With Love from London(24)

“Darling, how much money do you need?”

I could hardly believe my ears. Frank was generous, but this was beyond. “I couldn’t possibly…” I said. “I’m sure we can figure things out. And, Frank, I wasn’t asking for money when I said what I said. I was only—”

“Nonsense,” he said, pulling out his checkbook. “Will a thousand pounds get you through for a bit?”

“Frank, I—I don’t know what to say….”

“Don’t say anything,” he said, “just let me take care of you. It’s what I want.” He smiled, and I tried hard to return the warmth he shared. “Just promise me that you’ll think about us, and when we might make things more…permanent.”

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he continued, placing his hand on my thigh again. “But, darling, you know my business in London will be ending soon.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his gaze the way I imagine he did when analyzing the columns of numbers in an actuarial table. “Eloise, it’s no secret that I’m in love with you,” he continued. “I’m only asking you to consider what the future might look like. Our future.” He cleared his throat. “I’m hoping that you’ll come to California with me—as my…wife.”

My mouth fell open. I heard his words, and yet, I didn’t. They swirled in the air above the table like fragments of a strange dream. Wife. California. Permanent.

“Say, did you read in the newspaper about the London Bridge?” His cadence sounded easy and breezy, as if he’d forgotten the gravity of what he’d just said.

“No,” I muttered.

“An American businessman just bought the old thing and plans to move it to the States, maybe even to California.” He smiled. “You know, honey, it does seem like a sign, doesn’t it?”

His eyes searched mine, but I didn’t dare return his gaze, knowing my uncertainty would instantly betray me—and him.

Frank kept talking. “Just think, if the London Bridge can move to America, so can you, right? I know you hate the winter. There’s plenty of sunshine in California. And flowers bloom all year round.”

I never told him I hate the winter. Why would he say I hate the winter?

As he continued to talk, my eyes wandered the room. I noticed a neon sign hanging over the bar. MARTINIS was missing the letter n so it now read MARTI IS. If Millie were here, we’d have a proper laugh about this. She’d talk about all the places “Marti” might be. “Marti is sleeping. Marti is dancing. Marti is…not moving to America.”

“What are you thinking about?” Frank said, attempting to lure my attention back to him.

I pointed to the sign above the bar and explained my humorous take, but Frank only stared back at me blankly, changing the subject a few moments later. He obviously didn’t find it funny.

The waiter appeared and Frank began asking him questions about the menu when I noticed a glamorous couple in evening wear being seated at a nearby table. The woman, beautiful with her platinum-blond hair done up in a smart chignon, was carrying a chic and, if I knew anything from working at Harrods, rare Bonnie Cashin for Coach handbag. The man was…

My God. Edward.

Our eyes met, only for a moment, but a force surged through me, like lightning. Even in the dim light, I could tell that he felt something, too.

Has he thought of me these past months? Why didn’t he come to Jack’s? Why didn’t he call?

My heart raced as I released his gaze, but the pull to look again was magnetic, and I watched as Edward bantered with his dinner date. When she threw her head back and laughed, then reached her hand out, touching his arm, it actually hurt. Has he shown her his violin tattoo? I wondered. Does she know that he always wishes for music in his ear?

I felt Frank’s hand on the small of my back and I turned to face him.

“You know how I feel about you, El. But you haven’t told me your feelings.”

El. Millie was the only one who called me El, and I immediately recoiled when I heard the name on his lips.

Suddenly, the room felt like a cyclone, and I was caught up in it—spinning out of control like a kite in Regent’s Park on a windy day. I knew I had to will myself back down to earth, and I did. But the landing was a harsh one. Here I sit in a fancy steakhouse beside a man who is besotted with me—the wrong man. The right one is close enough to hear the sound of my voice like music in his ear.

I wanted to run to him. I wanted to run away with him. It was the storybook moment I’d waited for all my life, the moment of knowing. But I knew then that my story wouldn’t have a happy ending.

“El,” Frank continued. “What do you say?”

I stared mutely at Edward, as he stood and removed the jacket of his dark suit, tucking it on the back of his chair, acknowledging me briefly with a curt nod. The room was far too dim to make out any emotion in his eyes, but there was plenty in mine.

I turned to Frank, and refocused my blurry eyes. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

He smiled. “Darling, the wine must have kicked in.” He touched my arm, but I barely felt his fingers on my skin. “My love, I am asking for your hand…in marriage.” He swallowed hard, and I could see the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “I’m asking you to…spend the rest of your life with me.”