by Jessica Hart
Clara’s parents, evidently distracted from Derrida by Simon’s singing, were beaming broadly and clapping.
‘Excellent! Very well done!’
‘Clara’s always needed someone who will dance with her,’ said her father when Clara introduced Simon to them.
‘I’m not really much of a dancer,’ he confessed.
‘You looked like you were doing fine to us.’ Which just went to show how much her parents knew about dancing.
Her mother, it appeared, had noticed more than Clara had thought. ‘Are you the reason Clara has been so unhappy lately?’ she demanded, regarding Simon with the severity she reserved for students who hadn’t prepared for a seminar.
‘We don’t like Clara being unhappy,’ her father added. ‘She was born for laughter. The rest of us have our research, but Clara has an ability to enjoy life that we’ve always envied.’
Clara was astounded. All those years when she had felt inadequate and excluded in the family, and all the time they had been envying her? Could it be true? ‘But I thought…’ She broke off as the doorbell rang.
Her mother clicked her tongue. ‘That’ll be your student, Michael. You’d better go and let her in.’ She turned back to Clara and Simon with a twinkle. ‘If there are to be any more song and dance routines, you’ll have to keep the noise down, I’m afraid.’
‘I think once was enough,’ said Simon ruefully.
He took Clara’s hands as her parents disappeared. ‘Was once enough, Clara?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her fingers tightening around his. She knew just how much that dance must have cost him. ‘Oh, Simon, I can’t believe you did that for me!’
‘It was the only way I could think of to tell you how much I love you,’ he said. ‘I remembered what you said at that cottage about wanting to be the star of someone’s show, and I wanted to tell you that you’ll always be the star of mine.’
Clara’s throat was so tight, she could hardly talk. ‘Simon…’ was all she managed to choke out.
‘I love you, Clara,’ he said, his eyes locked on hers. ‘If you want me to sing and dance for you every day, I will.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Clara, finding her voice at last. Drawing her hands free, she put them on his shoulders, feeling his strength and his solidity. Letting herself believe that that was really happening.
‘You don’t need to dance for me, or sing for me, Simon. You just need to be you. You just need to be there. You just need to love me.’
‘I can do that,’ said Simon, so obviously relieved that she laughed, giddy with happiness, and he laughed too and kissed her. Wild joy surged along her veins, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
‘I missed you,’ she mumbled at last between kisses.
‘I missed you too.’
He held her tightly, and she leant against him with a great sigh of contentment. ‘I imagined you getting on with your quiet, comfortable life,’ she confessed.
‘I tried to,’ said Simon, ‘but it wasn’t comfortable without you. It was too quiet. There was no one to distract me or to sing or to make me laugh.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because I was imagining you having a great time without me. I thought you’d be out dancing or singing on tables, and I couldn’t imagine why you would possibly want to spend time with someone conventional like me.’
Clara’s body shook with laughter. ‘You’re never that, Simon. No one truly conventional would have come and demanded to dance in my parents’ garden shed!’ She pulled slightly away from him. ‘What was the shed about anyway?’
‘I wanted a summer house, like in The Sound of Music.’
She looked at him in amazement. ‘How on earth did you know about that? I didn’t think you’d even seen the film?’
‘I have now. I missed all those stupid songs you sing so much that I was actually reduced to buying the DVD!’
‘No?’ Clara was delighted. ‘So that’s where you learnt the words! And how did you work out the dance routine?’
‘That was my mother,’ Simon admitted, pulling her back against him. ‘I was desperate and I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask. I don’t know anyone else who dances. She enjoyed herself enormously, and said that if you were prepared to talk to me after seeing the way I danced, you must love me.’
‘She’s right,’ said Clara, kissing him. ‘I do.’
‘Now you know why I was so nervous when I arrived. I was terrified I would lose my nerve.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. I’ll never forget that dance on the patio!’ Her smile faded. ‘Seriously, I know how hard that was for you, Simon.’
‘I’ve learnt that letting go doesn’t have to mean losing everything,’ said Simon. ‘You’ve taught me that. Sometimes, taking a risk and letting go means you can win everything you’ve ever wanted.’ His pale eyes were warmer than Clara had ever seen them. How could she ever have thought of them as cold? ‘Sometimes you have to leave your safe home and climb that mountain, in fact.’
Clara laughed and pressed closer, breathing in the wonderful, familiar scent of him. ‘Who would have thought you’d ever be quoting from The Sound of Music?’
‘I’m not the only one who’s taken a risk, Clara.’ Simon’s expression grew serious. ‘Ted came to see me. He told me that you’d refused the producer job Roland offered you and walked out of MediaOchre.’
Her eyes slid from his. ‘Yes, well, we had a…difference of opinion.’
‘Clara, you really wanted to be a producer.’
‘Oh, well, you know I’m not very good at sticking with things.’
Simon drew her down onto the patio wall and turned her face to his. ‘You gave up that job for me,’ he said. ‘Ted showed me the film.’
She flushed at the memory. ‘It was awful, wasn’t it? But don’t worry, they won’t be able to show it. I refused to sign a release so, unless they make the film the way they originally planned it, they’re stuck.’
‘I know. Ted told me.’ Simon smiled crookedly. ‘I said I was happy for the film to go out as it was if you agreed. I promised him I’d try and persuade you to change your mind.’
‘What?’ Clara jerked upright to stare at him.
‘Ted’s right. It’s a great film.’
‘But it’s so…intimate.’
‘It’s true, Clara. There I am, fighting it all the way, and it’s clear as houses that I’m falling in love with you. I’m standing there saying one thing, and the viewer can see that I’m doing the opposite.’
‘I can’t understand why you’re being so reasonable about this,’ said Clara. ‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘I’m not embarrassed to love you,’ said Simon. ‘Yes, I look a fool, but that’s true too! And let’s face it, you won the argument. Romance won out over logic, fair and square.’
‘I don’t think I did win,’ she said thoughtfully, settling back into the curve of his arm. ‘I didn’t fall in love with you because we were in Paris, or on that beautiful beach. I fell in love because even when things went wrong, you were there for me, to hold the umbrella, or fetch a bucket, to give me your jacket or stop me worrying.’
She tilted her f
ace up to his. ‘And what did I ever do for you except drag you out into the rain and strand you halfway up a mountain with no food and throw up all over you?’
‘They’re all precious memories to me,’ he said, straight-faced.
‘Those places weren’t romantic in the end,’ said Clara. ‘But a truly terrible dance routine…that was romantic. I don’t need a dance partner, Simon. I need someone who’s prepared to take a risk for me, someone who’ll grit his teeth and make a fool of himself to show me that he loves me.’
‘And I need someone who’ll make me laugh and push me out of my comfort zone and make me feel,’ said Simon, gathering her into him for a long, sweet kiss.
‘I think we should let them show that programme, Clara,’ he said much later when he lifted his head. ‘Tell Roland he can do it if he makes you a producer.’
‘It would be good,’ said Clara, tempted. ‘I’ve missed my job.’
‘I didn’t think much of the ending, though, did you? Why don’t we suggest a better one?’
‘Hmm, there’s a thought. We could sing in a music festival and then escape over some mountains. That would give it the drama it’s rather lacking at the moment.’
‘It’s an interesting idea,’ Simon agreed, ‘but I was thinking that it might be a nice touch to end with something a bit more tame. Like a wedding, for instance.’
Clara primmed her lips, pretending to consider the idea, but her eyes danced. ‘A wedding?’
‘Yes. I thought it would tie up a few loose ends. Of course, it would mean us getting married,’ he said. ‘Do you think that would work?’
‘Do you know, I think it might,’ she said, kissing him. ‘I think it would make a perfect ending.’
‘Or a perfect beginning,’ said Simon, kissing her back.
In the garden, a blackbird started to sing, a pure trill of joy. Clara felt the sunshine on her shoulders and Simon’s warm arm around her, and when she pressed her face into his throat and breathed in the scent of his skin, she thought she would shatter with happiness.
Now she knew what Julie Andrews had been singing about when she wondered what she had done to deserve being loved by the Captain.
Clara thought about Simon, about the serious, formidably intelligent, heart-shakingly attractive man he was, and it seemed so incredible that he could actually love her that she wondered if she really were dreaming. They were so different. It was hardly any time since he had categorically refused to have anything to do with her. No, no, no, no, no, no, he had said.
‘Simon, are you sure you want to marry me?’ she asked, and she felt him smile against her temple.
‘Yes,’ said Simon.
* * *
Tonight on Channel 16
8.00 p.m. How to Fall in Love (When You Really Don’t Want To) *****
Surprisingly absorbing examination of romance and whether it really exists, with Simon Valentine, whose incisive analysis of the financial situation has won him a legion of female fans—all of whom are likely to be disappointed by the chemistry that fairly sizzles between him and his co-presenter. Worth watching just for the ending. Have a hankie handy!
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781459226128
Copyright © 2012 by Jessica Hart
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