Second Chance with the Best Man

by Katrina Cudmore

  As much as Hannah wished it were, life simply wasn’t like that.

  She’d been honest yesterday when she’d said she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust him not to change his mind, to realise that in fact he’d been right all along and love and commitment weren’t for him.

  Her birth parents, who instinctively should have loved and cared for her, had put their addictions and needs above hers. What if Laurent’s love was equally fragile and no match for what life would throw at them?

  She pushed herself up and off the bed and wobbled with light-headedness. She had a presentation to give to the board of a client company today and had no idea how she was going to pull it off.

  She changed into her yoga pants and top, hoping that Kim Ackerman would once again help her focus on the day ahead.

  Out in the living room she flicked through Kim’s online videos and with a droll sigh picked one that was called, ‘Yoga for a sore heart.’

  She rolled out her mat and pressed play. Five minutes into the video, her mind still refusing to calm, she jumped when the intercom rang.

  It had to be Laurent. Who else would be at her door this early? She refused to answer it but after three buzzes that had her startle each time, ruining Kim’s guidance to ‘free your mind of all that is troubling you,’ she picked up the intercom hand piece and said curtly, ‘There’s no point in us talking.’

  A soft, familiar-sounding female voice said, ‘He said you’d say something like that.’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Hannah, it’s Kim, Kim Ackerman.’

  Hannah swivelled around to stare at her laptop screen where Kim was frozen in a cat pose, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. Running to her window, she yanked it open and stared down towards the front door.

  Standing there with her sleek black hair tied back into a ponytail, a yoga mat under her arm, was Kim Ackerman.

  Stunned, Hannah went back to the intercom. ‘Kim...hello!’ She grimaced at her overexcited fan-girl reaction that hadn’t dimmed despite having spent a whole week in Kim’s company in India, before asking, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Laurent contacted me yesterday via my website. I don’t usually do private visits but he was very persuasive.’ She stopped and after a light chuckle she added in a serious tone, ‘He asked me to tell you that he wants to prove how much he understands you, how sorry he is that it has taken him so long to realise how much he loves you and the pain that has caused. He wants to prove to you that you can trust him.’

  Hannah shook her head and dryly responded, ‘Most men send flowers.’

  Kim laughed. ‘I’m guessing he has a lot of apologising to do.’

  And his apologising didn’t stop there. No sooner had Kim left after an hour of soul-reviving yoga, when her intercom rang again. This time it was a delivery from the French bakery in Putney Heath that had been her and Laurent’s favourite in London. Even with her stomach in a knot, Hannah had been unable to resist the delivery of still-warm croissants and freshly brewed coffee.

  After a quick shower she’d spent the entire journey to work looking over her shoulder, wondering if Laurent was about to appear at any moment.

  But later in the day, when her dad phoned her at work, she realised she need not have worried because when she had been waiting at the station for her train, Laurent had been pulling into her parents’ farm in a rental car.

  Apparently he’d apologised for how he’d behaved on his previous visit. And confessed that he had hurt Hannah and wanted to make amends. Her dad chuckled down the phone at that point and told her he hadn’t been prepared just to take Laurent’s word on this and had presented him with a pair of wellington boots and tasked him with carrying out the hardest jobs on the farm for the morning—mucking out the yard outside the milking parlour, washing down the mud-encrusted tractor, carrying endless bales of hay from the trailer into the barn.

  And all the while her dad had interrogated him, wanting to know how they could be sure he wouldn’t hurt Hannah again, why he loved her and what his intentions were towards her with regards to marriage and children.

  At this point Hannah closed her office door and pleaded down the phone, ‘Oh, Dad, please tell me that you didn’t ask him that.’

  She could hear her dad’s pride on the other side of the phone when he answered, ‘I did. I saw how upset you were when you visited after he broke it off with you last year. I didn’t say anything. I know your mother tried to ask you why you were so down but that you said that you didn’t want to talk about it. And that’s fair enough. Sometimes we all need space. But I tell you this, I wasn’t going to let Laurent off lightly today.’

  Hannah sat heavily onto her chair, glad she’d given her presentation before this bombshell had landed. ‘I don’t know...’ She paused, feeling so lost and confused. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if he really loves me. I love him, but I know I can’t have my heart broken again.’

  She heard a rustling on the line and imagined her father running his hand back and forth over the crown of his head, as was his habit when thinking things through. ‘Your mother and I—’ He broke away and spoke to her mother, who was obviously standing right next to him. ‘Isn’t that right, Jan?’ Hannah could hear her mum murmur in assent. ‘Your mother and I have spent the last hour since Laurent left discussing whether we should tell you that he visited us. He didn’t ask us to. He said he just wanted to apologise to us and let us know how much he loves you.’

  A sizeable lump formed in Hannah’s throat to hear her dad say that Laurent loved her. She could hear the emotion in his voice, his concern. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate on what her father was saying. ‘I think we are good judges of character and believe he was being sincere.’

  There was a shuffling on the other side of the phone and then her mum spoke. ‘Follow your heart, Hannah. You’ll know deep down if you can trust him. If you can love him with all your heart. Listen to your instinct. Be honest with yourself, both why you want to be with him, but also if you decide not to be with him. Is it Laurent or something inside you holding you back?’

  Hannah ended the call wishing she could tap into that instinct her mother spoke about but it seemed to be encased in an ice pack of fear and doubt.

  Leaving work that evening, Hannah was once again on high alert, looking out for Laurent. Which wasn’t easy considering she had to peep over the biggest bunch of pastel-pink-and-lemon tea roses she’d ever seen. She had attempted leaving them in her office but as she’d walked to the lift, Amy, one of the juniors on her team, had run after her carrying them, exclaiming with an amused laugh that she couldn’t believe that Hannah had forgotten them.

  Hannah had been on the verge of telling Amy to keep the flowers but their arrival had caused enough consternation; Hannah didn’t need the added speculation from her team as to why she didn’t want to keep them.

  Taking the escalator down to the underground platforms at Liverpool Street station, Hannah stumbled as she tried to get her footing and cursed Laurent.

  He wasn’t going away easily.

  And in the crowded tunnels she cursed him again when she was thrown endless irritable looks from her fellow commuters, who clearly weren’t impressed with being whacked by a bunch of flowers.

  Then beyond a group of chattering and jostling visiting students she spotted a handmade sign posted onto the tunnel wall. Written on the plain white paper in thick black marker was one word.

  HANNAH

  Odd.

  A few feet further on, she glimpsed another sign.

  I

  The writing was familiar and sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. She wanted to stop and study it but the tide of commuters carried her on to another sign.

  LOVE

  And then another.

  YOU

  And at the entrance to th
e platform, where the crowd thinned out, there was yet another sign.

  IT’S YOU WHO BRINGS ME HAPPINESS

  Popping the flowers under her arm, not caring if they got squashed, Hannah pulled down the sign and then ran back and pulled down all the others, garnering strange looks as she did so, praying all the while that none of her colleagues had seen the signs.

  She was shaking when she ran back to the platform in time to squeeze onto a carriage before the doors shut.

  There were no seats available so she tucked herself into a corner and studied Laurent’s handwriting.

  At Waterloo station, she caught her train in a daze. And when she got to Richmond she braced herself to find him standing on the platform.

  But she swallowed down a gulp of disappointment with each step she took towards the exit, realising that he wasn’t there.

  She wanted to see him.

  His signs that she’d folded and placed inside her handbag, her disappointment that he was nowhere to be seen, were thawing her numbness.

  Turning into her street, she braced herself again, her gaze shooting towards the front door of her house. But there was no sign of him.

  Inside her apartment she crowded the tea roses into the three vases she owned and had no choice but to place the remaining flowers into a drinking glass.

  She changed into her black jeans and a sleeveless white lace top and waited for him to ring her intercom.

  An hour later she was angry and cross. What was he playing at?

  By nine o’clock she was a bundle of nerves. Had something happened to him? She pictured him lying on a hospital trolley.

  She picked up her phone. She needed to call him, make sure he was okay. She yelped when her intercom rang.

  She picked up the hand piece. ‘What the hell are you playing at, Laurent?’

  A young hesitant male voice answered, ‘Is that Hannah McGinley? I’ve a package for you.’

  Hannah ran down the stairs and apologised to the startled-looking delivery driver, who handed her a poster-sized package and legged it back to his van.

  Upstairs Hannah pulled off the plain brown paper wrapping to find a mood board beneath. She stared at the images on it, trying to understand what they all meant, a giddiness, a disbelief fizzing through her bloodstream. She gave a little cry when she spotted at the centre of the board a photograph of herself and Laurent high-fiving each other at Lara’s wedding. Her breath caught at the shared affection and familiarity in which they were smiling at one another, at how unbearably handsome Laurent looked with his shirtsleeves rolled up, evening shadow adding to his dark looks.

  She stared at the board, guessing what each photo and carefully written word might mean, desperate to hear Laurent’s explanation.

  She picked up her phone, realising he was going to wait for her to contact him.

  He was waiting to see if she would trust and believe him when he said he loved her.

  A hand resting on her stomach, she closed her eyes and listened to her instinct.

  Then she rang his number. When he answered she struggled to speak, completely overwhelmed by how tenderly, how nervously he said her name.

  Eventually she managed to ask, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I can be with you within half an hour.’

  Hannah sighed out her answer—‘Good!’—and hung up.

  * * *

  Laurent willed the taxi driver to drive faster but knew that they were already at the upper speed limits.

  Hannah had sounded upset on the phone.

  What was he facing?

  He lowered his window, needing some air.

  When he arrived at her apartment she buzzed him up without him even having to press the intercom button.

  He took the stairs slowly, dreading what might come.

  She was at her door waiting for him and with an uncertain smile turned and led him inside.

  It was only when she lifted the mood board he had delivered to her, and he saw how her hands were shaking, that he realised that she was as nervous as he was.

  ‘Will you explain what all these images mean?’

  He gave her a self-deprecatory smile. ‘Given how poorly I managed to explain myself verbally yesterday, I decided to follow your lead and show you in images the future I dream of for us both.’

  Taking hold of the board, he pointed to the various travel images on the top right-hand corner. ‘These are the places I want to visit with you. Costa Rica, Whistler, St Petersburg...’ Pausing to point to one image in particular, he added, ‘The Soap Museum in Antwerp.’

  He was gifted with an amused smile from Hannah and, taking courage from it, pointed to the image of four children on a beach, all looking cute but mutinous, their dark hair ruffled, clearly not impressed to have been forced to stop digging an enormous hole in the sand. ‘These four represent the children I want us to have, strong, independent, spirited children.’

  With trembling fingers she tucked a strand of her loose hair behind her ear and nodded for him to continue, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed.

  ‘And this couple, celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary with friends and family, I want that to be us. But of course we will be having champagne and brandy cocktails.’

  Touching the photo of the children, Hannah said, ‘Kim Ackerman, the croissants, the flowers, the signs, this board...are all incredible, but what means the most to me is that you went and visited my parents.’

  He swallowed at the raw vulnerable emotion in her voice, felt his heart about give way with the tension of it all. ‘Your parents deserved my apology. And I needed to show you how much I love you.’

  She took the mood board from his grasp and placed it down on the table. Then, coming in front of him, she stared up into his eyes, as though she was trying to fully know him. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’

  It wasn’t a question but more a statement of wonder.

  He wanted to reach out and touch her. But he stayed where he was, instinctively knowing he needed to give her space. ‘I realised I loved you one evening when waiting for you at Richmond station. Your smile when you got off your train and saw me lit a fire of happiness in me that was extraordinary in its power but also terrifying.’ He heard his voice crack and paused in a bid to gather himself before admitting, ‘I was terrified of loving you and being hurt.’

  She stepped towards him, her bare toes curling over the tops of his shoes. Her hand reached for his cheek; he closed his eyes at how tender her touch was. ‘I will never hurt you.’

  He opened his eyes and said the most honest words he’d ever spoken. ‘I know you won’t.’

  He touched her cheek, their gazes holding, holding, holding, silently communicating the wonder, the beauty, the hope of this moment. Then he gently kissed her, his heart aching with the honesty between them, his bones dissolving at the sensation of being in the place where you belonged, where you could be the true version of yourself.

  Reluctantly he pulled back, knowing they still had things to discuss.

  Taking her by the hand, he led her over to the sofa. When they were both seated, angled into one another, he asked, ‘Have you decided what you are going to do work-wise in the future?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘I told my senior partner that I’m leaving today.’

  Laurent flinched. ‘Are you still going to Granada?’

  She dipped her head for a moment. He braced himself. She hadn’t actually told him her feelings for him yet. She had never said that she loved him. When she looked back up, she tilted her head, gave him a shy smile. ‘There’s a château in Cognac that sounds more appealing.’

  He grinned at that but then, shuffling on the sofa, he said quietly, ‘I love you...but I still don’t know how you feel about me.’

  Hannah stared at him, perplexed, and then she started giggling. ‘I love you, of course! How could
you not know that?’ Lifting a pillow, she hit him with it playfully. ‘I love you, Laurent Bonneval. I love your loyalty to François, to your parents, to your family business. I love your kindness, your ability to read my mind, I love how sexy you look twenty-four-seven and I love the future you have mapped out for us. I love everything about you and will even tolerate the smelliest of cheeses in our fridge.’

  Laurent grinned and grinned and then, placing a tender kiss on her forehead, he knelt before her.

  Hannah paled.

  He cleared his throat, suddenly really nervous again. ‘I want to ask you something but I’m not sure if it’s too early.’

  Her eyes were glistening with tears. ‘I’m not going to change my mind about anything. I love you and want to move to be with you in Cognac.’

  ‘I spoke to your dad today, got his permission.’

  At that a tear dropped onto Hannah’s cheek. ‘You did?’

  ‘And when I got back to London this afternoon I went shopping.’

  Hannah gasped when he took a pale blue box from his blazer jacket. Holding it out towards her, he said with the honesty that he wanted to be the trademark of their marriage, ‘I’m still not sure I fully understand love, but I’m going to stop trying to understand it and just believe in it instead.’ Opening up the ring box, he held his breath as Hannah stared at the five-stone diamond ring.

  ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  He grinned at her softly spoken awe and, taking the ring out of the box, he took hold of her hand and asked, ‘Hannah, will you be my wife?’

  Hannah nodded, laughed, wiped away a tear from her cheek, laughed again, made a funny exclamation noise when he placed the ring on her finger and then grinned and grinned at him, her hands flapping in excitement.

  And when she calmed, she edged forward on the sofa, her hands capturing his face, her nose touching his. ‘I will love you for ever and ever, Laurent.’

  EPILOGUE