The Wedding Proposal

by Sue Moorcroft

‘I’m clearing my half of the fridge.’ Turning her back to him, she searched out a pack of antibacterial wipes from one of her carrier bags and set about the top shelf, half of the middle shelf and half of the door compartment, before stowing away her perishables and some of the bottles of water Davie had hauled from the shop.

  Then she began opening cupboard doors and drawers. Apart from a drawer of cutlery and a cupboard containing matching plates, bowls, mugs and glasses, most were empty of anything but dust. She chose two to wipe before stowing the rest of her shopping.

  Job done, she went back up to the saloon and took a seat next to Davie listening quietly as Loz continued to interrogate Lucas. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye once or twice but Loz was demanding most of his attention.

  ‘Are you here for a holiday?’ Loz twiddled the ends of her pale brown hair as she hung on his answers.

  Lucas shook his head. ‘No, I’m working here for a few months.’

  Loz brightened. ‘You’re not a skipper, are you? Because we sometimes hire a skipper to take us out. We can sail the Seadancer but it’s a lot of hard work, so we often get someone.’

  ‘I’m a divemaster at a scuba school,’ said Lucas.

  Elle found herself turning to look at him in surprise. In all the exultation, swiftly turned to panic and disappointment, of her arrival, she hadn’t asked what had brought him to Malta. She’d been too taken up with the scale of the disaster of his being there and the threat to her lovely new life plans.

  Apart from the facts that Lucas had left his job in events management and headed to California to learn about running a vineyard and be Simon’s business guru, she hadn’t really known what he’d done with his life since he’d stormed out of hers. ‘A diver?’ she questioned. ‘Since when?’

  The dark eyes swivelled her way. ‘Since a couple of years ago. I took up scuba recreationally and got hooked.’

  Loz jumped back in. ‘There are loads of instructors on the island because the diving’s popular with the tourists. The Med’s not like the Red Sea but it’s pretty good.’

  Lucas smiled. ‘I’m a divemaster, rather than an instructor. The divemasters have all the fun while the instructors take all the responsibility.’

  Loz giggled. ‘What did you do before diving?’

  ‘I worked for Simon at his vineyard for a while.’

  ‘And before that?’ Loz pressed.

  Lucas picked up his drink and finished it in long, slow gulps, his Adam’s apple working. Then he looked into the empty glass. ‘Before that doesn’t matter.’

  Elle felt herself recoil.

  Loz paused. ‘Oh. OK. Sounds mysterious.’ She waited, but Lucas just smiled enigmatically, because most of his attention was focused on his own words ringing in his head. Caustic. Dismissive. Insulting, too, judging by the way Elle’s smile had vanished like a popped bubble.

  He tried to convey with his eyes that he hadn’t meant that to sound quite as shitty as it had, but Elle’s expression reminded him of a cat just before its tail began to lash. She explained to Loz, ‘What Lucas is referring to is that before he went to America, we were together.’

  Loz’s eyes widened to saucers. ‘You’re joking.’ She looked from Elle to Lucas and back again. ‘You’re not joking!’

  Elle laughed. At least, her face made the right movements for laughter. But Lucas could read her better than that. The hurt in her eyes, the tightness of her fingers on the edge of the seat cushion, the rigidity of her spine. The spine he used to trace with his tongue …

  She shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a pain, ending up in the same boat, but it’s happened so we just have to get on with it.’

  ‘Oh my.’ Loz’s eyes were full of sympathy when they rested on Elle. When they moved to Lucas they became surprised, curious, but devoid of the frank approval she’d been beaming his way until that moment.

  Davie was staring at him, too. ‘Probably time we went,’ he said, shortly. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ He drained his glass.

  Elle jumped up to let him scoot out of his seat as Loz thanked Lucas politely for his hospitality. They both followed Elle out of the cabin, across the plank and onto the dock.

  Lucas leaned forward to watch through the open door as the older couple clustered around Elle.

  Loz was smiling uncertainly, touching Elle’s arm sympathetically.

  Davie’s hands were on his hips. He frowned, talking rapidly, indicating the Shady Lady with his head. He looked like a protective dad.

  Loz nodded along emphatically to whatever Davie was saying.

  Elle, arms folded, was half-smiling, shrugging, nodding, then shaking her head. He could imagine her part in the conversation. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, honestly. No, I can put up with him. It was all a long time ago. You don’t have to worry.

  Because that was Elle. Self-contained, self-reliant. Not letting people in.

  It had been one of his regular complaints, that she always treated people as if they were going to fail her. Now, for the first time, he wondered whether her reluctance had actually been a defence mechanism.

  Back in the day, sure that he could cure her of this trait if he could get to the bottom of it, he’d been caustic. ‘It’s as if you think everyone will let you down. Even your parents.’

  She’d laughed shortly. ‘You have to bear in mind how my parents reacted after I made a mistake.’

  ‘The mistake being Ricky?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was never forthcoming on the subject of Ricky, the guy, ten years older than her, who she’d married in a registry office, straight out of university, without inviting her parents. He could see how that would go down badly with any parents, let alone the controlling kind, like Elle’s, and though he was aware that there was a layer of steel under Elle’s soft sweet skin, her actions had seemed uncharacteristically rebellious.

  When pressed, she’d expanded reluctantly. ‘You know what my mum and dad are like. No understanding or compassion over my errors. I learned young never to own up because I dreaded their cutting remarks and mean silences. Marrying against their wishes was obviously going to create an absolute storm of those things so it seemed easier to at least enjoy the wedding. Without them.’

  The subject of marriage hadn’t come up again until, a year later, he’d made his unfortunately business-like proposal and she’d been underwhelmed.

  He should have made it absolutely crystal clear that Elle was the most desirable woman on the planet and, because he loved her, he would have proposed even if his plans hadn’t made it expedient. Wincing at the memory, he told himself aloud, ‘You were an idiot.’

  On the quay, Elle was still listening politely as Loz and Davie discussed her situation. For an instant Lucas contemplated bowling out there and warning them that they were setting themselves up for failure if they thought they could predict Elle’s reactions.

  Just look at how she’d reacted when he’d tried to fix things by suggesting the big wedding he’d been sure every girl lusted after. ‘I’d rather get married without telling anyone. We could go to Vegas!’ Elle had countered.

  But he’d refused to hurt his parents by deliberately excluding them, even though they disdained the bride’s first marriage. He didn’t embrace their assumption that a wedding involved a marquee on a manicured lawn, but Elle’s Vegas idea struck him as mean, or even a hint that it was all his offhand proposal deserved. Or all that befitted a second husband …?

  His jealous curiosity about her past had spiked.

  Rather than admit his fears, he’d resorted to, ‘What the hell would your parents think of being sidelined a second time?’

  Elle had recoiled and become almost as reluctant to talk about marriage to Lucas as she was about her marriage to Ricky. She’d looked perpetually unhappy.

  She was looking unhappy again, now, while Loz and Davie exc
hanged uncertain glances over her bare head. Loz and Davie had put their hats back on while the flowered thing Elle had come in wearing was on the helm seat.

  If she stayed out there much longer, he’d toss it out to her. She wasn’t dark-haired, like him, with skin that tanned. She’d just come off the plane and her milky complexion could turn to radish before she even realised that the sun had rubbed its fiery fingers over her.

  But then Elle began saying her goodbyes, stepping across onto the boat, waving to Loz and Davie.

  The moment that she slipped back into the saloon, he did the right thing. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Chapter Four

  She stopped short, eyebrows lifting. ‘Sorry that you caused me needless embarrassment?’

  ‘I was thrown that you chose to cough your guts to people you’ve only just met, contrary to your usual habit of keeping things to yourself.’

  She flushed. ‘I’ve only just met them in the flesh but we’ve been e-mailing for months.’

  With an effort, he remembered that he was supposed to be apologising. ‘What I’m sorry for is sounding so melodramatic and bitter. It came out wrong. I’d realised from the way you made the introductions that you hadn’t explained our history. I meant to head her off but somehow it came out all drama queen.’

  The faintest of smiles tugged at a corner of her mouth. ‘It was just your way of being nice?’

  Reluctantly, he grinned. ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. Let’s just say I wasn’t actively trying to piss you off.’

  After a moment, she nodded. ‘OK. Thanks.’

  He sighed. ‘Do you think it would be a plan to talk a few things out? If we’re stuck with each other we might as well try and make it as easy on ourselves as possible. I haven’t forgotten what you said about the sharks. I hope to swim with a few during my time here, but not when I’m sporting Elle-inflicted injuries.’

  She actually looked alarmed. ‘Are there really sharks in the Med?’

  ‘Only a few, because they’ve been over-fished. There hasn’t been a shark attack in decades.’ He picked up his wallet and tucked it in the back pocket of his board shorts, trying not to read anything into the fact that she didn’t seem to care for the idea of him swimming with sharks. ‘Forget the sharks, let’s go get a drink on neutral ground. We can discuss the rules of engagement.’

  Finally, her expression relaxed. ‘I could go for a glass of wine.’

  They locked the boat and he led the way along to the promenade. As well as the shore moorings, boats were dotted right across the creek on swing moorings in the marine equivalent of a car park. Leisure craft in white and navy bobbed beside rowing boats. Fishing boats in traditional combinations of blue, yellow and red sported eyes on each side of their prows to ward off evil. On the other side of the creek craft nestled in cradles at Manoel Boatyard.

  Elle looked content as she drank it all in. In an effort to have at least one conversation not filled with barbs, Lucas made like a tour guide. ‘Further along is where the ferries leave from. They sail round the island, around the harbours, or over to the sister islands of Gozo and Comino. You’ll be offered tickets every time you pass.’

  ‘I’d love to do some cruises. On a calm day.’ She tipped back her hat so that she could look at him under the brim.

  His breath caught at the blueness of her eyes. ‘Are you going to have time for sightseeing?’ She’d mentioned something to do with a charity as well as working for the St Johns.

  ‘If I don’t, I’m going to be very upset. The whole idea of travel is to see stuff and enjoy it, so I intend to have a couple of days off every week. Simon told me to go on the open-top bus tours but that sounds really touristy.’

  He stepped aside to let a family pass, her arm brushing his, warm and distracting. ‘But you do see a lot of the island in one day.’

  The Ta’ Xbiex waterfront became the Sliema waterfront, and the heat of the afternoon radiated up around their bare ankles as they wove between statues and pocket gardens, kiosks and bus stops. When they reached the stand for the water taxi he bought two tickets.

  She hovered. ‘Are we going somewhere?’

  ‘I thought we could buzz across to Valletta. See that cafe? It’s a nice place for a beer.’ He pointed across the water to a huddle of bright yellow umbrellas, the fortifications of Valletta rising like stone curtains behind.

  Her eyes sparkled, lighter and brighter than the sea. ‘My first cruise.’

  The Maltese skipper pulled the little white-hulled water taxi closer to the side, holding on to one of the struts of the yellow canopy. ‘Madam. Sinjur. Please board carefully.’

  Lucas followed Elle as she negotiated two steps down into the bobbing craft and settled herself on the cushions of a bench seat at the back. Two passengers were seated already: tourists, looking pink and hot. A small Maltese family followed; the skipper clambered into the helm seat and a man emerged from the ticket stand to cast them off, calling to the skipper in Maltese.

  With a rumble, the boat edged away from the quay, and then swooped around to face Valletta. The engine note rose as they began to accelerate, bouncing over the wake of a large cabin cruiser making its way down the deep channel.

  The sun was still strong, drawing patterns on the water, prompting Lucas to put on his sunglasses. From behind their black lenses he could watch Elle as she took off her hat, turned her face towards their destination and let her blonde hair dance in the wind.

  Her hair had only brushed her shoulders last time he’d seen her. Now it was long down her back and she had to catch it into a tail and hold on to it so that she could gaze at the pointed shape of Fort Manoel, like a stone ship about to plough the waves, as they left behind the jumble of modern buildings that was Sliema. Before them, the citadel of Valletta rose, its aged stone buildings studded by gallerija, the enclosed balconies common on the island.

  It was only minutes before the boat turned to present itself to a different concrete dock and Elle swayed against him with the motion, her skin feeling hotter than the sun. With an apologetic glance, she edged away.

  The road into Valletta rose steeply to the right, but they crossed to the cafe only a few yards away.

  ‘Every table with a sea view.’ Elle dropped into a chair beneath a yellow umbrella, raking her hair with her fingers until it ran like gold over one shoulder as she smiled at the young waiter who appeared at their table. He looked dazzled as he took their drinks order.

  Elle’s gaze followed him as he crossed the road to the restaurant building. ‘They must have to carry trays across all the time.’

  ‘They do, but it’s a small road. It really just comes to the two restaurants here, a few boats and the water taxies and ferries.’

  ‘You seem to know your way around.’

  ‘I was here last year for several weeks, with Simon. As soon as I left I wanted to come back.’

  In the shade she’d discarded her hat and sunglasses and he was able to see the shadow that crossed her face. ‘So we both want to be in Malta. You’re right that we need to talk about how we’re going to … c-coexist.’ She stumbled over the final word.

  Live together he supplied, silently. They used to live together. He recalled the excitement of making the decision that she’d give up her flat and move into his house on the outskirts of Northampton. Getting used to her things around, buying a new bed because she’d joked that his old one was probably high mileage. He’d known she’d been joking but he’d changed the bed even though Elle didn’t seem to do jealousy. No, that was all Lucas’s thing.

  And, fuck, it was still eating at him that she’d never really told him everything about Ricky.

  Unreasonably nettled by the realisation, instead of opening a sensible discussion about how they were going to ‘coexist’, he heard himself demand, ‘Why were you always so weird over talking about your
ex?’

  Apprehension flitted into her eyes. ‘What’s he got to do with anything now?’ She laced her fingers together.

  Lucas sat back as the waiter arrived with their drinks, realising he was in danger of sounding like a pillock. ‘Sorry. Nothing. It was just idle curiosity that I don’t have the right to indulge. I’ll shut up.’ But it was interesting that she’d reacted so warily.

  To defuse the situation, he caught her up on the antics of his brother, Charlie, who she’d always loved, trying to make her laugh.

  When she seemed to have uncoiled, he brought the conversation back around to his ideas of how they were going to share the boat – to have his or her own space. Live and let live. Be considerate.

  ‘And not be grouchy.’ She sent him a sidelong glance.

  ‘I’m never grouchy,’ he protested.

  ‘You were when I arrived.’

  ‘Apart from then.’ He dismissed the moment with a grin, glad to see her recovering her spirit.

  ‘When’s your— the woman you mentioned coming over?’

  ‘Kayleigh? I’m not certain, yet.’ He tried to conjure up Kayleigh in his imagination: her striking face, her straight dark red hair and her frequent smile with the tiny gap between her front teeth. ‘She makes her own plans. She’s not high-maintenance.’

  He included the last line to see whether Elle would point out the iniquity of valuing this trait when he’d always protested Elle was low-maintenance to the point of shutting him out.

  But Elle just treated him to a polite smile. ‘She sounds very capable.’

  ‘Yes, and she has a busy job to work around but she’s hoping to get a late booking at a Sliema hotel.’ Not that he’d actually asked Kayleigh the details of her schedule.

  Elle’s eyes widened. ‘She’s not staying on the Shady Lady?’

  He was aware he’d made it sound that way when Elle’s obvious dismay at first seeing him had made him feel as if his insides, frozen for four years, had burst into flames but was able to say, truthfully, ‘She prefers a hotel.’