Chapter Forty-Eight Lee
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lee
‘I still can’t believe Magda did this,’ I say as Tara carefully curls the back of my hair. ‘Who decides to throw a black tie event with less than twenty-four hours’ notice? I mean, what were you doing travelling with a dress like that?’
Tara shrugs, stunning in a long, strappy dress of lilac silk. ‘What can I say, I’m an overpacker.’
‘But Gran and Cynthie, too!’ I exclaim. ‘Am I the only one not packing emergency evening wear?’ As someone who takes a significant amount of pride in her ability to pull together a travel wardrobe, I’m shaken to my core by this revelation.
‘You know that mine was because of a work thing,’ Cynthie calls from the bathroom where I can see through the open door that she is applying her mascara. She looks gorgeous, too. Her dress is actually quite similar to Tara’s but a darker shade of purple.
‘I do always travel with evening wear,’ Gran shrugs from where she’s perched on the bed, elegant in a long, burgundy dress with a matching bolero jacket. She examines her fingernails. ‘One never knows.’
‘And you’re sure this dress you have is going to fit me?’ I call to Cynthie. ‘You’re taller than I am.’
‘Not with the heels on,’ Cynthie argues. ‘Anyway, I don’t see that you’ve got a lot of choice at the moment, do you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Whatever Cynthie has with her is going to be more suitable than anything in my wardrobe. Apparently the whole town is turning out in ball gowns and tuxedos.
There’s a knock at the front door.
‘I’ll get it!’ Phoebe yells from the front room.
‘There, that will be Luke with the dress now.’ Cynthie wanders through, her makeup flawless, her famous face almost dazzlingly perfect. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the dress code switch earlier, or maybe we could have found you something in town.’ She looks crestfallen.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to find anything in Roseport anyway,’ I say quickly, feeling bad.
‘I really appreciate you getting me an outfit for tonight.’ As Cynthie’s expression lightens I know I’d rather die than complain about it now; I’ll wear whatever she’s lending me with a smile, even if it’s a bin bag.
‘I’ll go and grab it,’ Tara says, putting the curling iron down. ‘I want to perv on Luke in his tux.’ She sends me a wink.
‘You know I think your hair would look better up, Lee,’ Gran muses.
‘Do you think so?’ I ask, turning my head back and forth in the mirror.
‘Definitely,’ Cynthie comments as she appears with a load of hair grips in her hand.
‘Let me quickly pin these curls up. I spend most of my life getting my hair done so I’m practically a professional.
’ She holds the grips between her teeth as she deftly pins the curls in place forming a loose French twist. ‘I wish we could have flown Patty in,’ she mutters.
‘I asked her for instructions, but she’d have done it much better. ’
‘A bit much for an inn reopening party, flying your hair stylist in,’ I say with a grin.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and she squeezes my shoulders. ‘I suppose so. Anyway, I haven’t done too badly.’
‘No, it looks perfect,’ I say honestly.
‘Okay!’ Tara comes barging in with a dress bag over one arm.
Phoebe is hot on her heels, dressed in a sparkly black and purple dress with a full tulle skirt that she and Gran picked out yesterday.
Unbeknownst to us, Gran broke Phoebe out of school for the afternoon and the two went on a shopping spree.
Needless to say, they’re the best of friends now.
Taco trots in behind them, and even he is dressed for the occasion, a floral corsage pinned to his collar.
‘Two pieces of news,’ Tara declares. ‘Luke in a tuxedo is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the dress is here.’
‘And the shoes!’ Phoebe holds up a shoebox.
‘Cynthie,’ I gasp, opening the dress bag, ‘this is gorgeous. Are you sure you don’t want to wear it?’
She waves her hand. ‘No, no. It was part of a photo shoot and the stylist said it washed me out. I wasn’t sure at the time but I think he’s right. It’ll be much better with your colouring.’
‘It’s true,’ Gran chimes in. ‘Brings out the gold in your hair.’
I slip into the dress, which is a whisper of creamy silk. It’s bias cut with a cowl neckline, and the back dips almost scandalously low.
‘Oh, it is quite long,’ I say regretfully.
‘You’re right,’ Cynthie sighs, pulling out the shoes, which are high heeled and made of sapphire blue satin. When I slip them on the skirt of the gown still drags on the floor despite their height. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says sadly. ‘I suppose I am taller.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I rush to reassure her. ‘I’ll just hold the skirt up.’
‘I guess that will work,’ Cynthie agrees, and for a split second I could swear there’s an unholy glee in her eyes, but even as I register it, it’s gone.
‘It’s lucky we have the same size feet,’ I say, admiring the shoes. ‘And that they let you take these home, too.’
‘Mmm,’ Cynthie murmurs in agreement. ‘Now,’ she exchanges a quick look with Tara, ‘didn’t Luke need a hand with something in the car?’
‘Yes, and,’ Phoebe says, ‘we should help him.’
‘Why is Phoebe doing improv?’ I ask.
‘Because I told her that real actors improv all the time,’ Cynthie says airily. ‘She’s doing a project for school.’
‘Yes, and I am,’ Phoebe says admiringly.
Tara chokes on a laugh. ‘Anyway, let’s go and help him.’ The three of them leave and I’m alone with my grandmother.
‘Are they being strange or is it just me?’
Gran shrugs. ‘Ophelia, everyone in this town is slightly strange. Perhaps there’s something in the water.’
‘True,’ I grin, ‘but you like it, don’t you?’
‘I do.’ Gran looks nervous for a second. ‘Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I know we’re due to head home next week, but I wondered how you’d feel about extending our stay?’
‘Extending it?’ I ask, bemused.
She lifts her hip, revealing a manilla envelope that she’s been sitting on top of, and hands it to me.
I read the papers inside, then I stop and read them again slowly.
‘What’s an EB-5 visa?’ I ask, my heart thumping.
‘Basically, it’s a way that people from the UK with plenty of money to throw at the problem can retire to the United States.’ Gran examines her fingernails.
‘But this is an application form,’ I point out. My voice sounds very far away.
‘Yes,’ she agrees.
‘Oh my god,’ I whisper.
‘It’s not a done deal,’ Gran warns. ‘It’ll be a while before we can get it all sorted.
And before you start getting too excited, it’s not exactly the solution you’re hoping it might be.
’ She holds her hand up as if to stop me getting ahead of myself.
‘I think Roseport is charming, but I’m not sure it’s very me.
Not at the moment anyway. Jack and I had a long conversation about it, and if everything goes according to plan, I’m going to split my time between here and California. ’
‘California,’ I murmur, trying to take it in.
Gran’s smile is slow and full of mischief. ‘I think I’d enjoy Los Angeles, and of course, there are other attractions to visit nearby.’
The penny drops. ‘Vegas?’ I say with a laugh. ‘Frankie doesn’t waste any time.’
‘Darling, we don’t have the time to waste,’ Gran chuckles.
‘And you know my British beaus have been such a disappointment lately. I think it’s time to broaden my horizons.
’ Her expression becomes thoughtful. ‘But I hope you won’t be upset about my decision not to live here full time.
We’ll still see plenty of each other, and who knows how things will work out later on, but for now this feels…
right. And I promise that I’ll try and take better care of myself.
Jack says I won’t have a choice in LA because he’s hiring Cynthie’s personal trainer to torment me and I’ll be drowning in wheatgrass.
’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘It was one of the few downsides.’
‘And you’re really happy about this?’ I ask cautiously.
‘Absolutely,’ she nods. ‘A new adventure for me, near all of my grandchildren. I think it’s just what I’ve been looking for.’
‘So… I can stay.’ I say the words out loud and they sound dazed.
‘You can stay,’ Gran agrees. ‘If that’s what you want.’
In response I fling myself at her, making a strange sound that is somewhere between laughing and crying. ‘I can’t believe you’d do this for me.’
Gran’s arms close around me, a rare and wonderful hug. ‘For both of us, my precious girl. Now stop crying or you’ll ruin your makeup.’ She whips out a handkerchief and starts dabbing at my eyes.
‘I’m so happy, I don’t even know what to do with myself,’ I admit.
‘Well, you look beautiful, and I know what will finish your outfit off perfectly,’ Gran says, reaching for her purse. ‘I accidentally packed these, but they don’t go with my dress, no idea what I was thinking.’
She holds out a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings, a dazzling flash of blue.
‘Wow. Are you sure?’ I ask.
She nods. ‘They’re the same colour as your eyes.’
‘As your eyes,’ I laugh.
‘Must be why your grandfather bought them for me,’ she agrees, digging through her purse again so I can’t catch her expression. ‘Now, we’d better go. The others will be waiting for us. I think I heard Bud arrive.’
With that, we join the others and bundle into the cars, talking and laughing, and make the short drive to the inn. There are lots of cars in the car park, but everyone must already be inside.
‘Are we late?’ I ask.
Tara smiles. ‘I think we’re right on time. Nothing like making an entrance. Let me take your coat for you.’
When we step through the front door I come to a screeching halt. The entrance hall is empty, but the whole space is full of flowers and flickering candles.
There are wildflowers everywhere, banks of them spill across the edges of the floor, they climb up the banisters, as if growing half way up the stairs. Cornflowers and poppies and anemones and daisies. It’s beautiful and magical and totally overboard.
‘What?’ I manage to get out in my confusion.
I hear a noise from the stairs and I glance up to find Nico standing there in a tuxedo.
‘I think we’ll all just go through to the other room,’ Cynthie murmurs in my ear, and, distantly, I register that they’re all leaving, but my eyes are glued to the man who is slowly walking down the staircase towards me.
‘Hey, pretty girl,’ he says softly.
‘Nico,’ I murmur, still trying to understand how any human being can be so handsome that they literally knock all the air out of you. ‘What’s going on?’
His mouth kicks up and he laughs. ‘Okay, now I feel better. It’s taking you even longer than it took me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I look around at the flowers. ‘Who did all this?’
‘I believe Cynthie and Gran put their brains and their resources together for this one.’ He shakes his head fondly.
‘Well, it’s gorgeous, but it’s a bit much, isn’t it?’
He smiles. ‘We’ll see.’ He examines the flowers twined around the staircase and plucks a daisy free, coming towards me. Reaching up, he carefully tucks the flower into my hair.
‘Perfect,’ he says, and I melt.
I touch his arm. ‘I have something to tell you,’ I say and I’m bubbling over. I get to tell him that I can stay.
‘Can I show you something first?’ he asks, his tone strangely serious.
‘Of course.’ I expect him to take me through to the big drawing room where I can hear the murmur of voices, the gentle hum of string music, but instead he leads me back to the stairs. I hold up the hem of my dress, careful not to trip, and I think I see amusement flicker in his eyes again.
‘I wanted to show you, before the party started. I put the finishing touches up this morning.’ He gestures to the wall by the stairs, and that’s when I realise that it’s covered in dozens of framed photographs.
Most people I don’t recognise, but among them I spot photographs of Magda and a man who must have been her husband Tom.
Pictures of Phoebe’s mum Stacie, first as a child herself and then later holding a tiny, round-cheeked Phoebe in her lap.
We climb higher and there are pictures of Nico, Nico and Phoebe together, Phoebe and Magda, and then I spot it.
There’s a picture of me. It’s from that night in Las Vegas, and I’m sitting with a huge pile of poker chips in front of me, laughing.
It’s a stunning photograph, and I recognise Nico’s work straight away.
It’s the first picture of me, but it’s not the only one.
There’s one of me and Phoebe tucked up together reading on the sofa, there’s a picture of all of us in our Halloween costumes, there’s one of me leaning down to talk to Taco who is staring up at me like he loves me.
There’s the one Nico took that day on the overlook when I had been watching him and Phoebe with my heart in my eyes.
The selfie of the three of us; Magda patiently bent over a pair of crochet hooks trying to teach me what to do while I sit surrounded by tangled wool.
Me, looking out the window in our kitchen, a cup of tea cradled in my hand.
The trees outside are a blaze of orange and golden light limns my profile. I look happy. Peaceful.
I didn’t even know he had taken most of these, but each one is perfect, each one is a love letter. At the top of the stairs is a different kind of picture. It’s a Polaroid. It’s not beautifully shot or perfectly lit. It’s slightly blurry. It’s our wedding photo.
My eyes are tearing up. I look at the pictures of me, mixed in with all the others. He’s letting me know that he sees me, that I’m a part of something. A family.
He links his fingers with mine and pulls me up the last couple of stairs and along the hall. When he opens a door I realise it’s the library room. Only now it’s finished and it’s gorgeous and there are books everywhere and also rose petals for some reason.
‘Oh my god.’ I stop in my tracks. ‘You did it!’ I pick up my skirts and rush over. ‘You built a ladder!’
I run my fingers over the handles and step up, my heels hooking over the rungs. I touch the shelf of books in front of my face. ‘I love it!’ I exclaim, but when I look back at Nico over my shoulder I almost break my neck.
Because he’s down on one knee, my daisy-shaped engagement ring in his hand.