Last-Minute Proposal Read online

  Yesterday, for instance, we went to the hospice she’ll donate her cheque to if we win. It was quite an experience. I’d never been anywhere like it before. I expected it to be a depressing place, to be honest, but it wasn’t. It felt bright and light and peaceful and I felt…[Pause, searching for the right word]…well, I suppose I was moved. Yes, moved.

  Tilly was quite at ease there. She seemed to know everyone, but she told me afterwards that she didn’t. I think people respond to her warmth. There’s a kind of brightness about her…[Abruptly recollects camera] Anyway…well, I can see how much winning would mean to the hospice, so I’d better make Cleo a good cake tomorrow and make sure we get the maximum number of points.

  I can’t see why we shouldn’t. I’ve done a bit of research and got a picture of an ancient Egyptian barge and the costumes and so on. I even had a look at the play. Tilly drew up a design and kept it as simple as possible, but it’s still going to be tricky. I’ll be glad when tomorrow’s over.

  [Stops, realises that hasn’t sounded very sure] Yes, of course I will be. I need to get back to work. I’ve got things to do. I want the cake to be a success tomorrow, but then it will be time to say goodbye.

  Tilly’s video diary:

  [Pushes hair tiredly from face] I can’t believe it’s almost over. Campbell has just gone back to his hotel for the last time. He’ll be back tomorrow to make Cleo’s cake, but then he’s leaving. It’s funny to think how much has changed since the last time I recorded this diary. Campbell’s changed-or maybe it’s just that I’ve got to know him better. Or maybe I’m the one that’s changed.

  The kitchen won’t be the same without him. I mean, he can be really irritating. He insists in clearing up immaculately-and I mean immaculately-every five minutes, which I know is a good thing, and I should do that, too, but sometimes when you’re doing a tricky bit of piping you don’t want someone asking, ‘Have you finished with the sugar because I’ll put it away if you have?’ or, ‘If you just stand away from the table a minute, I’ll wipe up the extraordinary mess you’ve created’. The worst thing is, I think I’m going to miss it. [Sighs]

  Anyway…he’s learnt how to make a sponge. The thing about Campbell is that he’s really focused. If he decides he’s going to do something, he’ll do it. He’d never admit it, but I think he might be a bit nervous about Cleo’s cake. It’s a difficult design. Too difficult for a beginner, but he’s determined to get it right. I hope he does. I’m not supposed to have anything to do with it, but I’ll be around to give advice until I have to go to the wedding ceremony at three. There’s a small reception afterwards, but the cake is for the party in the evening, so I’ll come back after that and hopefully the cake will be all ready to go.

  And then that’ll be it. It’s going to be…strange. But of course, Campbell has got his new job to go to, and I’ve got a business to run. [Stops, swallows] It’ll be for the best, I know, but I hate saying goodbye.

  ‘You won’t forget the asp, will you?’ It was the morning of Cleo’s wedding, and Tilly was supposed to be getting ready for the ceremony, but she kept popping down to the kitchen where Campbell was making cakes with military precision.

  ‘Stop flapping,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I’m the one that’s supposed to be nervous here! It’s all under control. Look!’ He waved the time plan he had plotted minute by minute at her and checked his watch. ‘Right now cakes five and six are supposed to be in the oven, and there they are, see,’ he said, pointing at the oven. ‘I’m going to take them out at thirteen ten.’

  ‘I don’t like all this precision,’ Tilly fretted. ‘This isn’t a mission that can be planned down to the last second. The cakes will be ready when they’re ready. Remember what I told you about the skewer? Keep an eye on them rather than the clock, that’s all I’d say.’

  Campbell wished she would go away. Quite apart from the fact that she was casting doubt on his plan, of which he was secretly very proud, she was far too distracting standing there in a faded towelling robe, with her hair wrapped up in a towel and her face clean and rosy from the shower.

  She smelt of baby powder. It was all too easy to imagine pulling her towards him by the belt of her robe, shutting her up with a kiss while he untied it in one easy move so that he could slide his hands beneath the material to explore her lush body. She would be warm and sweet and clean.

  Snarled up with longing and frustration, Campbell wished she wasn’t standing between him and the sink. He could do with putting his head under the cold tap. As it was, he would have to pass her to do that, and he couldn’t trust himself that close.

  Ever since that kiss, he had been achingly aware of her. Again and again he had had to remind himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t touch her, but the reasons were sounding thinner with every day that passed.

  He did his best to concentrate on the future, on the challenge of his new job and the move to New York but whenever he tried to imagine what it would be like, all he could picture was life without Tilly, quiet and cold and empty.

  It was absurd. What was he thinking? Campbell demanded, exasperated with himself. That he should give up his career, his plans, the chance to turn round a company and make it a global leader again? Drop out of the race just before the finishing line? Of course he couldn’t do that, and if he wouldn’t contemplate any of that, it would hurt Tilly.

  And that was something Campbell wasn’t prepared to do.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready?’ he asked her pointedly.

  ‘Yes, I’d better go and dry my hair.’ She looked anxious. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’

  If only it were, Campbell thought as she whisked out of the kitchen and he could let out a long, very careful, breath at last. Right then everything felt as if it might slip out of control any minute, and that wasn’t a feeling he liked at all.

  Squaring his shoulders, he turned his attention back to his time plan. Focus, that was all he needed to do. It had always worked for him in the past and in a lot more difficult situations than this. It would work now.

  It was hard to focus, though, when Tilly reappeared at last, spilling out of a deep aqua-blue suit. A bag was wedged under her arm while she fastened her earrings.

  ‘OK, I’m off,’ she said, her face intent as she fiddled with the second stud.

  Her outfit wasn’t particularly daring. It had a cropped jacket, nipped in at the waist, and a lacy camisole gave modesty to the plunging neckline. A flippy skirt ended at the knee. Her shoes were precipitously heeled, true, with ridiculous bows. Otherwise, it was the kind of outfit you would expect a woman to wear to a wedding.

  So there was no reason for Campbell to feel as if his head was reeling. He actually had to close his eyes.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He snapped them open to find that Tilly had sorted out her earrings and was watching him. ‘Nothing,’ he said tightly. ‘Nothing at all.’

  She wasn’t satisfied, but made matters worse by coming closer and peering at him. ‘You look as if you’re in pain.’

  If only she knew! ‘I’m fine.’ Campbell managed a controlled smile. ‘Just thinking about what needs to be done.’

  Like take a cold shower.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Tilly checked her bag. ‘Now, you’ve got the design?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘And you haven’t forgotten about piping the names on the side of the barge, the way we discussed? Make sure you spell them right, too. It’s all noted on the design. Do you think I should check it quickly?’

  ‘No,’ said Campbell. ‘I think you should go. You’ll be late.’

  Tilly looked at her watch and squeaked with dismay. ‘God, yes, I will be…’ Grabbing the keys to the van, she hurried to the door. ‘I’ll be back later,’ she called on the way out of the room. ‘Good luck!’

  By the time she returned, Campbell had himself well under control. He just had to keep his hands to
himself for a few more hours. He could do that. Look, he had even made a wedding cake, and if he could do that, he could do anything!

  He had to admit that he was secretly very proud of the cake. It looked just like Tilly’s sketch. Sitting on top of the cake base was the cake Cleopatra’s cake barge, complete with a cake Antony, dressed as a Roman general, and even a cake asp, curled ironically in a corner. Authenticity had suffered with the tin cans trailing off the back and the large sign with ‘just married’ iced carefully on to it, but all in all it was pretty damn impressive, Campbell thought.

  He could hardly believe that he had made it himself.

  He was changed and ready to go as soon as Tilly got back. That was what you could do when you stuck to your time plan.

  Tilly’s face when she came into the kitchen and saw the finished cake was everything Campbell could have hoped for.

  ‘Oh, Campbell, it’s fabulous!’ she cried. ‘Well done! I know we talked about it but it’s so different when you see it made up. Wait till Cleo sees it! She’s going to be so thrilled,’ she said as she walked round the table to inspect the cake more closely. ‘This is bound to win!

  ‘It’s incredible to think that a fortnight ago you didn’t even know how to make a basic sponge,’ she told him admiringly. ‘I’m so proud of you! This is going to be the highlight of the party tonight and-’

  She stopped.

  ‘What?’ asked Campbell.

  ‘The names on the side of the barge,’ she said in a hollow voice.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You’ve spelt Anthony wrong.’

  ‘I have not!’ Campbell was outraged at the suggestion. ‘I made a point of checking.’

  ‘Not against my design.’ Tilly snatched up the sketch-book and thrust it at him. ‘How is Anthony spelt there?’

  ‘With an “h”.’

  ‘Yes, and it’s spelt with an “h” because that’s how Anthony spells his name, so why have you spelt it without one?’

  ‘Because that’s the correct spelling,’ said Campbell, sure of his ground. ‘I even rang up a mate of mine who’s a lecturer in English and specialises in sixteenth-century drama, and he told me Shakespeare’s Antony definitely doesn’t have an “h”.’

  ‘Maybe not, but Cleo’s Anthony does,’ said Tilly, exasperated.

  Campbell was seriously put out. He had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure that everything was right. ‘What was the point of finding out what Cleopatra’s barge might have looked like and exactly what Antony would have been wearing, if you’re not going to get his name right?’ he demanded crossly.

  ‘Because it’s Tony and Cleo’s wedding cake, not an academic treatise! Why do you have to be such a pedant? I know you like to be precise, but this is ridiculous! The whole point is that it’s their names because it’s their wedding!’ She threw the sketch-book on to the table, furious with him for spoiling things when everything else looked so perfect. ‘We’re going to have to change it.’

  Campbell was equally irritable. ‘Who’s going to notice?’

  ‘Tony will, for a start. And his parents. Cleo says his mother is the queen of nit-pickers and is always moaning about missing apostrophes and the misuse of commas. She’s the kind of person who sends back thank you letters with the spelling mistakes corrected! She’s bound to comment. If there’s one thing you ought to be able to get right at a wedding it’s the groom’s name, after all!’

  A muscle was working furiously in Campbell’s cheek. ‘There isn’t time to change it now,’ he pointed out. ‘It’ll mean taking off all that icing.’

  ‘There is if we do it together.’ Tilly tossed an apron to him and tied on another over her wedding outfit.

  The television cameras would be there again tonight. She didn’t want them filming Cleo’s new mother-in-law complaining that Campbell had made a mistake. She might be livid with him herself, but he had worked so hard on the cake and it looked fantastic. Trust him to mess everything up by insisting on being right!

  Part of Tilly wanted to pick up the cake and crown him with it, but another part was already working out how to fix things. The cake had to be perfect for Cleo, and there was the competition to think of, too. Campbell might be the biggest nit-picker on the planet, but winning was important to him, and there was no way Tilly was going to let a little icing stand in the way when they were this close to victory.

  ‘You make up some more yellow icing for the timbers,’ she told him, ‘and I’ll do some white for the lettering. Then we just need to scrape off what’s there, retouch it a bit and pipe on the new names.’

  Campbell looked at his watch. ‘We’re supposed to be there in less than half an hour.’

  ‘It takes ages for a party to get going.’ Tilly was already shaking out icing sugar. ‘Better for us to be a bit late than spend the whole evening being told we’ve spelt Anthony’s name wrong! Come on, let’s get going.’

  Of course it took longer than expected, and in the end Tilly piped on the names as they couldn’t afford to make the slightest mistake.

  ‘We’re cutting it very fine,’ Campbell warned, anxious to make up for his blunder with the name. But how the hell was he supposed to have known that when Tilly had said spell a name correctly she had actually meant spell it wrong?

  ‘We’ll just have to hope there’s not too much traffic. You drive,’ Tilly said, tossing him the keys. ‘You’ll be faster than me. I’ll hold the cake.’

  They were in such a hurry by then that they didn’t even stop to take off their aprons. Campbell took off with a squeal of brakes and drove with a nerveless skill that had Tilly clutching the cake box.

  She didn’t tell him to slow down, though. If they didn’t get there before the television crew, she was sure they would lose points for being late, and she was determined now that they should win. It would be good to be able to give the money to the hospice, of course, but more than that she wanted to win because it mattered to Campbell.

  The party was being held at a country house hotel some ten miles outside Allerby.

  ‘We’ll take the dual carriageway,’ said Tilly as they screeched to a halt before yet another red light. ‘We’ll never get there if we have to stop at all these lights and get past all these stupid people dithering around looking for somewhere to park.’

  She directed him out to the ring road, where at last Campbell could put his foot down. The pink van wasn’t exactly powerful, but it responded valiantly, shuddering at the unfamiliar speed as they shot down the outside lane.

  ‘It’s not the next roundabout, but the next one,’ said Tilly. ‘We don’t want to miss the turning. What is it?’ she asked as Campbell glanced in the rear-view mirror and stamped on the brake, swearing under his breath.

  ‘Police,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking!’

  But Campbell had rarely felt less like joking and the next moment Tilly saw for herself as a policeman on a motorbike came alongside and flagged them, pointing over to the hard shoulder.

  Campbell had little choice but to obey. He wound down his window as the officer approached.

  ‘Would you get out of the car, please, sir?’

  Rigid with frustration and temper, Campbell got out, remembering too late that he still had his pink apron on.

  The policeman eyed him for a moment, and then read the side of the van. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You’re Mr Sweet, are you, sir? Or would that be Mr Nothing?’

  Campbell set his teeth. ‘Neither,’ he said tersely, struggling to get rid of the apron so that he could dig in his back pocket for his wallet and driving licence. He couldn’t have a sensible conversation wearing the stupid thing. This was all Tilly’s fault for insisting that he wear one.

  The policeman inspected the driving licence. ‘Were you aware that you were exceeding the speed limit?’

  ‘I can explain, officer. We’ve got something of an emergency.’

  ‘This isn’t the way to the hospital.’
/>   ‘It’s not that kind of emergency.’ For a wild moment Campbell wondered whether he should pretend that Tilly was about to give birth, but presumably few mothers stopped to put on high heels and make-up when they went into labour. ‘We’ve got this cake,’ he began.

  ‘Cake?’ the policeman repeated expressionlessly.

  ‘Yes. It’s for a wedding.’

  Campbell trailed off, realising how absurd it must sound but before he could say any more, Tilly had emerged from the van, having set the cake carefully on the seat. She had had the foresight to remove her apron, which gave the policeman a splendid view of her cleavage, Campbell noted.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s all my fault, officer.’ Her eyes were huge and dark as she gazed limpidly at the policeman, who was clearly finding it difficult not to stare at the plunging neckline with its tantalising glimpse of lace below.

  ‘It’s my best friend’s wedding,’ she went on in a breathy voice that Campbell had never heard her use before, ‘and I promised faithfully that I would have this cake ready for when she got to the party, but we had all sorts of problems, and now we’re late and Cleo’s going to be so disappointed, and it’s her wedding day and I can’t bear to think of letting her down so I was making Campbell drive fast…’

  Campbell watched in reluctant admiration as words tumbled breathlessly from her, befuddling the policeman with their speed and intensity.

  ‘It’s really not his fault, officer. He wouldn’t normally dream of speeding, and I know you’re just doing your job and of course you must, but could we please, please, just get the cake to the wedding first and then we’ll report to the police station or whatever you want.’

  Taking the policeman’s arm, she dragged him over to look through Campbell’s open window. ‘Look, you can see we’re telling the truth. There’s the cake, and it’s so beautiful. Cleo will be devastated if we don’t get it there in time, and we’re already so late! I’ll never forgive-’