by Jessica Hart
Abruptly, he set the bottle back on the table, appalled to find that his hand was unsteady.
For the first time in his life Bram didn’t think he could be honest with Sophie. She wanted him to tell her honestly what he thought, but he couldn’t tell her that, could he?
‘I wouldn’t be thinking of our marriage as a temporary thing,’ he said carefully instead. ‘If we get married I want it to be a real commitment, so that we stay married and make a success of it. And, to be honest, I don’t fancy spending the next thirty or so years as a celibate. I’d like a family too. There have been Thoresbys at Haw Gill Farm for generations, and it would be a good feeling to pass the farm onto a child of my own, but…’
‘But what?’
‘But I know how you still feel about Nick,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I wouldn’t want you in my bed if you were going to be thinking about him all the time.’
Sophie flushed and looked away.
‘What do you think?’ asked Bram.
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘I think you’re right. If we’re going to be married, then we should be properly married.’
She imagined lying in bed next to him, imagined them turning to each other, holding each other, kissing each other. Her mouth dried and her heart slowed in a mixture of panic and excitement at the very idea of it.
She swallowed. Part of her suddenly longed to know what it would be like to make love with Bram, but the other part shied away nervously, dreading the thought of Nick’s image interspersing itself between them. And what of Bram? How could she be sure that he would be thinking of her, and not imagining in his turn Melissa?
‘It’s just…there hasn’t been anyone since Nick,’ she blurted out. ‘I try not to think about him, but I can’t help it. Maybe when I’ve seen him again it’ll be different. But right now I just don’t know…’
‘I’m not suggesting that we hop into bed right now,’ said Bram as she trailed off hopelessly. ‘If we do get married I would be prepared to wait until you were ready. When you felt that you were over Nick, ready to start a new relationship with me, you would just have to say.’
‘Oh, great.’ More flustered than she wanted to admit by the subject, Sophie resorted to sarcasm to cover up her confusion. ‘And that would be so easy to drop into the conversation!’
She was looking pink and positively ruffled, and Bram couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her, with that bright jumper and those wayward curls and the lush mouth. The feel of her lips still tingled on his. Would she ever get over Nick? Bram found himself hoping that he wouldn’t have to wait too long.
‘Maybe you won’t have to say anything,’ he said.
Involuntarily, Sophie’s eyes flew up from her glass and found themselves locked with his blue ones. They stared wordlessly at each other for a long moment that stretched into another moment, and then another, while the kitchen clock ticked quietly into the lengthening silence.
It was Bram who tore his gaze away first. ‘You don’t need to think about it at all unless you’re going to marry me,’ he pointed out. ‘You haven’t even decided that yet.’
‘No.’ Sophie took a rather shaky sip of wine and told herself that it had just been a meeting of eyes. No need to get in a flutter about it.
She made herself think about what Bram had said about moving on instead. It was time for her to do that too. What was her alternative? To waste her life hankering after Nick, hoarding memories of how much she had loved him, looking back instead of forward?
Watching as Bram moved on without her?
No, if he was moving on she was going with him. She wasn’t going to lose Bram to Vicky Manning or anyone else.
‘OK,’ she said, putting down her glass. ‘I’ve decided.’
‘And?’
‘And I’ll marry you.’
For a fleeting moment Sophie remembered saying exactly the same words to Nick, under very different circumstances. Nick had arranged a romantic restaurant, candlelight, soft violins playing, even a rose…Didn’t that indicate a lack of imagination on his part?
Sophie was shocked at the treacherous thought that had slipped in without her realising it. She hadn’t been able to think of Nick’s proposal before without crying, and now, suddenly, here she was being critical of it. How had that happened?
Of course she had said that she would marry him. Nick was a dream come true, and he had swept her off her feet with his good looks and his glamour and his smile that made her go weak at the knees. She hadn’t been able to believe her own good luck. It had all seemed too good to be true.
As, of course, it had been in the end.
She didn’t feel the same incredulous joy now, as she looked across the table at Bram, but just saying the words had lifted a weight that she hadn’t known was there. The relief of making the decision felt good, she realised. It felt right.
‘Let’s get married,’ she said again, and smiled.
Bram smiled back at her across the table. ‘Let’s do that,’ he agreed, and reached for both her hands. ‘I’m glad, Sophie,’ he said.
Sophie was burningly conscious of the warmth of his fingers. ‘Even knowing what a mother-in-law you’re getting?’
He laughed. ‘Even then.’
Had his laughter always lit his face like that? Had his eyes always been so blue, so engagingly crinkled at the edges? There was something startling about Bram suddenly as he laughed across the table at her, something strange and new that made her think about how it had felt to kiss him, something that made her spine clench with a disturbing awareness.
Sophie’s eyes slid away from his face. ‘At least I don’t need to contemplate telling Mum the engagement’s off the moment she’s got it all organised,’ she said, uncurling her fingers from his before they did anything rash like clinging tighter.
She picked up her glass, horrified to discover that her hand was shaking slightly. ‘I’ll tell her that she can make all the arrangements for the wedding after all—if that’s OK with you, of course,’ she added.
‘Fine by me,’ said Bram, getting up to see about finding something else for supper instead of catching her hands back. ‘She’s going to do it anyway,’ he said as he opened the fridge once more. ‘I’d let her get on with it.’
‘Even if it means getting married on Christmas Eve?’
‘Why not? I don’t mind having the wedding then. But if you’re still not sure, and Christmas is too soon for you, tell your mother you’d rather have a spring wedding.’
‘No,’ said Sophie, putting down her glass and making up her mind. ‘This time I am sure. Let’s get married at Christmas. I don’t want to wait any longer.’
Sophie lay in bed in the spare room at Haw Gill and listened to the wind hurling itself across the moors. Baulked by the farmhouse, it screamed around the corners and rattled furiously at the windows, attacking the glass panes with gunshot splatters of rain.
It was a night to cuddle up to a lover, to feel warm and secure and cosy with his arms around you. Sophie thought about Bram lying just down the corridor. She thought about slipping down to his room and into bed with him, about snuggling in to his strong, hard body and feeling his arms close around her. It would be so comforting…or would it?
She remembered how he had hugged her at the foot of the staircase. ‘Sleep well, Sophie,’ he had said. ‘And don’t worry about anything. It will all work out the way it’s supposed to.’
It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to. That had been one of Molly’s sayings. Sophie must have heard it a hundred times from one or the other of them. But how was it supposed to work out?
Sophie turned on her side, confused and restless. Until now she hadn’t really questioned what she wanted. It had all been negative. She wanted things not to have happened. She wanted Melissa not to have come to London that day. She wanted Nick not to have fallen in love with her sister. She had wanted to wipe it all out and rewind time to when Nick was in love with her, to that giddy, joyous moment when he
had reached for her hand across the table and asked her to marry him.
And now…now, suddenly, she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted—unless it was to feel certain again. It was as if she were back in that parallel universe, where everything seemed familiar but slightly out of kilter.
Like the way Bram had hugged her. His hugs had always been supremely comforting, but at the foot of the stairs that night Sophie hadn’t felt comforted. She had felt unsettled, uneasy, uncertain.
Bram’s hug hadn’t made her want to lean on him for reassurance. It had made her aware of the strength in his arms, of the warmth of his body, of the bone and the muscle of him. It had made her wonder what those strong farmer’s hands patting her back would feel like drifting over her bare skin.
The thought had been disconcerting, even disturbing, and Sophie had gone to her lonely bed feeling confused and dissatisfied, unsure now of who Bram was, of what she really wanted. Always before, if anyone had asked what she wanted, the answer would have been obvious. She wanted Nick back. But now…now she didn’t know.
Was she just tired? Or was it just that kiss for her mother’s camera? Would Bram go back to being Bram in the cold light of day? Or would he stay this uncannily familiar stranger? Was it she who had changed, or him?
Sophie distrusted herself now. She had loved Nick so desperately. Was she just looking for something to replace her feelings for him? That that would be using Bram, and she didn’t want to do that. Bram was too special to play games with. Melissa hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she had, and Sophie wasn’t going to do the same.
She would be careful, Sophie decided. For once she wouldn’t rush into things without thinking. Bram had said that he was prepared to wait until she was ready to make their relationship a physical one, and she wouldn’t take that step until she was sure that she had banished Nick from her heart. Sure, too, that Bram was free of his own ghosts. She would be Bram’s wife, and there would be plenty of time to get things right. Sophie fell asleep on the thought.
‘Hmm, at least the kitchen is tidy,’ said Sophie’s mother, glancing critically around her. ‘Which is more than I can say for you, Sophie. What have you been doing?’
‘Clearing out one of the barns.’ Sophie brushed a cobweb off her sleeve. ‘Bram’s going to buy me a kiln for Christmas.’ She glowed at the thought. ‘I want to start making pots again.’
She had been back at Haw Gill for a week after leaving London for good, and already it seemed like longer. To her relief, learning to live with Bram hadn’t been nearly as awkward as she had feared it would be. It had taken no time at all for them to fall back into their comfortable friendship, and Sophie had begun to think that those strange muddled feelings she had had that first night had just been caused by a combination of nerves and exhaustion.
It wasn’t that she never thought about what it would be like to sleep with Bram again. The truth was that she thought about it a little too much for her own comfort—especially when she was lying on her own in the spare room, with Bram only a few yards away.
Ella had been forthright in her opinion. ‘So what if he’s still in love with Melissa?’ she had said when Sophie had tried to explain the situation. ‘He’ll soon forget her if he’s got you. Why not enjoy yourselves? You’ve only got one life, Sophie. So what if it’s not a fairy tale? Make your own fairy tale, and have a good time while you’re at it!’
Part of Sophie longed to take her friend’s advice, but it was hard to pluck up the courage to raise the issue again when Bram had reverted to his usual self. He was back to being her best friend, exactly as Sophie had wanted him to be the night they’d agreed to get married.
If the feel of those brief kisses hadn’t been imprinted so vividly on her memory Sophie might have wondered if they had ever happened. She had been desperate to forget them, get back to the way they had always been, but now, perversely, she found it frustrating that Bram appeared to be able to do that so easily. She could hardly make a move when he was making it so clear that he was perfectly happy with the situation as it was.
Maybe Bram was finding it harder to deal with his own feelings than he had expected, Sophie speculated. Whatever the reason, the sleeping together issue appeared to have been shelved. Sophie was taking the coward’s way out and following his lead.
She told herself that she was glad they were back to being good friends. They slept in separate rooms, and met at breakfast, and everything was fine. Sophie had thrown herself into life on the farm, helping Bram whenever he needed it and taking over most of the cooking. She spent the rest of the time clearing out the barn in readiness for the kiln Bram had promised her. It seemed a very generous present to Sophie, but he had pointed out that if she made a success of the business it would generate income for the farm.
‘You know how your mother’s always been keen for me to diversify,’ he’d said. ‘Here’s my chance.’
Today Sophie’s mother had lost patience and announced that she was coming over that afternoon. Now summoned in from the barn, Sophie was dutifully making tea while Bram went off with Bess to check the sheep grazing freely on the moor.
Harriet took her tea and sat down at the table. ‘You should be spending a little less time on that pottery and a bit more on planning your wedding,’ she said severely. ‘Do you realise how little time you’ve got?’
‘But I thought you had all that in hand?’ Having agreed to a wedding on Christmas Eve, passing responsibility for the arrangements to her mother, Sophie had put the whole business out of her mind.
‘There are still decisions you need to make.’ Her mother started talking about the guest list, and the exact wording of the invitations, moving seamlessly on to a discussion of the advantages of just offering champagne and canapés instead of a full buffet, while Sophie nodded occasionally and let her eyes drift out of the window.
They had had the first hard frost of the year the night before, and the moor was still white and glittering in the bright light. It would be bitterly cold but invigorating up there today, and Sophie wished she was crunching over the frozen heather with Bram and Bess.
‘Sophie, are you even listening?’ asked Harriet in a long-suffering voice.
Sophie jerked her attention back to her mother. ‘Of course, Mum. Um…just champagne and canapés…that sounds fine to me.’
‘You might show bit of interest! It is your wedding.’
‘Surely the important thing is that Bram and I are marrying each other,’ said Sophie. ‘The rest of the wedding stuff doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘It matters to me,’ said Harriet tartly. ‘I don’t want the whole village saying your father and I couldn’t give you a decent wedding. As it is, it’ll seem a very quiet affair compared to Melissa’s. But as that’s what you and Bram want…’
‘I’m sure no one will care what our wedding is like.’ Sophie tried to soothe her, but her mother only shook her head at her daughter’s naivety.
‘You’ve always been such a romantic,’ she sighed, picking up her list to consult it once more. ‘Ah, yes—the dress. Have you done anything about that yet?’
‘Er, no,’ said Sophie guiltily. Her fault. She had promised faithfully that she would go and find a wedding dress as soon as she could. ‘I could go and have a look in York tomorrow,’ she offered, to make amends.
‘I’d better come with you. It’s very hard to decide these things on your own.’ Catching the flicker of dismay on Sophie’s face, Harriet immediately assumed her best martyred expression. ‘Of course if you don’t want me to come I wouldn’t dream of interfering.’
Sophie sighed, knowing that it was useless to protest. ‘Of course I want you to come,’ she said obediently. ‘I just know how busy you are.’
‘Not too busy for my own daughter’s wedding!’ Having got her own way, Harriet was all smiles once more. ‘What a pity Melissa can’t come tomorrow. I know she’d love to get involved, but she was telling me that they’ve got a meeting about their new catalogue.
‘That reminds me,’ she went on. ‘I talked to Melissa about an engagement dinner for you, and they’re both free this Saturday night, so we thought we’d have it then.’
Right—and what about asking her and Bram if they could make it to their own engagement dinner? Sophie toyed with the idea of saying that they were busy, but it was hard to come up with a good excuse when you lived up in the moors and everyone knew perfectly well that you hardly ever went anywhere.
The lack of a social life suited Sophie fine. She loved the nights curled up in one of the armchairs in the sitting room, reading, or sketching out possible designs, or chatting to Bram, or just watching the fire and knowing that he was there.
Anyway, she had to face Nick some time, thought Sophie fatalistically. It might as well be this Saturday. And at least Bram would be with her.
‘I’ll tell Bram,’ she said.
‘Fine by me.’ Bram shrugged when she told him about it that night. He looked closely at Sophie. ‘How do you feel about it, though?’
Thinking back, Sophie was surprised to realise that her first reaction to the prospect of seeing Nick again had been one of irritation rather than the instant emotional turmoil it had always caused before. The truth was that she hadn’t actually thought about him that much recently. She had been too busy thinking about Bram and what her future at Haw Gill would be like.
She was still nervous about how she would react when she saw Nick again—afraid that she might succumb once more to the heady magic she had once felt at the sight of him, and afraid of not being able to conceal it if she did—but at least the thought of coming face to face with him didn’t seem as unbearable as it had once done. Could it be that she was getting over him at last?
Sophie tested her heart cautiously. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as bad. ‘I’m not looking forward to it,’ she told Bram slowly, ‘but I’ll be OK. It’s better to get it over and done with.’
And then, maybe, she would be able to move on.
Bram was thinking much the same thing. He hadn’t counted on how distracting it would be having Sophie around the whole time. Her bright, vivid presence was familiar, and yet unfamiliar at the same time.
