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‘No, Gemma, I have never proposed. I’ve never met anyone I’ve wanted to spend forever with.’
I waited for a totally inappropriate ‘until now’ to be added to the end of his sentence. But obviously it never came. I cast a blameful glance at my glass of champagne.This is all your fault, I told it silently. It was only much, much later that I realised that for once Finn had called me by my correct name when answering my question.
As the car ate through the miles to our mystery destination, Finn steered our conversation away from all things personal with the skill of a hawk riding a thermal current. I never saw the movement of his wings, but we swooped seamlessly between innocuous topics on an invisible slipstream. He really must have been an excellent journalist, because his interviewing technique put mine to shame.
‘We should be there in about five minutes,’ said the driver’s voice, making me jump when it came through on the car’s intercom.
I swivelled in my seat to peer out of the window again, this time catching my first glimpse of a long slice of blue on the horizon.
‘We’re at the coast,’ I declared in surprise, amazed to find we’d got there so quickly. But a quick glance at the clock set into the limo’s leather upholstery revealed that we’d actually been driving for a couple of hours.
I don’t think I had ever wanted time to slow down as much as I did right at that moment.Make it go backwards, or at least make it go slower,I wished like a child. I wanted there to be no yesterday and no tomorrow, just one long, endless tonight.
*
Within minutes of leaving the motorway, we were deep in a maze of twisty coastal lanes that seemed to grow ever narrower the closer we got to our destination; I began to fear for the limo’s immaculate paintwork as hedgerows reached out with thorny fingers. We squeezed down lanes so tight, I had no idea what would happen if we met an oncoming vehicle. Thankfully, before we had the chance to find out, the driver flicked on the indicator and we drove through a brick-pillared entrance.
‘The Manor House,’ I said, reading the name on the discreetly positioned signage. Below the name of the hotel was an impressive number of Michelin stars that had been awarded to its restaurant.
The driveway was lined with tall poplar trees, lit by spotlights that would come into their own in the next hour or two when the sun finally went down.
The building itself was hidden from view for the first few curves of the gravelled approach road, offering just occasional tantalising glimpses through the branches of the majestic poplars. I caught sight of a window, ablaze in the low evening sunlight, a hint of gabled roof, and then a towering chimney stack. Finally, the building finished its game of peek-a-boo and revealed itself as we swung on to a circular forecourt.
It was the kind of place people booked for their wedding venue. People who didn’t have to worry about how many zeros were on the end of their invoice, that is. Perhaps even more impressive than the period property were its immaculate grounds. In a spell as hot and dry as the one we were currently experiencing, I was truly mystified how everything was still so green and lush, when every single plant on my tiny balcony was now a crispy brown version of its former self.
‘This place looks amazing,’ I said, turning towards Finn with an expression of delight.
‘You’ve not seen the best bit yet,’ Finn declared as the limo came to a stop in a flurry of gravel chips. He climbed out of the car first and then turned back to give me his hand. Even though I’d been successfully getting in and out of vehicles unaided for the last twenty-five years or so, I happily took it, because I liked the feel of his fingers curled around mine.
I took in a slow 360-degree panorama of The Manor House’s grounds, breathing in an intoxicating combination of newly mown grass and the smell of the sea. I couldn’t see it, but I could definitely hear the subtle swish of waves above the chorus of evening birdsong. Finn was busy giving the driver instructions while I continued to drink in the perfection of our surroundings.
I turned at the sound of the engine starting up, in time to see the limousine heading down the driveway. With a blink of brake lights, it was gone.
‘Is he coming back?’ I asked, surprised to discover how little I’d have cared if Finn’s reply was ‘No’.
‘Of course he is,’ Finn said, trying to look wounded at my lack of faith. ‘You really do have a very warped opinion of me, don’t you?’
Unexpectedly, the conversation had suddenly turned serious. ‘I did. Once. A few years ago,’ I admitted. ‘But I have to be honest – I’m revising it pretty rapidly right now.’
The smile that brought was the kind I wanted to photograph and put in a frame.
‘Come on,’ Finn said, holding out his hand to me once more. ‘Let me show you the real reason I brought you all this way just for dinner.’
My fingers slipped easily into his grip, as though they were puzzle pieces that had finally found the place they were meant to be. I shook my head in disbelief at my own thoughts. That’s the Bollinger speaking, I told myself. And that was true to a degree, but it wasn’t the only reason.
I had imagined that Finn would lead us towards the enormous double doors at the front of the hotel, which were thrown wide open, welcoming in the warm July evening, but instead we crunched through the deep gravel to one side of the building. Long before we emerged from the shadow of the hotel, I could hear the sea again, much louder now as it crashed somewhere below us on to what I assumed was a rock face.
‘Close your eyes,’ said Finn, slowing his pace.
‘I’ll trip,’ I warned him, having already found the deep gravel chippings a little challenging in my heels. ‘Have we covered the fact that I’m congenitally clumsy yet?’
He chuckled softly. ‘No, I don’t believe we have. But don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.’
‘Or push me off a cliff,’ I added, trying to revive some of the banter that was evaporating into something that had begun to feel serious. This was ridiculous. Feelings didn’t grow this fast. They took time to develop and mature. And yet I felt like I’d been torpedoed into a relationship that had been building for weeks or even months.
‘Close your eyes, Genevieve,’ Finn instructed, trying and failing to pull off a long-suffering tone.
We took a dozen steps, and Finn was as good as his word. His right hand gripped mine firmly, while his left moved to my waist, ensuring that even if I did stumble, he’d be there to catch me.
