A Will, a Wish, a Wedding

by Kate Hardy

  He sighed. ‘I’d like to ask her out. I think we could make each other happy. And she’s not replacing you—I’ll always love you, and I’ll always keep your memory alive. She doesn’t want to push you out of my life, either; she thinks we ought to call the cafe at the butterfly house after you. This whole thing makes me feel so mixed up. I want to move on, but I feel as if I’m letting you down all over again. If I hadn’t gone to that conference...’ Would Emma still have been here? Would he have managed to get help to her in time? Or would she still have collapsed and had that heart attack, and the medics still wouldn’t have been able to save her and he would still have felt guilty? He blew out a breath. ‘Is it selfish of me to want to find happiness again?’

  A moment later, a white butterfly landed on the stocks and basked in the sunlight as it fed on the flowers.

  Hugo stared at the butterfly. This felt like a sign. As if Emma was giving him her blessing to ask Alice out—and telling him to build the butterfly house.

  Emma’s Kitchen it was, then.

  ‘I love you, Em,’ he said as the butterfly flittered away again.

  And now he knew what to do.

  * * *

  ‘You really do make the best Buddha bowl in the universe,’ Alice said, smiling at her best friend as she laid her fork down on the empty bowl. ‘Spicy chicken, wild rice and extra avocado. It doesn’t get better than that.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Indeed.’

  And then Alice’s phone pinged. Normally she would’ve ignored a text during dinner, but she noticed Hugo’s name on the notification.

  ‘From the look on your face,’ Ruth said, ‘I’m guessing that’s something you need to deal with.’

  ‘I’ve come to have dinner with you, not be glued to my phone,’ Alice said.

  ‘I know, but I’m going to get the ice cream. I think you can be forgiven for reading a text while I’ve left the table.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Alice opened the message, and frowned.

  Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?

  Did this mean that Hugo wanted to talk about the butterfly house?

  Then her phone pinged again.

  That’s a social invitation, not a butterfly/glass discussion. Keeping things separate.

  Alice stared at the phone, not sure whether she was more thrilled or terrified.

  Unless she was being very dense, Hugo Grey had just asked her on a date.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Ruth said, coming back with two dishes, a bowl of raspberries and a tub of caramel ice cream.

  ‘Yes. No.’ Alice dragged a hand through her hair. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Spill,’ Ruth said.

  ‘It’s Hugo.’

  ‘Rosemary’s great-nephew, the man you wanted to throttle?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘We’ve moved on a bit, since then,’ Alice said. ‘We’ve been talking about the project and having field trips.’

  ‘Field trips,’ Ruth said, with a knowing look.

  ‘Not dates,’ Alice corrected.

  ‘But?’

  Alice squirmed. Trust her best friend to notice the invisible ‘but’. ‘There appears to have been some hand-holding.’ When Ruth didn’t say anything, just looked levelly at her, Alice caved further. ‘And some kissing.’

  ‘That, honey, doesn’t sound remotely like what a field trip should be. It sounds as if you’re dating.’

  Which was what Hugo was proposing now. Something Alice wanted to say yes to—but she was scared that it would all go wrong.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Alice said. ‘I send him nerdy facts about butterflies. He sends me nerdy facts about glass.’

  ‘Flirting by nerdiness. That sounds good,’ Ruth said. ‘It means he gets you. So do I take it that he’s just asked you out officially?’

  Alice nodded.

  ‘Then say yes.’

  ‘You know how rubbish I am at relationships. I always pick someone who wants to change me. Robin, Ed, Henry —and Barney.’ She grimaced. ‘Hugo’s from the same kind of background as Barney, one where I don’t fit in.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll be different, this time,’ Ruth suggested.

  ‘Maybe it won’t.’ Alice sighed. ‘He’s a widower.’

  Ruth raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s a lot older than you, then?’

  ‘No. His wife died tragically young—an asthma episode caused a heart attack.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I think I’m the first woman he’s asked out since she died. Nearly three years ago.’

  ‘And you haven’t dated in a year. It sounds to me as if you might be good for each other,’ Ruth said.

  ‘What if I get it wrong?’

  ‘Then you get it wrong. But if he’s as nerdy as you, in his own way, that’s a good thing. You’ll understand each other.’

  ‘I just don’t want to get it wrong,’ Alice repeated.

  ‘What if you get it right?’ Ruth asked. ‘Then, if you say no, you’ll miss out. I know Barney really hurt you, but you’re an amazing woman and I’m proud to call you my friend. If you back off from the chance of a relationship, you’re letting Barney win—and you’re worth more than that.’ Ruth squeezed her hand. ‘The only way you’ll find out is to date him. What have you got to lose?’

  Alice bit her lip. ‘The whole of the butterfly house project. I can’t risk that.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Alice handed her phone over.

  Ruth read the texts swiftly. ‘He’s pretty clear about wanting to keep things separate. He’s asking you out for dinner. As a date. Nothing to do with the butterfly house. I think you should say yes.’

  Alice looked at her in an agony of indecision.

  Ruth tapped in a reply. ‘OK. Done.’

  ‘What? Ruth! No! What did you say?’ Alice asked, horrified.

  Ruth handed the phone back.

  ‘“I’d love to. Let me know where and when,”’ Alice read aloud, and groaned. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Ally, you’ve admitted that you’ve kissed him and you’ve held hands and you’ve been flirting by text. This is the next step, that’s all.’ Ruth leaned across the table and hugged her. ‘I just want you to be as happy as I am with Andy. I know you don’t need a partner to be a valid person, but I worry that you’re lonely.’

  ‘I’ve got good family and good friends—the best, when they don’t commandeer my phone and send texts under my name,’ Alice said pointedly, ‘and good colleagues.’

  ‘Which is not the same as sharing your life with someone.’

  Alice’s phone pinged with another text.

  Pick you up at seven tomorrow.

  So it was a definite date. ‘Oh, help. What do I do now?’

  Ruth had known her for long enough to be able to guess what the issue was. ‘Ask him where you’re going,’ Ruth said, ‘and I’ll tell you what to wear.’

  Alice duly texted Hugo.

  Surprise was the answer.

  ‘That doesn’t help at all.’ Alice bit her lip. ‘What if I wear completely the wrong thing?’ Just as she had in Oxford, and Barney’s set had all mocked her for it. ‘We’re talking about a man who wears handmade Italian shoes.’

  Ruth smiled. ‘It sounds to me like a good excuse to go and buy a new dress.’

  ‘I hardly ever wear dresses.’

  ‘I wish,’ Ruth said, ‘you’d get over how Barney made you feel. What you wear isn’t as important as feeling comfortable in it.’

  ‘And I don’t feel comfortable in a dress.’

  ‘Because you can’t hide behind a T-shirt slogan, hiking boots and a camera?’ Ruth asked, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘The first time I met Hugo, I was wearing a business suit, and I...didn’t come across well.’

  ‘Neither did he, from what you told me. It’s got nothing to do with what you look like.’ Ruth frowned. ‘Ask hi
m if a little black dress is appropriate or if he can suggest a dress code.’

  ‘I don’t have a little black dress.’

  ‘I do,’ Ruth said, ‘and you’re the same size as me, so there are no excuses. Text him.’

  Alice knew if she didn’t, Ruth would simply steal her phone and do it for her, so she gave in and texted him. When her phone pinged, she read the text. ‘He says wear whatever I like, but a little black dress would be just fine.’

  ‘It’s you he’s dating, not your clothes,’ Ruth said. ‘I like the sound of that. It’s a good thing. Make that leap of faith, Ally. He’s not Barney.’

  ‘But I already told you, he’s from the same kind of background as Barney,’ Alice pointed out. ‘The kind of people who judge me and find me wanting.’

  ‘You’re a woman who has three degrees and a heart as big as the world: in what possible way can you be found wanting?’ Ruth asked.

  The answer to that was burned into Alice’s heart. She’d learned that from Barney and his friends and their mocking laughter. ‘The wrong background. The wrong clothes. The wrong manners.’

  ‘Anyone who’s that shallow isn’t worth your time,’ Ruth said. ‘And not everyone from that background is like Barney. You’ve just always chosen Mr Wrong.’

  ‘So what makes Hugo any different?’

  ‘That,’ Ruth said, ‘is for you to answer. And the only way you’re going to find the answer is to date him.’

  Alice couldn’t really reply to that.

  ‘Now stop fussing and eat your ice cream,’ Ruth said, ‘because we have a dress to sort out.’

  * * *

  Working on Viola’s journals, her current favourite part of her job, didn’t manage to calm Alice’s nerves, the next day.

  Would dating Hugo Grey turn out to be a huge mistake?

  Even if he didn’t hold her background against her or want to change her, there was the fact that he’d lost his wife in such tragic circumstances. How could she ever measure up to the love of his life?

  With her borrowed dress, the shoes she’d worn the first time she’d met Hugo, and the butterfly necklace her parents had given her for her thirtieth birthday, she felt polished enough to cope with wherever he was taking her. Though, when the doorbell rang, she had butterflies in her stomach. Stampeding ones. A whole forestful of Monarchs in the middle of a long-distance migration.

  ‘Hi. You look lovely,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you. So do you.’ And her voice would have to go all squeaky, wouldn’t it?

  Hugo looked gorgeous in a dark suit that she would just bet was custom-made, teamed with a crisp white shirt and an understated silk tie...and yet another pair of handmade Italian shoes. The man was a walking fashion-plate. And, although it would normally have made her worry that she wasn’t stylish enough, the way he looked at her—the heat in his eyes, the way he was smiling just for her—made her feel special. The fact that a man as gorgeous and talented as Hugo had called her ‘lovely’ made her feel as if she were walking on air.

  ‘For you,’ he said, handing her a bouquet of delicate flowers in shades of blue and cream—cornflowers, cream-and-pink-swirled Californian poppies, honeysuckle and columbines.

  ‘Thank you. They’re beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘I asked the florist for something different, because I didn’t think you’d enjoy hothouse blooms. And you said you liked blue flowers.’

  ‘I do.’ And she loved the fact he’d made such an effort, instead of grabbing the first bouquet he saw. There was real thought behind this. Substance, not just style. She breathed in the scent of the honeysuckle. ‘These are so lovely. I ought to put them in water before we go. Have we got time?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Come in.’

  The cornflowers were almost the same shade of blue as his eyes, and it made her smile. She put the flowers in water and stood the vase on the kitchen windowsill. ‘They’re perfect. Thank you.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you OK to walk in those shoes?’

  ‘I didn’t think my hiking boots would quite go with this dress,’ she said, aiming for lightness.

  ‘Perhaps not. I thought we’d get the Tube to the restaurant, then maybe have a walk along the river and get a taxi back, if that’s OK with you?’

  ‘That’d be nice,’ she said, wondering just how flashy the restaurant was going to be and how out of her depth she was going to feel.

  But, when they arrived at the restaurant, it was nothing like she was expecting. The waitress led them to the rooftop where there were several glass pods, all containing pots of enormous ferns decked with fairy lights as well as tables and chairs. Most of the pods were already full but there was one clearly waiting for them.

  ‘We’re eating in one of these glass pods?’ she checked.

  ‘I thought it might be nice to have a view of the sunset over the river,’ he said. ‘Is this OK with you?’

  ‘It’s more than OK,’ she said. A glass dome—his favourite thing—plus beautiful plants and a view of the sunset. It was the perfect first date.

  Once they’d ordered and the waitress had brought them a bottle of wine, he said, ‘When I asked you to dinner, last night, I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure, either,’ she admitted. ‘You’re still grieving for Emma.’

  ‘But I need to move on. And you’re the first woman I’ve really noticed since she died.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I took your advice.’

  ‘The mental phone call?’

  He nodded. ‘I went to her grave. I talked to her about you, and about how I’d like to ask you to dinner. And I’d just finished talking when this white butterfly settled on the flowers I’d taken with me. It felt like a sign. So I texted you when I got home.’

  ‘I was at my best friend’s,’ Alice said. ‘Actually, this is her dress. I, um, don’t often wear dresses.’

  ‘Because of the ticks?’

  So he remembered what she’d said. That made her feel a lot more confident. ‘Something like that. So what does an architect do in his spare time?’

  ‘Work,’ he said. ‘Make calculations.’

  Which sounded very lonely, to her.

  ‘What does a lepidopterist do in her spare time?’ he asked.

  ‘Have dinner with friends, go to the cinema, and visit art exhibitions with my best friend—on condition she visits an SSSI with me.’

  ‘A Site of Special Scientific Interest?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘When I’m planning a field trip for my students, I scope it out first. So Ruth and I have a girly road trip.’

  ‘Like our field trips?’

  ‘Something like.’ She looked at him. ‘This is odd. Being here together, not talking about the butterfly house project.’ The thing that scared her. ‘Actually on a date.’

  ‘On a date.’ He met her gaze head-on. ‘You know why I haven’t dated since Emma died. You told me you’re married to your job. Why don’t you date?’

  Oh, help.

  She didn’t want to tell Hugo about Barney. About how pathetic and worthless she’d felt when she’d learned the truth about why Barney was really dating her. How pathetic and worthless she still felt, thanks to the men she’d dated since. ‘Let’s just say I’m not great at picking Mr Right.’

  But he didn’t let her weasel out of answering his question.

  ‘What normally makes them Mr Wrong?’ he asked.

  She’d soon find out if he was another of them, so she might as well be honest. ‘They want to change me,’ she said simply.

  He frowned. ‘You’re supposed to date someone because you like them and you want to get to know them better, not because you want to make them into someone else.’

  That was reassuring. ‘How do you get to know someone better?’ she asked.

  ‘Se
arch me. I’m out of practice,’ he said. ‘Emma and I met at university, in our last year. Friend of a friend at a party sort of thing. We just clicked, and I never looked at anyone else after that.’

  She blinked. ‘Are you telling me this is your first “first date” since you were twenty-one?’ She wasn’t sure whether that made her feel special—or scared that she wouldn’t live up to his expectations.

  ‘Yes. So I’m a bit out of practice.’ He grimaced. ‘I apologise if I’m making a mess of it.’

  So was he feeling as nervous as she was? Wanting to reassure him, she said, ‘You’re not. Whereas I have a PhD in making a mess of first dates. The wrong clothes, the wrong conversation...’ She shrugged. ‘The wrong everything.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘we shouldn’t call this our first date.’

  Because he’d already seen enough of her to change his mind? Because she’d crashed and burned yet again?

  Her thoughts must’ve shown in her expression, because he added quietly, ‘To take the pressure off both of us. This is dinner between people who might become friends—and who might become something else.’

  ‘So it’s a getting-to-know-you sort of thing.’ Which was a lot less scary. At his nod, she said, ‘As a scientist, I get to know things by asking questions.’

  ‘Go for it,’ he said.

  She’d start with an easy one. Something that didn’t have any real emotional investment. ‘What’s your favourite food?’

  ‘Cheese. Really salty, crumbly, strong Cheddar, with oatcakes and a glass of good red wine. You?’

  ‘Parkin, like my gran makes,’ she said promptly, ‘with a cup of proper Yorkshire tea. Strong.’

  ‘So that’s your accent,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  She tried not to flinch. ‘Just so you know, I’m proud of being from South Yorkshire.’ Even though Barney’s crowd had sneered at her heritage. The lass from t’pit. The oik.

  ‘And so you should be. Yorkshire’s given us Yorkshire pudding, the Brontës and Wensleydale cheese. Kit—my best friend—is from York,’ he said.