She laughs. ‘And there he is.’
The ballet is first class, and even Bea does brilliantly, swept up for the most part by the spectacular music and choreography. She alternates between sitting on my and Saoirse’s laps with the occasional stint of colouring in peace on the floor.
But the best part of the whole experience is watching Saoirse lose herself in the spectacle, in raptures over the lavish set and costumes. She’s in ecstasy as we stroll through a festive, hectic Covent Garden on their way to The Savoy.
‘It was so inspiring. Watching it was just like… eating an enormous cake. I loved every second. And this’—she waves her arm to take in beautiful Covent Garden market, with its abundance of Christmas lights, shoppers and street performers—‘is deadly, too. I’m falling in love with your city.’
‘Good.’ I squeeze her hand briefly. ‘Because we’ve been giving you the hard sell. Glad it’s working.’
We gorge on scallops and roasted hake at The Savoy’s River Restaurant. Maybe it’s that Bea is growing up a little, or maybe it’s Saoirse’s talent for making her feel seen and involved. But it’s one of the most successful meals I’ve ever had with my daughter. Especially in a fancy restaurant, where the potential for disaster if she has a meltdown is far higher.
She and Saoirse both adore The Savoy’s Christmas decor, which is a fairytale full of suspended books and rose-gold presents. They’ve gone to town, as usual, and it seems to appeal to all ages. It’s something to note for next Christmas. The Montague tends to play it very safe with Christmas decorations. Safe and traditional. Maybe we should consider installations like this.
We’re home early enough to watchThe Grinchwith Bea. We curl up on the sofa in comfortable clothes and tuck a blanket over Bea.
‘There’s Daddy!’ Saoirse says when the Grinch appears.
‘Hilarious.’ I give her a gentle shove.
She leans her head in towards Bea’s. ‘You know, I think your daddy’s heart is far bigger than the Grinch’s.’
‘My daddy has a huge heart,’ Bea agrees. She tucks her head into my armpit.
So this is what perfect happiness feels like.
SAOIRSE
After we’ve done bedtime, which Bea insists is a two-person job, Miles suggests we brave the terrace.
‘It has outdoor heaters. Thought you’d like to see the view. D’you fancy it?’
I do indeed, and I allow Miles to slide my arms into the huge Astrid Carmichael coat and hand me a glass of red wine before I follow him outside. I didn’t realise how good the insulation is here. As soon as we open the French doors, the sounds of Winter Wonderland hit us: a cacophony of shouts and screams and laughter and the whirr of machinery, smoothed into a homogenous low-grade buzz.
The night sky’s lit up with smoke and neon lights, and though Miles makes no secret of his contempt for Winter Wonderland, I think it’s all pretty fab, actually. Especially from a safe—and cosy—distance. He’s laid a thick furry throw over the outdoor sofa. I put my wine on the coffee table and curl into him before he drapes a second throw over us both. His arm is around me, and I allow myself to collapse against his shoulder.
I yawn into his bicep. ‘What a day. I feel so spoilt. Thank you. For everything.’
He twists his body in towards me and drops his face to mine.
‘I plan on spoiling you a lot more before the day is through.’
His expression is solemn as he kisses me, as if this kiss is quite deliberate, and it sends shivers down my spine. His arm holds me tightly. Despite the noise floating over from the revellers at the park, it’s quiet up here on this beautiful terrace, and intensely private. Our kiss feels almost more intimate than the kissing we did in bed last night.
I press my face more closely to his and deepen the kiss, a rush of emotion rolling over me. This man has spent the past twenty-four hours—and longer—thinking of my wants and needs and indulging them. He’s been so generous, in every way.
Inviting me to Sorrel Farm, into his close-knit circle of friends.
Arranging for a top designer to lend me beautiful clothes.
Taking me to the ballet.
In a box.
And, of course, using his body to pay homage to mine and to bring me so much pleasure last night.
It’s a lot for my heart to handle. Which probably explains the warm, swelling feeling emanating from that organ as Miles slides his wonderful lips against mine and tilts his face to access more of my mouth. He splays his fingers across my jaw, up into my hair.
After a few minutes of blissful, dreamlike kissing, during which I let my mind go blank, he runs his tongue softly along my lower lip before pulling back.
