by Lilian Peake
There was silence in the room for some minutes. Outside the birds sang out joyfully in the peace of the evening. There came a tap at the door and Ewan answered. The caller went away.
“Dinner is served, my sweet,” Ewan murmured, looking into Gayle’s flushed face. “There’s one thing I have to mention, darling. When you take me, you take on my mother too.”
Gayle said, sitting up and pushing back her hair, “I wish she liked me as much as she liked Carla. Will she be very angry, do you think?”
“Possibly. But not for long. When she sees how clever I’ve been in providing myself with such a wonderful wife, and realises how much we love each other, she’ll come round. Don’t let it worry you. Her bark’s much worse than her bite!”
He pulled her up beside him, “She’s abroad for another week. As soon as she returns and arrangements can be completed, we’re getting married, so be prepared.”
“Where will we spend our honeymoon, Ewan?” Gayle asked shyly.
“Montreux?” She nodded contentedly. ‘Remember the night of the storm?” he murmured, pulling her against him, “when you broke down and cried? I could hardly stand it. My instincts were to force my way into your room and take you into my arms. I spent most of that night fighting my instincts! But I promise you this. On our honeymoon, if a storm comes up in the night, even if it roars and thunders overhead, we shall be so preoccupied with loving each other, we won’t even know it’s there!”