‘L’Envol,’ Sophie murmured. ‘The Flight.’
‘C’est ça.’ Tilly’s words were misty. ‘The moment before the bird leaves the ground and flies into its new future. Can you imagine standing there, while the man you love asks you to share his future? Tobehis future?’
Sophie couldn’t say anything out loud. She could only summon a smile that was as misty as that note in Tilly’s voice.
Because she could imagine that.
Hope had just taken root and was becoming something that would not tolerate being subdued. It felt like a need. Or a soul-deep yearning.
A wryness crept into the edges of Sophie’s smile.
Perhaps it was her turn to ’owl at the moon?
16
Was she thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her?
Did she feel the same need not to break the new strand of connection that had been spun the night of the storm, when he’d shared the dream that had given him a reason to keep living?
Hearing her voice would be holding on to that strand too tightly but a text message was soft enough not to break something fragile, and the alert tone he’d chosen as the signature for a message from Sophie – a clear ‘ting’ of a bell, like the touch of two delicate champagne glasses – felt like it was echoing in his heart and filling his chest so fast it made him catch his breath. Every single time.
I’m going to meet one of the people my solicitor, Paul, has chosen to be a trustee for the charity. He’s retired now but he was the headmaster of the school that gave me my scholarship.
The school that Tom changed to, after he met you?
Camberwell Academy. We had 3 years there together. Good times. I wonder if he’ll remember me?
Of course he will.
It was a busy week. There were contractors to catch up with because some work was allowed to start before planning permission for anything structural was granted.
Pest Control guys tell me the rats are gone. Apparently some were the size of cats.
OMG. Gross!
The mould’s getting dealt with now. Wallpaper, curtains and carpets are being ripped out. Look at this.
He’d sent a photograph of the carnage in one of the rooms but it wasn’t the mess Sophie had noticed.
That fireplace is gorgeous. What’s on the tiles?
Flowers.
LOL. What kind of flowers?
No idea. Blue.
He zoomed in on an antique ceramic tile to send her a picture of the petals.
They’re delphiniums. So pretty. Are you going to keep the fireplace?
Of course I will.
How could he not?
Those flowers were the colour of Sophie’s eyes.
The colour of the Mediterranean when the sun was high and the sea was calm in the wake of a summer storm.
