Sophie's Turn

by Nicky Wells

  After the film, we had lunch and then it was time for an afternoon nap.

  “You should try and get some rest, too,” Dan encouraged me. “Although the gig is early, it’ll be an extremely long night.”

  I was quite tired anyway after my early start to the day and had no objections to zoning out for a while, even though, as I well knew from the previous gigs, we would each have our respective naps in our different rooms because Dan needed space to calm his nerves before a show. I was all in favor of grabbing some extra sleep and taking a shower to start the day anew, and I didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to his ominous announcement that it would be a long night.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Paris show was a huge success. I hadn’t really expected anything else, but the guys were, as always, surprised at themselves and exhilarated afterwards. Personally, I didn’t think I would ever tire of watching them perform and listening to their music. Although I had seen the show many times now, I still marveled at what the band accomplished, and I still got excited about just being there.

  Given that we had to clear out so early, the gig finished at nine-thirty. The obligatory after-party was at a club close by the hotel. Jack had decided that a funky venue would be more appropriate this time than a hotel function room, and we piled eagerly into the basement dance hall complete with its own bar. Folks began dancing immediately and the room was jam-packed with people—and with languages ranging from English and French to German and assorted other European tongues. How and where Jack managed to rustle up such a long and diverse guest list for these after-parties, I would never begin to understand. I had asked once but just got a wink and a nudge, with the comment of trade secret. But the crowd pulled the paparazzi and the paparazzi took plenty of pictures, and that was exactly what Jack had intended.

  Strangely enough, the after-party was one of the aspects of touring with the band that I found a bit tiresome by then. Granted, I was obviously still fascinated by the glitterati, but I had never been a party girl per se and I found it hard to mix and keep up with the pace. Parties were really only my thing if I knew lots of people there, and the very nature of an after-party meant that I knew nobody but the band. Of course the band was forever busy posing for pictures, handing out autographs, air kissing starlets and fans, and schmoozing with important people. Occasionally, I felt like a gooseberry, and I was desperate for an inconspicuous hidey-hole where I could watch and relax but would not be expected to take part.

  I sipped my drink and retreated into a dark corner where I could lounge on a club chair. I tried to look as though I was with someone in particular. I was with someone in particular, but that someone had disappeared. This was almost as bad as being single. I wondered whether I would ever find a strategy for coping at these events should Dan and I…Ah, but that would never happen.

  And then suddenly, there he was again. Dan. With his boyish smile and his silky blue shirt and his eyes, only for me. He pulled me off my chair.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  I looked around wildly.

  “What, really? You can’t leave now—it’s your party.”

  “Rubbish,” he said simply. “I’ve done all the pictures, kissed all the right faces, and some of the right behinds—I’m done for tonight. If we make a quick exit, no one will notice. Come on,” he urged again. He had already got our coats and dragged me bodily up the stairs.

  I giggled. “I can’t help thinking that we’re like a pair of teenagers escaping from the school fête for a bit of howdy-doody,” I snorted as we were racing down the street. “Is this how it’s going to be, always?”

  Dan laughed, too. “I know what you mean, and no, it isn’t. But sometimes it’s fun to play at escaping, don’t you think?”

  We were still on foot, heading down the street toward the hotel. Dan held my hand tightly; it was just about half past ten. When we got to the hotel, I was prepared to turn in, but Dan walked on, pulling me further down the road.

  “Where are we going?” I wanted to know, experiencing that familiar thrill at being led to the unknown in a strange city by—let’s face it—a strange man. Now that made it all worthwhile. I was seriously addicted to that thrill. The thrill of doing naughty, slightly dangerous, perhaps even illicit things.

  “I want to show you something,” Dan replied. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Suddenly I realized that we were in the Jardin des Tuileries. Far from deserted, it was heaving with people. The big Ferris wheel loomed at the back, every carriage brightly lit up. But in addition, there was some kind of Christmassy funfair going on. There were little stalls selling food, and the scent of crêpes and roasted almonds filled the air with a powerful sweet perfume. There were also stalls selling arts and crafts. And there were proper funfair entertainment contraptions, bumper cars, a small rollercoaster, and a merry-go-round.

  “Let’s start with the Ferris wheel,” Dan suggested, eagerly pulling me forward. At this time of night, despite the people milling around, the queue was short and we found ourselves in our own little carriage within minutes. Up and up we went, and then we were at the top and had a view over the whole of Paris. It was mighty cold in the open gondola, and Dan and I huddled closely together to benefit from each other’s warmth. Down we went, and up and round again. It was truly magical and I wished the ride would never end. On the third circuit, we started kissing. Furtively at first, but then more passionately. This was Paris, after all, and people didn’t give a hoot whether two lovers were kissing in a public space.

  The cold contrasted wildly with the heat of Dan’s lips, and I felt dizzy. Every now and then, a gust of wind would rock the gondola gently and, after we had let go of the little steering wheel in the middle, the carriage started turning gently around its axis. As often happened with Dan, time appeared to have ceased and we were both surprised when we found ourselves on the ground and stationary again, a guard asking us vehemently to vacate the gondola.

  When we got off, I felt as though I was walking on clouds—another sensation that was endemic to being round Dan, and one that I was highly addicted to. We were both freezing now, and Dan decided that we should have some mulled cider to warm us up from the inside. I had never had mulled cider before, but it wasn’t dissimilar to mulled wine—sweeter still and slightly fizzy—but wonderful to taste and swallow. Soon, we felt aglow again. And then I saw the magic old roundabout. It was a merry-go-round, but it was properly old-fashioned with wooden horses that went up and down on their little poles as the carousel turned.

  “Oh…can we go on this one?” I pointed.

  “Of course,” Dan agreed. “Let’s go.”

  During our lengthy ride on the Ferris wheel, the funfair had emptied of people and we were the last customers wanting access to this particular old merry-go-round. Initially, the operator was a little disgruntled, but then he looked at our shiny faces and the way we held hands and he relented.

  “Parce que vous êtes amoureux,” he stated and cranked up the organ to give us full musical accompaniment.

  “What did he say?” Dan whispered into my ear.

  “Because you are in love,” I translated simply. Dan looked at me, and then squeezed my hand.

  “What a lovely thing to say,” he stated. But before I had a chance to ask what he could possibly mean, the operator indicated that we should choose our horses and the ride began.

  It was magical. I had always wanted to go on one of these things, and even though it was slower than a modern funfair apparatus, it was more exciting. The music and the round-and-round motion and the up-and-down rocking combined to make this the archetypical funfair event, and I couldn’t understand why there weren’t more of these old relics around.

  I turned around to see how Dan was doing, and he was laughing and shrieking just as much as I was.

  “This is great,” he bellowed, and then reached out his hand to see if he could hold mine. Round and round we swirled as we tried to grasp each other’s hands,
but the a-synchronous up-and-down motions of our little horses made that rather difficult. Eventually, Dan decided to swap horses and picked the gaudy stallion just slightly to the front of me. That horse was more in line with my own steed’s up-and-down motion, but the distance to reach was greater. I nearly wet myself with laughter observing Dan’s antics. And then, effortlessly, we were holding hands across our respective horses. Dan had turned around and sat backwards on his so that he now faced me. Breathless, we concentrated on holding hands for a little while as our horses rocked and the merry-go-round revolved.

  “Sophie,” Dan eventually shouted.

  “What?” I shouted back.

  “Sophie, would you marry me?”

  “But of course I would! What kind of question is that,” I whooped without a second’s thought. Dan smiled delightedly. I wasn’t really paying much attention. I had always dreamed of him popping this question, even before I had first met him, and to say anything but “yes” would have been ridiculous. Plus, of course, I knew he didn’t mean it. It was just a game to him. He had used the conditional, after all. Would you marry me, not will you marry me. Would you marry me in different circumstances, Sophie? And my answer made complete sense, too. Why of course, Dan, I would marry you, if I weren’t already engaged to be married to someone else.

  But it was still good that he had asked. I hugged that little thought to me, feeling the luckiest girl alive even though there was no substance in this proposal. It was a wonderful way of rounding out this dream-come-true experience of a lifetime.

  When the merry-go-round ride finished and we had to get off, we were giddy with excitement and elation. Most of the lights of the funfair were now extinguished. The Jardin was almost in complete darkness. It was long after midnight, time to go home.

  Or not?

  “Time for dinner,” Dan declared.

  “Dinner? What, now? Where?” I was stunned. But I was a little hungry—as always—so food didn’t seem an altogether bad idea. I just couldn’t see how we would get any dinner at this hour, except perhaps at the hotel.

  “I’ve booked us a table at a little bistro not too far from here. You’ll like it,” Dan announced, and we were off again.

  He had booked us a table? That meant he had planned the whole evening; running away from the after-party had been a calculated event. The funfair had been planned. He had thought about what he wanted to do with me tonight and made arrangements well in advance. I was flattered. Delighted. Delirious. All this trouble—just for me.

  “Are you sure they’ll be open at this hour?” I asked, ever doubting. I was used to London nightlife, but even there, dinner after midnight would be ambitious.

  “This is Paris, Sophie. They’re open until two in the morning. They’ll be serving the midnight menu now, I would have thought.”

  Midnight menu?

  He had seen the question on my face. “Light bar foods and snacks. We won’t be going for a three-course meal just now, don’t you worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” I retorted. “I could probably manage three courses. But snacks sound great.”

  The place was called La Baguette and it claimed to be one of the most authentic little eateries in Paris. Inside, it was spacious, with a fantastically high, molded ceiling and those tiny little tables that forced occupants to huddle together around their food. As always, Dan had secured a table in a far corner to afford us some privacy, and I sat down with delightful anticipation. Had I really been ready to go home to the hotel a few short minutes ago? Surely not, I was wide awake.

  Dan hadn’t promised too much. We had lots of little French treats. Fresh baguette—warm still from the oven—with butter, olives, and cheese. I ordered a mini portion of steak-frîtes and Dan had a croque-monsieur with eggs and ham. We picked up where we had left off at the Royal all that time ago. Gazing at each other and communicating by looks rather than words. The lateness of the hour, the cozy warmth and the delicious food spun together into a little cocoon that we inhabited just by ourselves and very contentedly. Why couldn’t life always be this simple and straightforward?

  Perish the thought. Just as I thought that I could happily spend the rest of my life like this, things turned out to be far more complicated than I could ever have anticipated.

  With the coffee, the waiter brought a bottle of champagne. I didn’t think much of that at first; Dan was forever producing bottles of champagne.

  “Avec les bons compliments de la maison,” the waiter announced cheerfully. “Aux amoureux.” And he poured two glasses, and then left us.

  “On the house?” I repeated. “For the lovers?”

  Dan nodded innocently. “Looks like it.”

  “What’s going on?”

  In response, he produced a little box that he placed delicately on the table in front of me. “This is for you. If you meant it.”

  “If I meant what?” I asked, taking the box and opening it. Then I gasped. I was entirely unprepared for what was inside, although given that I had been through a similar scene not too long ago, I should have read the signs better.

  Dan was giving me a ring.

  It was beautiful. Made of an intricate yellow-gold and white-gold band, it had a little nest of diamonds at the apex with a single blue stone—sapphire? I never was any good with these things—in the middle. I looked up, opened and closed my mouth. He was serious.

  Dan took my left hand. We both examined it for a few seconds, focusing on the bare ring finger. The absence of Tim’s engagement ring was conspicuous, if somewhat unintended. I had had to take it off at the hospital the first time I went to see Dad. I had had to wash my hands with that clinical soap stuff, and it made the ring so slippery that I nearly lost it down the plug hole. So I had taken it off and stuffed it in my trouser pocket, and then never remembered to put it back on. Evidently, Dan had observed the absence of Tim’s engagement ring and drawn his own conclusions.

  Now, Dan removed his ring from its box and held it up, poised and ready to put it on my hand.

  “May I?” he asked shyly, seeking confirmation.

  I nodded. I didn’t know what else to do. I was in shock, partly at the seriousness of his proposal, partly at the realization that I seemed to have terminated my engagement to Tim without noticing it.

  The ring slid down my finger and came to nestle snugly at its base. It looked wonderful. The band was just the right width for my hand and the diamonds sparkled brightly while the blue stone glowed serenely.

  “Dan,” I started, compelled to say something.

  “Sophie,” Dan began at the same time. We laughed.

  “Me first,” Dan insisted. “Before you can say anything silly. What with all that you’ve been through.”

  His claim staked successfully, he paused to gather the right words.

  “You probably thought I was joking on that merry-go-round,” he opened after a few seconds. “But I wasn’t. I have been thinking about this for weeks. I have not stopped thinking about you since you first turned up at that gig in Islington. Everything I said to you in the Royal that morning, I meant. Every word. You are different. You are the first woman…certainly since Irene…who has captured me wholly. You aren’t just after Dan, the rock star. You want me. And you are so…funny. Caring. Lovely. Sexy. Different. There aren’t enough words to describe what I feel for you. But when you’re not around, I’m not whole. When you had to go away, you left me empty and listless. I can’t be like that. I need you. I want to spend my life with you.”

  I blinked. This was seriously serious stuff. This was a proper proposal. His words were full of emotion and honesty. What was I to do?

  “There is the matter of Tim,” Dan continued earnestly. “You made a commitment to him. And you have made it plenty clear that you intend to keep that commitment. Or at least, that you had intended to. But Sophie, since we’ve been on tour together, something has changed about you. In you. I don’t think I imagined that, did I? I know we said ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’
, and that’s true. But I don’t think that that’s what happened here. Correct me if I’m wrong,” he looked at me pleadingly. “But you want to be with me. Don’t you?”

  It was time for me to say something, and I wasn’t capable of subterfuge.

  “I do. Oh Dan, if only you knew how much I want to be with you. Have always wanted to. You’re right, something has changed on tour. But I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know if that’s for real. Everything has happened so fast.”

  I had to stop and blow my nose as ever-annoying tears made an appearance in my eyes. Why couldn’t I have a normal conversation like normal people?

  “I do love you. So much. Have always loved you, in one way or another. But you were unattainable. You were Dan. Of Tuscq. Lover to many girls, faithful to none. I dreamed of capturing you, of making you mine. I wanted to be yours. And I do still want to be yours. But how can I make such a decision, right now?”

  How could I make such a decision, right then? I was still engaged to Tim—there was no way round that. Okay, engagements could be broken, but that would be a pretty significant step, and not one I had ever thought I would contemplate. Was it the right step? Was I ready, was this me? Was Dan the right choice for me? Was Tim the wrong choice? How did I end up caught between these two very, very different men?

  “The fairy-tale ending to this evening would be if I shouted an unreserved ‘yes’, and we lived happily ever after,” I continued. “But I can’t do that. I would marry you, I meant what I said. I would marry you in an instant if I were free to do so. But as it is, I’m going to have to do some serious thinking. I can’t just back out of my life and overturn every…moral principle I’ve been brought up to believe in. I want to, believe me. I so do. But I need some time to think. Can you understand that?”

  I bored my eyes into his, willing him to feel what I felt, to understand that I hadn’t rejected him, that I wasn’t even stalling…but that I simply couldn’t just go ahead at a moment’s notice.