The Men and the Girls

by Joanna Trollope

She halted. He went on juggling pieces of china about in an absorbed way that was not at all encouraging. For a moment, a split-second, her heart failed her utterly, but it was over as soon as it had come. There was nothing for it but to go on. She must do what she had resolved to do, what she had come for, whatever the cost to herself. She would never forgive herself if she hadn’t at least tried, and nor could she go on with any kind of unanswered question cluttering up the way ahead. Because there was a way ahead, even if it wasn’t the way you had imagined. I won’t look back, Kate thought, I won’t succumb to ‘if onlys’ . . .

  ‘James,’ she said again, more firmly. She left the kettle and the mugs and the waiting spoonfuls of coffee, and came back to the table, and sat down opposite him. Then she took a deep and steadying breath and let it go.

  ‘I’ve come to ask,’ Kate said, ‘if you will marry me.’ Her question fell into silence like a stone down an empty well. It was only a tiny silence, but so complete that it told her all she needed to know.

  She leaned forward. ‘James,’ she said, ‘James.’

  He looked up at her. She tried a smile. She said, ‘I’ve left it too late. Haven’t I?’ and then she waited for his confirming nod.

  THE END