll borrow one. Now you go and do your detective work. I’m going to see if I can do sides to middle with these curtains.’

‘I think I’ve found all the relevant documents,’ said Luke, after a couple of hours and a cup of instant coffee.

‘What do they say?’ Sophie and Eric were in the study, drinking hot chocolate.

‘Well, Eric has inherited the rights from Rowena Pendle – that’s her married name – in New York. It appears that she managed to buy the rights from all the other interested parties, except Eric, your father, Sophie, and a certain Mr Mattingly. So they’re all accounted for except his, but there’s no address for him.’

Uncle Eric screwed up his face in thought. ‘Mattingly. Think he died. Didn’t know he’d have drilling rights though. Extraordinary – we were hardly related at all.’

Sophie sighed. ‘So now we’ve got to find out who he left
his shares to. This would be so much easier if we had a computer.’

‘We don’t need a computer!’ said Uncle Eric. ‘He probably left them to his widow, who married again.’

‘Brilliant! Do you know who to?’

‘Haven’t a clue. But the wretched woman sends me a Christmas card every year with one of those letters in. Why do they think I care about their grandchildren’s violin lessons?’

‘Uncle-Eric-dear, if you can remember about the violin lessons, surely you can remember the name of her husband. We need to get in touch with her.’

‘Why?’

‘We need to get in touch with all the beneficiaries so they can decide how to maximise the rights,’ Luke explained. ‘No one will deal with an individual who owns half a dozen shares. But if everyone – which seems to be you and her now – bands together, we’ve got something to offer a drilling company.’

‘And that would be good?’

‘Yes!’ Sophie, failing to hide her exasperation. Uncle Eric had obviously forgotten he’d told her all this himself when she’d discovered the papers in the first place. ‘Then we can all earn lots of money!’ She pressed the point home.

‘Money is the only thing your family ever cared about,’ declared Eric.

‘Huh! And there I’ve been, on my knees repairing curtains you’re too mean to replace!’

‘I didn’t mean you, Sophie dear. You’re a bossy little piece but there’s no harm in you. And if you really want to get in touch with that woman you can find her Christmas card.’

‘Really?’ Sophie instantly regretted saying that her great-uncle was mean. ‘How come?’

‘Mrs Thing put them all together. She wanted to “recycle”
them. Personally I think they’ve been cycled enough already.’

‘Brilliant! Where are they? Oh, and any clues as to who we might be looking for?’

‘Violins may be one,’ suggested Luke, who seemed to be enjoying himself in a quiet way. ‘But I suppose the letter may have got separated from the card.’

‘Tell me where they are – oh, don’t worry, I’ll ask Mrs Brown,’ said Sophie and galloped to the kitchen, hoping Mrs Brown hadn’t gone home early, knowing Sophie would give Uncle Eric lunch.

She came back with a fat brown envelope. ‘There aren’t too many. We can just look through them all.’

She spread the Christmas cards out on the table. ‘Apart from violins, what are we looking for? And did they put their address on the card?’

‘Think they did. Think they live in Cornwall.’

‘Cornwall? Fantastic!’ said Sophie. ‘We might have to go there anyway.’

‘Why?’ demanded Uncle Eric.

‘Something to do with my grandmother,’ said Luke. ‘Wild-goose chase.’

‘Might be more fun with two geese to chase,’ said Sophie.

‘It’ll just be twice as impossible and twice as frustrating,’ said Luke, no longer quite so amused.

Sophie went on leafing through the cards. ‘Here’s one from Cornwall. Do you have many Cornish friends?’

‘No Cornish friends at all,’ stated Uncle Eric. ‘Just the one distant relation. They moved there for the milder climate. Thought it would keep them alive longer. Well, it didn’t work for Mattingly! Look at me! Lived in this bloody freezing cold house for years and I’m fit as a flea.’

‘So this must be it.’ Sophie held up the card. ‘Is this woman the last person we need to contact? I think it is!’

‘Unless her husband bequeathed his shares to someone else – a grandchild maybe,’ said Luke.

‘Well, if they’re still having violin lessons we should be able to coerce them into agreeing to do what we want,’ said Sophie, encouraged.

‘What do you want her to do?’ asked Uncle Eric.

‘If everyone signed a paper that meant Sophie could act for them, that would be helpful,’ said Luke.

‘Hang on,’ said Sophie. ‘I don’t want to act for anybody. I was just going to get everyone together, find out where all the shares were.’

‘Any company who might be interested would need to deal with an individual,’ Luke repeated patiently.

‘And that individual should be Sophie,’ agreed Uncle Eric. ‘Slip of a girl, of course, but with a good head on her shoulders. I’ll sign at once. She’s a good cook too,’ he added, looking at Luke.

‘I’m not sure …’ said Sophie. ‘For a start I’d never get my family to agree to me doing it. They think of me as an idiot-child – no harm but no use either. Apart from domestic duties, of course.’ She smiled to give the impression that she didn’t mind.

‘I’ll persuade them,’ said Luke firmly.

‘So, if this is the right person, there’s her name, address and telephone number on this card. We’d better ring her up.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Uncle Eric. ‘I never ring people up. Made it one of my rules. Never ring anyone if you can avoid it.’