by Liz Fielding
‘It’s a house for a family, Lucy. I’ll build it if you’ll help me fill it.’
‘Fill it?’
‘With kittens, puppies, your mother. Our children.’ There was a still moment when the world seemed to hold its breath. ‘I love you, Lucy Bright. Will you marry me?’
‘I…’
‘It’s a big decision. You’ll need time to think about it.’
‘Yes…’ For a moment the world seemed to hang on its axis. Then she said, ‘I’ve thought about it.’ And, reaching for the single button holding together the green-gold silk Lucy B jacket that she was wearing, ‘How soon can you get that door open?’
Lucy hadn’t got it free when he pushed the door open, but this time he was the one who came to a shocked halt.
‘A little extra glow,’ she said as he took in the eight-foot Christmas tree laden with toys and candy canes and painted glass balls. A replica of the one in the grotto. Or had she just had it shifted? Frank would do anything for her.
There were swathes of greenery, a forest of plants sparkling with tiny white lights. Thick red pillar candles.
‘I used my Louise Braithwaite store card,’ she said. ‘This is your Christmas gift from the elf.’
Then she let her jacket slip to the floor, raised her arms.
‘But this one is from me. With all my heart, Nathaniel. All my love. All you have to do is unwrap it and enjoy.’
Lucy gazed at the familiar view. The rugged landscape, the deep blue of the distant sea. Familiar but different. And she smiled.
These days, when they bumped down the track in the big black Range Rover, the rocky ledge was topped by a long, low house that appeared to grow out of it. That over the years had become so much part of the landscape that it deceived the eye. The glass wall facing the sea a perfect reflection of the land. The rock and stone indivisible. One. Like the two of them.
Nathaniel turned to the rear. ‘Out you get, boys. Let’s get the car unloaded.’ Then, as their two sturdy lads scrambled out, whooping to be free, eager to get at the sand, the sea, he reached across, laid his hand across her expanding waist, his eyes more silver than grey. ‘Okay?’
‘Absolutely. Our little girl and I will sit here and enjoy the view while you unload.’
‘You’re facing the house,’ he pointed out.
‘I know. It’s my favourite view in all the world.’ The house that he had designed for himself, built for her. More beloved than any palace. Just as he was so much more than any Prince Charming. Her rock. Her partner. Her beloved husband. The father of her children. A man at peace with life, with himself.
‘Can we pitch the tent, Daddy?’
‘I want to build a den.’
‘What do you want, Lucy B?’ Nathaniel asked, taking her hand, lifting it to his lips.
‘I’ve got everything I ever wanted,’ she said. ‘How about you?’
‘I have you, Lucy. Everything else follows from that,’ he said, leaning across to kiss her.
Liz Fielding
Liz Fielding was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain-with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills, and these days mostly lets her pen do the traveling. When she’s not sorting out the lives and loves of her characters she potters in the garden, reads her favorite authors and spends a lot of time wondering What if…? For news of upcoming books-and to sign up for her occasional newsletter-visit Liz’s website at www.lizfielding.com.
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