Anyway, even without that particular detail, by the time I’ve finished recounting everything Ollie’s looking a bit shell-shocked.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been worrying about that all this time?”
I nod and he hugs me hard.
“I’m so, so sorry if anything I’ve said or done has made you feel insecure. Believe me, that’s the total opposite of what I was intending.” He shakes his head. “What a bloody irony! I was working all those hours for us, Katy! I wanted to be able to offer you a future.”
“And I wanted to do the same with my writing!” I cry.
We stare at each other and burst out laughing.
“What a pair we make,” says Ollie. “No more secrets now though, OK?”
“No more secrets,” I agree. “So, flights to New York aside, what else have you not been telling me? And don’t even try to change the subject. No more secrets, you just said!”
“Sometimes,” Ollie says with feeling, “I really need to keep my big mouth shut!”
“I’ve told you everything,” I say, snuggling against him. Wow, this is a vivid dream. He even smells delicious and Ollie-like. “So now it’s your turn to tell me what’s been going on. After all, you’ve been keeping secrets too.”
“I don’t deny it,’ he nods. “But actually, I think I can go one better. Why don’t Pinchy and I show you exactly what I’ve been keeping secret?”
I stare at him. “What?”
He points to the string. “Why don’t you give that a tug and see? Pinchy’s been looking after something for me. That’s why I needed to get you here. After all, it’s really down to Pinchy that we’re together in the first place, so it only seems fair he helps out now. I couldn’t believe my luck when he showed up again. It was like fate! It was perfect!”
It’s official: the stress of teaching has got to Ollie. Still, I’m curious now and sure enough the string is in Pinchy’s tank. Right, I’ll give it a yank and – oh!
Water splashes onto my bare shoulder as the string whips out of the water so fast that both Pinchy and I leap back. There’s a clatter on the floor. What? Something’s attached to the string I’ve just pulled out of the water.
I wonder what it is? I’ll just bend down and pick it up…
Hold on. It looks like… looks like…
A ring. A beautiful square-cut ring, exactly like the ones I was looking at in the magazines! It is! It’s a ring!
“Is that what I think it is?” I breathe, turning it around in my hands and not able to believe my eyes.
“I don’t know,” grins Ollie. “What do you think it is?”
My mouth is dry. “A ring?”
“Well done, Miss Marple,” he says. “What kind of ring do you deduce this might be?”
“An engagement ring?” I whisper and he nods slowly.
“Of course it is. Phew. What a relief to tell you at last. I really thought the game was up when you saw that bank statement.”
Suddenly lots of things are becoming very clear. No wonder Ann never got her necklace.
“I can’t think how I got the idea for what kind of ring you wanted,” he adds wryly. “It’s almost like somebody left some very big hints lying around the house.”
“Rubbish – they were incredibly subtle,” I protest. “They must have been, since it’s taken you five years to get them.”
“Ah yes. Time for me to explain all that,” Ol says.
Hand in hand, we sit down next to Pinchy’s tank and slowly he tells me how all the extra work he was doing at school was to try to pay for the ring and a romantic proposal – but each time he thought the bank balance was looking healthy something happened to wipe it out and take him back to square one. There’s quite a list, now he comes to mention it: cars (I never knew that if you drove a diesel through water it could write the engine off, and I swear that puddle looked very shallow); replanting his mother’s entire garden (how was I to know what those seeds really were that Dad gave Ann one Christmas?); shorting the wiring (we all know about the lava lamp); and then the floor, of course, as well as all our usual bills and the leaky roof.
“I’d saved for the ring finally and I had enough to take you to New York at half-term,” Ollie says, kissing me so tenderly that I melt like ice cream. “I’ve paid for it all by doing extra marking and tutoring. I didn’t want to spend a penny of the money in the joint account, because that was both of ours. I wanted all of this to be from me to you, because that’s how it should be for a romantic proposal. After all, I can’t imagine Darcy would expect Lizzy Bennet to pay for her own ring!”
“The dress, the suite, the flights.” I’m blown away. “You paid for all of it, didn’t you? Not Frankie?”
Ollie smiles. “Much as I love my cousin I’m not letting him take the credit for this! Look, Katy, I know I’ve been hard to live with and I’ve been working long hours but this is why. I hope you can forgive me for keeping all these secrets? That was the bit I really didn’t like.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I say. “If anything it’s me who should be apologising for ever doubting you in the first place.”
“Secrets suck,” says Ollie. “I should know, since I’ve been keeping enough of them. I took on exam marking and crammer classes, and I tutored pupils at school in the evening too. I had to put a lock on my phone in case you saw the messages from my tutees’ parents. That would have given the game away. Luckily Carolyn knew I was planning this and she made all the arrangements with them and backed me up. She’s been brilliant. She and Sam even let me use their house.”
Lord. I don’t think I could feel much worse. I got it all wrong, didn’t I? Just as well I’m not a member of the Scooby-Doo team. I’d pull the mask off the villain and it would be totally the wrong person underneath.
“Mads knew too, didn’t she? And Holly!” I cry. Now it’s all making sense. No wonder they’ve been so odd recently. “I knew they were up to something!”
Ollie laughs. “Of course they did. I needed them on side to keep you off the scent. And Frankie knew, of course, and Guy – he’s been brilliant getting me into here tonight. He’s pulled all kinds of strings and I probably owe him gallons of beer, but it’s worth it because having Pinchy here completes the journey. Do you know, I’m actually glad I never cooked him!”
We glance at Pinchy. Is it my imagination or does he seem relieved too? At any rate, I’m pretty sure he looks away when we start kissing…
“Ol,” I say eventually, when we break apart, “I never want you to have to work that hard again. I have much better things in mind for you than marking extra exam papers! I’ll go back to teaching and give up being Isara Lovett, even if the publisher makes a fuss. Your career is more important than writing for Throb.”
He traces my cheek tenderly. “I do love my job, Katy, but I love you far, far more. And anyway, I’ve already handed in my notice at St Jude’s. I don’t want anything or anyone in my life who isn’t proud of my fiancée. Besides, I’m rather looking forward to meeting Isara Lovett! I thought I might even ask the Waldorf’s room service if they have any clothes pegs and cabbages!”
I shudder. “I think I’d rather live on cabbages than write another book for Throb. Hope you don’t mind starving, Ollie. They’ll probably sue me for breaking the contract – and I can’t imagine many schools will be keen to hire Isara Lovett to teach English.”
Ollie’s eyes crinkle at me. “From what I’ve heard, Isara Lovett has a fine command of Anglo-Saxon. Anyway, I think you might find that Nicky has a solution. I’ll say one thing for my little brother: he’s enterprising. Why work your naked arse off when you can tell the commissioning editor of Throb that you’re really Isara Lovett and earn even more money sitting on your arse typing?”
My jaw drops. “He didn’t?”
“He did,” says Ollie. “And it looks like they’ve gone for it and you’re off the hook – with Throb anyway. They were so happy with the last book they don’t care who really wrote it, just as long as
there’s more to come. But off the hook with my parents? Now that’s another matter. Explaining all this to their friends should be interesting!”
I gulp. “At least it will fund Nicky’s gap year.”
“And beyond, from what I’ve heard,” Ol smiles. “He’ll do very well. This is Nicky we’re talking about after all. He’ll probably be Prime Minister by the time he’s twenty-five. Or inside!”
I feel like an enormous Throb-sized weight’s just fallen from my shoulders. OK, so Ollie and I will be jobless and penniless pretty soon, but at least we’re free from the burdens we’ve both been carrying. And that’s priceless.
“Talking of money,” Ollie continues, “I had a phone call from my father just before I left. Remember I told you Dad confiscated those bottles you’d found under the floor?”
“Cecily Greville’s treasure?” I grimace. I think I still have the splinters from pulling up the floorboards that night. The floor looks as though it has a few extra bumps and dents, and my pride certainly does. “I’m still embarrassed about that.”
“Don’t be,” says Ollie. “That’s why Dad was calling. You know what a wine buff he is, and when he saw those bottles he was intrigued. He took them away for analysis and guess what? They’re full of Sazerac de Forge cognac.”
“Great!” I say. Actually I have no idea if this is great or not, but if it puts me in the good books with Geoff then I’m happy. Hooray for Sazerac de Forge, I say!
“It’s better than great!” Taking my hands, Ollie pulls me to my feet and starts to waltz me around the room. “Katy! That stuff’s worth over ten grand a bottle! You did find the treasure after all! You dug up an absolute fortune!”
I’m stunned. Those dusty old bottles are worth ten grand each?
“Well,” I say, giving him my I told you so look, “didn’t I say there was treasure under that floor?”
“You certainly did – so never, ever doubt yourself,” says Ollie, kissing me and twirling me around some more. “Yes, you’re crazy and impulsive and impossible to live with but I wouldn’t have you any other way. You’re Katy Carter and I love you exactly as you are.”
Then he lets go of me and drops to one knee. He reaches for my hand. The room feels so very quiet suddenly, and all I can hear is the racing of my heart.
“Katy Carter,” Ollie says softly, “five years ago on Tregowan quay I asked you to marry me and I meant it, every word, but I had nothing to offer you except a red setter, a heap of debts and a rusting camper van. You’re worth so much more and I wanted to be able to give you everything, to be able to do this properly and in style just like one of your romantic heroes. Darcy perhaps? Or maybe Rochester?” He grins up at me. “Not Alexi though. He’s certainly enthusiastic but not very romantic!”
“Lucinda thinks he is,” I say defensively. Poor Alexi gets a lot of stick. (Literally, in the scene with the runner beans – but maybe it’s best not to think about that at the minute?)
“Can we forget about Alexi and Lucinda for a moment?” asks Ollie. “It’s us I’m interested in right now. Katy, do you remember that day on the quay?”
“Of course I remember,” I whisper. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Never,” Ollie says vehemently. “Travelling and houses and bills all got in the way and time’s zoomed by because I have so much fun with you. But I’ve never forgotten. Never! I love you just as much now as I did then. Actually no! That’s wrong. I love you even more and I’ve never forgotten what I said; I’ve just been waiting for the time to be right. A time when I can offer you everything. My heart, my life and the few worldly goods I do have.”
“You never had to offer me anything, Ollie,” I say quietly. “It was enough just to be with you.”
He nods ruefully. “I let too much get in the way, didn’t I?”
“I think we both have,” I reply.
Ollie takes a deep breath. “Well, not anymore. Katy Carter, gifted writer of interesting fiction, friend to lobsters and the greatest love of my life, will you marry me?”
If this is a dream, then I am going to be so cheesed off. I guess I could stick my hand in the lobster tank and ask Pinchy to give me a nip, but do you know what? I have a feeling that I’m totally and utterly wide awake. More awake than I’ve ever been in my entire life, because there are no more secrets and no more worries – just the future lying wide open before us.
“Yes!” I tell him. “Of course I will!”
“Phew!” says Ollie and he leaps up, pulls me into his arms and kisses me so deeply I can hardly breathe. “And this time I promise I’m not dragging my heels for five years. What do you say to nipping down to the Caribbean and having a beach wedding? And maybe a big party when we get back to Tregowan? I don’t want to waste another second!”
I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him. White sand, sunshine, blue water and marrying the man I love under dancing palms are all very well, but actually all that matters to me is that it’s Ollie I’ll make my vows to. In fact, I could make them right now by a lobster tank and with Pinchy as our only witness and it would be more than enough for me.
“When do we go?” I say and Ollie smiles.
“As soon as possible,” he promises.
And it’s a wonderful thing but all the misunderstandings and fears of the past months slip away just as easily as Ollie is slipping the diamond onto my engagement finger. And when he kisses me, in this room full of bubbling tanks and under the watchful eye of a wise old friend, I know beyond all doubt that Ollie’s ring will stay on my hand for the rest of my life.
Isara Lovett herself couldn’t have written a better ending.
THE END
Epilogue
Eighteen months later
Golly, but it’s hot in the Caribbean! I mean, really, really hot. Not Cornwall hot (which means we all get burned red raw for about an hour a year when the sun finally decides to put his hat on), but more like somebody’s turned the oven on, shoved you in, shut the door and left you to cook. Granted sunburn isn’t the greatest look when you’re ginger, but I’m not going to make a habit of falling asleep by the pool. Or the sea. Or in the garden. Those incidents were just because we’ve not been here long and I’m still getting used to it all.
I’m not complaining though! No, far from it! When Ollie said he was applying for a teaching job in the Virgin Islands I was packing the factor fifty and humming Yellow Bird, Up High in Banana Tree before he’d even downloaded the application form. Getting married here last summer was amazing and the thought of a couple of years in the sunshine, him teaching and me writing, was even better. We both wanted to travel a bit more and have some new adventures, so why not?
And here we are! How incredible is that? St Jude’s is just a bad memory, Ollie’s loving his new job and, thanks to Cecily Greville’s treasure, I’m finally free to write my definitive romantic novel without any distractions from cabbages and clothes pegs. And talking of such things, Nicky now’s Isara Lovett and doing a far better job of it than I ever did – and funding his education too. The last I heard, Bathroom of Bondage was racing up the charts while Nicky was embarking on his studies at Oxford, thanks to his great A-level grades, and having a marvellous time whipping up left-wing sentiments. I’m not sure what Ann and Geoff make of it all but I have a feeling the luxury cruise Nicky treated them to went a long way towards soothing any misgivings, as did the bottle of cognac we gave Geoff.
So, everyone’s happy. Even Sasha has got used to the heat and loves running on the beach and splashing through the waves while Ollie surfs. My days as an erotic novelist are over and it’s back to writing romances. Hooray! And there’s no time like the present either. I have my laptop, a shady spot in the garden, a romantic hero all of my very own and a big cocktail. I’m all set for literary success.
Right. Love in Paradise here we go!
Chapter One.
Hmm, typing in the heat is surprisingly tiring. My fingers keep slipping on the keys. Still, I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it
in time – and I probably won’t stroke iguanas again, because they bite rather hard. My hand’s a bit sore to be honest, which isn’t good for typing. As pets go I don’t think they’re really going to work out quite as well as lobsters.
Talking of strange pets, I hope Pinchy’s enjoying life in New York. The scientists there have promised me he’s going to be safe and pampered, and that he has a home for life. It’s a nice end to a story that began with him almost being dinner, and it’s the least he deserves for seeing off my horrible ex and clearing the way for me and Ollie to get together. Maybe they’ll even find him a lady lobster friend he won’t want to eat. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Anyway, Chapter One.
Oh look! There’s Ollie waving at me from the patio. He looks gorgeous, all tanned and muscled from all his surfing and paddle-boarding. Life out here really suits him and he’s his old carefree self again. I’m not sure how he manages all those sports in this heat but maybe I’m just built differently and feel the climate more acutely? Yes, I’m sure that’s it. I’m designed to sit by the pool, not tear about.
Chapter One.
Maybe I need to listen to some music to get me in the mood? I’ve got Frankie’s new country album downloaded and, since he’s huge in the USA now, I really ought to see what all the fuss is about. I know he sings a lot about jeans and beer and his working-class life, which just goes to show that anyone can write fiction if they try hard enough. Besides, like Ollie says, poodles, Louis Vuitton and Botox are probably a bit tricky to rhyme.
Right. Let’s try again.
Cha—
Oh! Ollie’s peeling off his rash vest and rivulets of water are running down his pecs. Goodness, I’m feeling even hotter than I was before, even though I’m in the shade. Perhaps it’s heatstroke? It’s not good to overdo it here. Actually, I think I’ll leave starting this book for a bit and concentrate on real life instead. That’s bound to inspire me.
I know my new husband certainly does!
Katy Carter Keeps a Secret Page 28
