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“Good. I’ve almost finished first drafts of two plays. I went all anti-social to really focus. I’m pleased with my progress, though. Two months ago, I only had a few scenes completed, but they’re finally coming together.”
“I’m not surprised. I blame our small room for all your writing problems. I don’t know how anyone could be creative stuck in that cave. I’m still sorry about that—I should’ve taken Tom to task about it.”
“Don’t be,” said Alex. “You gave me a place to crash. That’s all that matters.” The old ease of chatting with Harry flooded over her. She missed it.
“Olivia’s been writing up a storm, too. Remember her suffragette play? She’s workshopping it with Isabella. They’re raving about how good it is. Olivia mentioned a potential slot in some new writers’ showcase at the Old Vic. I pressed her for more info, but you know Livvy…she plays her cards close to her chest. She’s loving the program, though…I’m sorry that you couldn’t be there, too.”
Alex bit her tongue, thankful that Harry’s attention was on the baked goods and not her face. “Sometimes it’s not meant to be.”
“Oh, your time will come. You’re much too good to be ignored.”
That’s the old Harry she knew and loved—supportive, caring, like a big brother. Maybe she could ramp up the nerve to tell him about the suffragette play after all.
Harry chose a slice of banana bread. Alex plucked a container of strawberries from the cooler.
“What? No cake? No cookies? You feeling all right?” He playfully felt Alex’s forehead.
“It’s been a rough week. I’m trying to eat healthier. Baby steps.”
“I’m impressed. Little Alex, you move out of my place and become all grown up.”
“You sound like a parent.”
“Got to get my practice in somehow.”
“What?” Alex grabbed his arm. She swallowed and did a double take. She wanted to say ‘Harry, did that bitch trap you?’ but instead whispered, “Olivia’s pregnant?”
Harry laughed. “No! Well, not that I know of.” He handed a twenty-pound note to the cashier to cover both of their snacks. “And a tea, please. Alex, want one?”
“Sure. Thanks. Three sugars.”
He nodded at the cashier and placed their two teas on his tray. “But I do have news. Come sit.”
They walked out of the café and past the bookshop, Harry choosing a small table hugged by two white scoop-back chairs, its vantage point offering a sweeping view of the National’s lobby—and the Long Bar.
Alex’s heart pounded in time to the fast circles she made with her spoon in the teacup.
“I’ve asked Olivia to marry me…” Harry beamed.
Alex halted her frenzied stirring, sending a hot jet of tea onto the table. Not the announcement she expected. Record booze sales at Bespoke, opening another club, even buying a larger flat…anything but a baby…or this.
“…and she accepted.” Harry’s eyes yearned for a reaction.
Alex dug deep, mining her theatre training to paint a convincing smile on her face. “Of course she did. Congratulations, Harry. You look thrilled.” She blotted up the spill with a tissue.
“I was fit to burst.” Harry leaned in. “The proposal came off even better than I imagined. I took her to Paris under the pretense of sourcing a new French wine supplier. I’d be in meetings all day, and she’d exercise her credit cards on Avenue Montaigne. She completely fell for it. Any chance for a designer shopping spree, right?”
Alex nodded. She’d never been on a designer shopping spree in her life.
“I booked the penthouse at the Hotel George V. It has this incredible 360-degree view of the skyline and a private terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower.”
“Are you sure you weren’t a wedding planner in a previous life? Wow.” Alex sipped her tea, unsure what more she could say.
He chuckled. “I arranged for fresh white lilies and roses, and candles to fill the space, and hired a string quartet. Perfect for the future Mrs. Manville. Olivia was speechless when she came back that evening.” His eyes sparkled with joy and maybe a few tears.
“I thought the opening of Bespoke would be my proudest, most memorable moment this year, but this trumps it. She’s made me the happiest guy on earth.”
“Oh, Harry…”
