‘I have, though not about you. I always knew you were perfect, but about me. I worried that I couldn’t give you what you deserved.’
She shook her head, reflecting on all the time they’d wasted, but maybe it wasn’t wasted, maybe this was how it was always meant to be. A proposal in the most beautiful place she’d ever been.
‘How did you know the right size?’ she asked.
‘You had taken off a ring to do the washing-up. I borrowed it.’
‘The ring I thought I’d lost and then found again in the soap dish.’
He grinned.
‘Honestly, Jack, you really could have just asked me then. You didn’t need to half drown me in a cave in Sicily to persuade me to say yes.’
He laughed and she laughed with him. Then she lifted her hand to the light streaming in through the window. ‘It’s a beautiful ring.’
‘From Ceylon,’ he said.
‘How marvellous. How utterly bloody marvellous.’
‘I have another ring for you. A wedding ring.’
She laughed. ‘Isn’t it traditional to wait until we’re actually married?’
‘Malta is such a conservative place. If we do go there it would need to be as man and wife, I think. Might be best if you wore it even before we actually marry.’
‘I wouldn’t want to tempt fate.’
‘I understand. We could have separate rooms, of course.’
‘Not likely. It took me long enough to get you into my bed, I’m not letting you go that easily.’
‘You, Florence Baudin, are a wicked siren!’
While she changed for supper, Florence decided she must write to Hélène and soon. Of course she had to hear about the engagement from her first, but the thought of her eldest sister triggered another fleeting moment of misgiving.
She heard crockery being laid on the table outside,laughter too and someone clapping. Along with the smell of roasted octopus with garlic, her unease melted away.
And when, as the sky turned golden and then to a flaming red, she joined everyone at the supper table, Edward and Gloria were immediately on their feet beaming while Jack uncorked a bottle of champagne.
‘Congratulations,’ they chorused while Jack turned beetroot.
Florence felt so ecstatic she thought she might burst. Things would go well now; she was sure of it. Their roots were strong enough. She and Jack would be married, and Hélène would accept it.
Even before Jack had proposed, Sicily was a place that had spoken to her. Now she would never forget it.
In bed that night he kissed her palm. ‘I couldn’t be happier, you know.’
She smiled, feeling the warmth curling inside her. ‘We’ve not spoken about what will happen.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Will we carry on living in Devon?’
‘I had thought so … but look, if you don’t want to …’
‘I want to,’ she said, nodding vigorously. ‘I love Meadowbrook.’
He talked a little bit more about Devon, the places they might go together, things they might do. Hope Cove, Lannacombe Bay, Bantham. Just listening to Jack talking about the South Devon coast soothed her, even when she felt so hot and sticky.
