The Proposal

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Could I talk to my friend alone for a minute?’

  Gianni glanced at Sally, who nodded. He squeezed her hand and walked back towards the hotel.

  Georgia could barely get her words out quickly enough.

  ‘Don’t marry him,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t step anywhere near the anvil with this man. That’s what happens, isn’t it? A blacksmith can marry you right here, right now. Well, don’t do it, because I have something to say.’

  ‘We can’t get married today,’ said Sally quietly. ‘We thought we could, but the rules have changed and we have to wait over two weeks. That’s fine, though, because this is what I want to do, George.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Georgia said, not even having time to register the relief that Sally was not yet married. ‘There’s something you should know. Gianni is not a count. He’s a bus boy at a London hotel and he’s been gatecrashing parties with his friend to hook up with pretty, wealthy girls. Don’t marry him. He’s after your money, and even though you probably think you’re happy, this is all just going to make you horribly miserable.’

  ‘I know he’s not a count,’ Sally replied simply.

  That response floored Georgia.

  ‘You know?’

  ‘I know he’s a waiter from Padua. His name is Gianni Adami. He came to London to work because he lost his father in Mussolini’s war, and he sends money back to his family. I knew from our second date,’ she said quite cheerfully. ‘He told me over hot chocolate and Chelsea buns at the café in Victoria round the corner from the hotel where he works.’

  ‘You know he’s a bus boy? You don’t think he’s a con man . . .’

  Sally laughed.

  ‘Darling Georgia, you always think the worst of people. So Gianni and his friends lied a little to get into the deb dances and parties. They were young men having fun.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘With all my heart. He is handsome and kind and good and I know he adores me. If that’s not what a girl is looking for in a husband, then I don’t know what is.’

  ‘I understand that you like him,’ said Georgia, shaking her head. ‘You might even think you love him. But Sally, you don’t have to marry him. Take your time,’ she implored.

  ‘But I’m pregnant,’ replied her friend simply.

  Georgia couldn’t help gasping.

  ‘Oh Sally . . . But Gianni . . . How can you be?’

  ‘The baby’s not Gianni’s. We haven’t . . . we haven’t, you know, done that yet.’

  ‘Then whose is it?’

  She grew suddenly sheepish.

  ‘You remember the house party in Oxfordshire?’

  ‘Andrew from Cirencester,’ said Georgia, feeling wretched. If only she hadn’t abandoned her friend. If only she had rescued her from the bushes.

  ‘Sally, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you.’

  ‘It was entirely my own fault. We had sex in an airing cupboard before I’d even discovered that you’d gone. It was over in minutes . . . However, the consequences might last a little longer.’ Her voice was clear and matter-of-fact but her eyes had started to water, and Georgia rested her arm gently across her friend’s shoulders.

  ‘Sally, there’s things we can do . . .’

  ‘What?’ she replied flatly. ‘Some dirty back-street room where they’d kill my baby with carbolic soap and a knitting needle and possibly kill me too? I’ve read the newspapers.’

  Georgia had read the same stories. In Paris, a newspaper clipping, possibly planted by Madame Didiot, had been passed around the dorm like some warning to wayward students who let their morals get too loose.

  ‘Does Gianni know this?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘Georgia, can’t you see? That is why I think he is so wonderful. I mean, look, I am beginning to get a tiny belly so I knew I couldn’t hide it for much longer. I was desperate to tell someone, so I confided in Gianni, thinking he would finish with me on the spot, but he was so gentle and loving. Together we made a plan.’

  ‘To marry,’ said Georgia softly.

  ‘We were going to pretend that the baby was his. But we thought people might accept it more if we ran away and got married. I knew it would still be a terrible scandal, so Gianni thought we could go and live in Venice. He has an auntie there and it sounds so wonderful, Georgia. You can buy oranges the size of footballs and go to work by gondola. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?’

  ‘But what now?’

  ‘Now we have to think again. It’s around two weeks before we can marry and I can’t leave my parents in the dark for that long.’

  ‘They’re frantic,’ said Georgia softly.

  ‘Thank you for coming, George. Thank you for caring.’

  ‘I was worried about you. We drove through the night to get here before the day’s weddings started.’

  Sally looked anxious.

  ‘We? My family aren’t with you, are they?’

  ‘No. Edward Carlyle. He drove me up here. All through the night.’

  Sally nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Then he’s handsome and kind and good and I know he adores you.’

  ‘I wish it were true,’ said Georgia, shrugging her shoulders. ‘But he has a girlfriend and I think he sees me as this silly little debutante he has to keep saving. Maybe he has some psychological condition . . .’

  ‘But are you in love with him?’

  She looked up and nodded.

  ‘Then go and tell him. Right now. Don’t stop and think about it. Just tell him.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Georgia, her heart thumping out of her chest.

  ‘I’ve found love. Now it’s your turn, and what better place to be true to your heart than here. GO!’ she ordered.

  Georgia went back into the dining room, but Edward had left.

  ‘Your husband asked me to tell you he has gone upstairs,’ said the waitress, clearing away the plates of mackerel.

  ‘Remind me of our room numbers,’ Georgia said. The waitress checked her list of diners.

  ‘Sixteen and seventeen,’ she replied.

  Georgia followed the signs and knocked on the door of number sixteen on the first floor. It was a few moments before it creaked open. Edward stood there with slightly ruffled hair and sleepy eyes.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry. Your room key,’ he said, rubbing his face.

  Her eyes skirted over the rumpled bed and she felt a flood of excitement and nerves.

  ‘So how is she?’ asked Edward anxiously. ‘She’s not married yet, is she?’

  ‘She’s fine. Sally is fine. They can’t marry for at least two weeks and she knows all about Gianni. Always has done, but she loves him. It’s that simple.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Edward, rubbing his cheek.

  ‘We always hope love is simple, but sometimes it’s not, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he replied softly.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she whispered, closing the bedroom door behind her, willing herself to stay strong. ‘Everything we have done together suggests that . . . suggests that you like me. I know you have a girlfriend, and I know she is probably very smart and rich and beautiful, but sometimes that’s not everything. Sometimes it’s about two people who just feel happy being together, and when that happens, those two people should be together.’

  He didn’t reply immediately, and the silence spun embarrassingly around the room.

  ‘Georgia, I don’t like you,’ he said finally.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling her courage desert her and her heart shatter.

  ‘I think I have fallen in love with you.’

  ‘With me?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t have a girlfriend. Not any more. There was Annabel, and I went to the ball with her and then we left university and it’s over. Because I can’t stop thinking about someone else. I can’t stop comparing every single woman I know with someone who has come into my life and lit it up like a Catherine wheel.’<
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  He stepped forward and took her hand.

  ‘There’s a place just outside called the Kissing Gate.’

  ‘Do we need to go that far?’ she whispered.

  He took her face between his hands and kissed her softly on the lips. And somewhere deep down, she felt her own fireworks go off in her heart.

  24 December 2012

  It had been a busy day. The busiest Christmas Eve Amy could remember. Much of it had been spent eating: breakfast pancakes with strawberry butter and maple syrup at Good Enough to Eat, hot chocolate and pumpkin muffins at Sarabeth’s Bakery in Chelsea Market, and cupcakes from Sprinkles on Lexington. She had shopped for Christmas presents for the family in Bloomingdale’s, popped into the Plaza Hotel to see their giant Great Gatsby-themed Christmas tree, watched the ice skaters on the rink in Central Park, and even queued up to get inside the iconic toy shop FAO Schwarz – which Georgia agreed was all part of the Christmas experience.

  But pulling up outside Carmichael Street, Amy reconsidered the wisdom of inviting Georgia round to her house, which looked so much smaller and more shabby than she remembered. Her dad had said ‘the more the merrier’ when she had rung to check, but then he had once invited a hobo to dinner when he’d spotted him panhandling outside Dempsey’s: any excuse to break out his Old Navy Rum was a good one to her dad. She knew her mom would be fretting about the food and the seating and the dishes, probably furiously polishing the ‘good’ silver – that was the cutlery set from Macy’s rather than Kmart – at this very moment. Amy was more worried about the rest of the family. Would her brother Billy embarrass her with tales from their childhood? Would Uncle Chuck get drunk and insist on singing? More to the point, would it all be a little, well, lower class for such a sophisticated lady as Georgia Hamilton?

  ‘A charming house,’ said Georgia, as if she was reading Amy’s mind. ‘I am very much looking forward to meeting your family.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect too much,’ said Amy.

  ‘On the contrary, Amy,’ said Georgia, taking her arm as they walked up the path, ‘I am a great believer in nurture over nature and I do not think people appear from nowhere fully formed. You are a product of your family, Amy Carrell, and on that basis, I expect them to be perfectly charming.’

  Amy was about to say that she could expect all she liked but that wouldn’t stop Uncle Chuck from groping her ass, when the door flew open and Amy felt herself sucked into a huge hug.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Aunt Amy!’ cried the two children clinging to her waist.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ she laughed. ‘Careful or you’ll crush all these presents I brought.’

  The children started clamouring for the gifts, but Amy held them out of their reach until she was inside the house. ‘Here, go and put them under the tree.’

  She looked around and was immediately hit by a rush of affection and nostalgia. The tree was where it always was in the hallway, sagging under far too many trimmings, the battered and threadbare angel she’d so loved as a girl still clinging gamely to the top. There were old-fashioned paper chains strung along the beams of every room and crêpe paper reindeers and snowmen tacked to the windows, just as there always had been. But most of all it was the smell that made Amy go weak with longing: that mixture of pine needles and cooking and punch and candles, each smell laid over that indefinable scent of ‘home’.

  ‘Hey, honey,’ said a gruff voice. ‘Welcome home.’

  Amy fell into her father’s arms, loving the feel of him: his strength and warmth. He felt safe and right. In his embrace she was five years old again and doing cartwheels of excitement waiting for Santa.

  ‘Dad,’ she said. ‘This is my friend, Georgia Hamilton.’

  ‘Hey, how ya doin’?’ he said, stepping forward to offer his ham-hock hand. ‘Nick Carrell. Ya takin’ care of my little girl for me, I hear.’

  ‘Dad . . .’ said Amy, blushing.

  ‘Oh no, Amy has been taking care of me, Mr Carrell,’ smiled Georgia, meeting his gaze. ‘And she’s been doing a wonderful job.’

  ‘Amy! Honey,’ screamed Connie Carrell, running out of the kitchen.

  Her mother had literally wept tears of delight when Amy had called her a week earlier to say that she was coming home, and her excitement still hadn’t subsided.

  ‘This is just the best Christmas present I could ask for. My little girl home. Nick, get Georgia a drink.’

  ‘You like whiskey?’

  ‘Nick!’ said Connie, slapping his arm. ‘You can’t offer this nice lady whiskey.’

  ‘Actually, Amy has been telling me about your egg nog on the way over here. I confess I’ve never had egg nog before.’

  ‘Comin’ right up,’ said Nick, smiling.

  Amy gave Georgia a sideways smile. The older woman certainly knew which of her dad’s buttons to press.

  ‘Come through and meet everyone,’ said Connie. In short succession Georgia was introduced to Amy’s brother Billy, his wife Helen and their three children Candice, Billy Jr and baby Gretel, as well as Uncle Chuck, who seemed to be reasonably sober and immediately took a shine to Georgia, hovering over her, passing her nibbles and refilling her glass as soon as she took a sip. Amy sat back and watched, so happy to see her family again, but also happy to see them welcome her friend so warmly. She had only been away for a little over two years, but it had felt like decades. Too long.

  Finally Connie clapped her hands to summon them all through to the tiny dining room.

  ‘Family tradition, Georgia. We have a big ham on Christmas Eve. It leaves us too stuffed for turkey the next day, but hey, you got to start Christmas as soon as possible, then keep it going for as long as you can. Those have always been the rules in this house.’

  ‘So long as we’re not having goose tomorrow,’ grumbled Uncle Chuck. ‘Should have seen the size of the thing. It was like a goddam pigeon.’

  Everyone sat down, arguing over the merits of turkey versus goose, ten of them crammed around a table that could really only comfortably seat six, but their elbow-to-elbow proximity only added to the feeling of togetherness.

  ‘So why hasn’t Dan the Man come?’ asked Billy, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach, his blue shirt straining at the buttons. ‘I want to meet your fancy English guy finally.’

  ‘We both wanted to be with our families over the holidays,’ Amy replied, wondering what Daniel was doing at this moment. She imagined him in the family home, a honey-stone manor house straight out of a Jane Austen novel. She had been there only once and had felt on edge all the time, not wanting to ruin the perfect picture by actually sitting down anywhere. She pictured him sitting at the formal dining table, cutting into his quail or whatever fancy British families ate at Christmas, making strained conversation with Vivienne, planning with his father to conquer the world. Well, he had made his choice – made his bed, as her friend Annie liked to say. Now he had to lie in it.

  ‘Say, Candice. How’s the ballet coming along?’ she asked her seven-year-old niece, wanting to change the subject.

  ‘I love it,’ she grinned with a gap-toothed smile.

  Billy’s wife Helen bounced baby Gretel up and down on her lap.

  ‘She wanted to see some real ballet, so I took her to the Lincoln Center, saved up for months for those tickets, and she got so damn bored we had to leave after twenty minutes.’

  Candice made a face and pushed some potatoes into her mouth.

  ‘Still, she wants to be a ballet dancer when she grows up. I told her she gotta keep practising, keep it up if she wants to be like her auntie Amy.’

  Amy smiled hard, deciding this was not the right time to tell Candice about the pain and the constant rejection and the fact there was a good chance your boyfriend’s parents might think you were a slut. Best to let a little girl have her dreams. After all, she had been the same as a student at Miss Josephine’s dance academy on Quebec Street, the school that Candice now went to. She still kept in touch with Miss Josephine, who had been like a sec
ond mom to her growing up. When she’d moved to England they had swapped regular letters and emails, but these had dwindled as Amy grew more and more embarrassed about the state of her career. She wanted Miss Josephine to think she had produced at least one star.

  Nick Carrell topped up Georgia’s glass.

  ‘So, Amy tells me you have a great apartment. It’s like worth a million bucks or somethin’?’

  ‘I did not!’ gasped Amy.

  ‘You told your mom it looked like a duchess’ house in some swanky part of town,’ said her father, looking offended.

  ‘I suppose Primrose Hill is rather lovely,’ smiled Georgia. ‘I bought at the right time. The nearest thing London has to a village, and yet when you climb to the top of the hill it’s all there before you. The BT Tower, the London Eye, St Paul’s.’

  ‘Have you got family, Georgia?’ asked Connie politely. Amy noticed her friend stiffen.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t see them very often. They live out in the countryside.’

  ‘What are they up to back home in England?’

  ‘Uncle Chuck . . .’ said Amy with a warning tone.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ said Georgia. ‘I suppose they’ll be doing much the same as here. Having a party, eating and drinking too much. Won’t be anywhere near as much fun as here, though. And this food’s much better.’

  Amy saw her mother’s proud smile.

  ‘You gotta watch the British,’ said Chuck, waving a finger. ‘Poor teeth, poor food. To think you’re going to marry into that!’

  Amy blushed furiously.

  ‘I haven’t got any plans to get married, Uncle Chuck.’

  ‘Really?’ said Connie with interest. ‘I thought it was serious with Dan.’

  ‘I wanna be a bridesmaid,’ shouted Candice with her mouth full.

  ‘Stop it, all of you!’

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, sis,’ said Billy, squeezing Helen’s hand. ‘It ain’t so bad, huh?’

  ‘So come on, Ames. Tell us. Can I expect a visit from this Daniel asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage? Guess he’s going to do things the proper way, huh?’

  She was glad when Uncle Chuck changed the subject to talk about the upcoming Jets game and the clean-up operation in Queens after Hurricane Sandy.