‘—and I loved it,’ Angus said instead. ‘Is it really your first time coming here for dinner?’
‘Yes.’ Moira was smiling again. ‘You’ve given me a lot of new experiences, Angus. I’m ever so grateful.’
Angus could feel his eyebrows edge closer to each other. There was something different in Moira’s tone. A tinge of regret, perhaps?
‘Like the opera,’ Moira continued. ‘I’d never even thought of going to the Festival Theatre, let alone sitting in the middle of the dress circle.’
Angus took a sip of his own champagne. Had that night – the first time he’d seen Moira wearing this lovely dress – been a little over-the-top, with a chauffeured limousine and the best seats in Edinburgh’s principal opera house? He’d hadn’t started his courtship too fast though, had he?
Moira had been his secretary for more than two years now and he’d been very impressed with both her work ethic and her sweet personality. He’d taken his time before asking her out on a first date and that had only been for a casual workday lunch at a tavern on the Royal Mile that was within walking distance of the office. Their first dinner together was weeks later and it wasn’t until at least the fifth date that he discovered how very compatible they were in bed.
That was when he realised that this was what he’d been looking for. A relationship that was exactly that. Compatible. Safe. He’d known that the clock was ticking to make a decision and he didn’t have to put it off any longer. He was quite confident that he was not going to make the same mistakes his father had made and certainly not if he chose someone like Moira. She was exactly the life companion he needed. Someone he could go on holiday with. Raise a family with. Grow old with.
Maybe itwasmore friendship than a grand love affair, but this was precisely what made it so much more likely to last the distance and get better with time, like a fine wine. The hotter the fire, the faster it burned out, after all. Perhaps Moira had reason to appreciate a slow burn herself?
And here they were, six months later, and everything was perfectly in place. It had only been a month or so since he’d found Moira leafing through a travel brochure in the office and she had confessed her long-held desire to explore the South of France.
‘The lavender,’ she’d sighed. ‘I can almost smell it. And those gorgeous old villages and the food and champagne. The sunshine and the romance – it’s just the perfect dream on a cold, rainy day like this when it’s supposed to be summer. Ah well…’ She’d folded the brochure and slotted it back into the desk drawer with a sigh. ‘Dreams are free…’
Angus had smiled. ‘I’d love to take you there one day, Moira. What do you say?’
‘Oh…’ Her eyes had shone. ‘How amazing would that be? Maybe… one day…’
It had actually added up to being a surprisingly expensive dream, curating the perfect South-of-France experience, but Angus didn’t begrudge a penny of it. He was quite confident that the woman he’d chosen, Mathilde Pascoe, who specialised in all manner of romantic things, was more than capable of delivering exactly what he’d asked for.
A perfect holiday.
Pure romance.
A stretch of time that would be what Moira needed to be sure she was making the right choice.
Perhapsheneeded it even more – for the same reason.
Angus had done his research as thoroughly as he did in any aspect of his work and he had a checklist of what women expected to be included in a dream proposal.
The destination, preferably the Amalfi Coast, Paris or Provence. Tick.
Cinematic scenery, with a sunset view for the actual moment of going down on one knee. Tick. Mathilde had knocked that one out of the park.
A sophisticated, oval-cut diamond ring, with a flawless 2.5 carat stone, discreet in a way that only a great deal of money could buy. He’d sorted that one himself with the assistance of a jewellery shop in Princes Street that had a royal warrant. He’d even added microscopic diamonds set into the band, which was so fine it was apparently known as a ‘knife edge’.
An excuse to let her get dressed up and suitably groomed? No problem. Mathilde had said all it needed was a programme for the last day of their special holiday. A shopping trip in Nice for a new dress. A trip into the mountains for an afternoon at athermal spa that would allow her to get her hair, make-up and nails professionally attended to. Done. He could enjoy a swim in the pools while he waited for her.
The proposal – at the top of an ancient village, with a spectacular view of the Mediterranean below them – would be unforgettable, of course, but the hidden photographer would make sure the moment was captured in a solid form. Angus had even gone for the added option of including a drone shot.
The violinist that could appear was too much for Angus, but he was happy for Mathilde to arrange the chilled champagne that she would deliver herself after their first kiss as an engaged couple.
It had taken up an inordinate amount of time in the last few weeks but Angus was confident the investment would be more than worthwhile. This was his future. He still needed to make sure the significantly valuable ring was covered for all eventualities by his insurance company, which was why he hadn’t left it at home after collecting it this evening. He had chosen a slim, leather envelope to disguise what lay inside it, with the added bonus of not creating a pocket bulge that might provide a premature clue. It also made it easy to slip into the inside pocket of his blazer for safekeeping. He was aware of its presence but he rather liked that.
It was a reminder that all the hard work was done now, thank goodness, and that nothing important had been forgotten. Mathilde’s expertise had been invaluable – essential, even – given that he had such an aversion to anything overtly romantic himself.
This was a means to an end and he only intended to do it once.
The goal was to move into a new future and start a family of his own and Moira Stirling was the perfect choice. Admittedly, she was more than ten years younger than he was, which mightraise an eyebrow or two, but she had a maturity that was as appealing as everything else about her. Angus was as close to being in love with Moira as he would ever consider allowing himself to be, and he was quietly certain that he was going to be able to make her a very happy woman.
Mrs McLeod.
The woman in the dove-grey dress who had just swallowed the last of her champagne in somewhat of a gulp.
