The Wedding Proposal Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Sue Moorcroft

  Published 2014 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Sue Moorcroft to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-78189-173-5 (epub)

  ISBN 978-1-78189-174-2 (mobi)

  ISBN 978-1-78189-172-8 (epdf)

  For anyone who was ever young.

  And made a mistake.

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More Choc Lit

  Introducing Choc Lit

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a book might seem a solitary affair but I rely on lots of people for help and advice.

  I’d like to thank Lynda Stacey for sharing her diving expertise (and cooking me a lovely lasagne). Rowena Quinan for helping me with the IT content and reading and correcting the relevant parts of the book. Mark Lacey for the crimes and police procedure – it’s a bit scary how many of my books he advises on. Oliver Winbolt for inviting me to the Southampton Boat Show and showing me around the twin of the Shady Lady so that I could get the details right. Robin and Vicky for information about marinas. Julie Miseldine for her experiences of working with children and where to access current safeguarding and protection guides. Janet Gover for information on UK citizens wishing to live and work in the US.

  When I was a child I lived in Malta and from our sitting room window could see Ta’ Xbiex Marina, where the Shady Lady and Seadancer have been moored for the duration of this book. To conduct additional research on a couple of my regular visits to the island was an absolute pleasure but my knowledge of the language is sadly lacking. My thanks to Tom Restall for the Maltese translation (and dinner at the Ta’ Xbiex Water Polo Club).

  Gratitude also goes to my lovely beta readers: Lynda Stacey and Julie Miseldine for reading the manuscript for errors and omissions. Mark West and Dominic White for their invaluable manly observations, reflections on human nature, comedic sarcasm, mickey taking, occasional outrage and analytical spotting of holes in my plot. Your feedback is a highlight of the writing process.

  As always, massive thanks to the Choc Lit Team.

  Never complain, never explain,

  Never volunteer.

  And never own up.

  Prologue

  To: Simon.Rose

  From: Elle.Jamieson

  Subject: (Nearly) All at sea

  Hi Simon,

  Nearly ready! The tenants have moved into the house, the car’s sold and I’m in a Travelodge near the airport, ready to fly tomorrow. It’s cost a fortune in baggage charges but I’ve got enough for the summer and left the rest of my stuff – especially the business suits – in the attic.

  I can’t believe I’m going to live in a marina in Malta. Wooooooo! You’re so lovely to let me stay for free. (But I’m worried I’ll do something stupid and break your boat. :-)) I’m so excited! But also mega nervous. This whole adventure is so not me.

  Elle xxx

  To: Elle.Jamieson

  From: Simon.Rose

  Subject: Free on board

  Of course it’s you because you’re the one doing it. You’ll love it. Malta’s fantastic and the centre where you’re volunteering is lucky to have you and your expertise. Letting you stay on the Shady Lady while you do all the slog is my lazy way of doing a bit for charity. Also, there’s no way I’ll get to the boat until the autumn, so you’re providing me with a boat-sitting service. Don’t let her be boarded by pirates! :-)

  You’ve familiarised yourself with the Shady Lady on paper and someone will be at the boat who knows how everything works. There’s nothing that’s hard to operate but it’s a bit like a floating caravan and things tend to be tucked away in odd corners.

  As Davie and Loz aren’t expecting you to start work until Wednesday, you’ll have a couple of days to provision the boat and get used to things like filling up the water. Chill. All you’re doing is living on board – not sailing her across the ocean single-handed!

  Simon xxx

  PS Is this a good time to ask if you’ve changed your mind about Lucas?

  To: Simon.Rose

  From: Elle.Jamieson

  Subject: Troubled waters

  Pirates??? Should I expect any?

  E xxx

  PS No, re Lucas. I don’t want to hear about the fabulous life he’s probably living with you in the US ... so long as he’s OK.

  To: Elle.Jamieson

  From: Simon.Rose

  Subject: Safe harbour

  No pirates in the Ta’ Xbiex yacht marina. (Remember it’s pronounced ‘Tashbeesh’ not, as someone once told me, ‘Tax-bee-ex’.)

  S xxx

  PS He’s OK.

  Chapter One

  Elle stared out through the taxi window, heart soaring as high as the blue sky over the sea.

  She’d left sensible, dutiful, walking-work-ethic Elle behind in England and she was really here, being driven along the waterfront between the moorings and gardens fringed with waving palm trees. She was going to live on a boat and be carefree and adventurous. Rolling down her window, she breathed the warm briny air.

  ‘You know where is the boat?’ asked her Maltese driver.

  ‘She’s called the Shady Lady. She’s all white and quite far along towards Manoel Island bridge, but not as far as the kiosk.’ Elle knew Simon’s directions by heart.

  ‘OK, the other end.’ The dr
iver nodded.

  The boats were moored stern-to, in sailing terminology – tied by their blunt ends. The first they passed were huge, two or three decks with gleaming chrome railings projecting out into the creek.

  After a couple of minutes Elle could see a kiosk cafe and glimpses of a long low stone bridge that connected their quayside to another. There, shifting gently on her mooring ropes as if impatient for Elle to arrive, was a boat with Shady Lady in flowing navy script on her sleek white hull.

  ‘There she is,’ Elle breathed. Definitely one of the junior members of the marina at forty-two feet long, the Shady Lady gleamed in the sun, her sliding glass doors open. Fantastic. The person Simon had said would be at the boat must have arrived already.

  The driver brought the car to a halt. ‘I get your bags.’ He jumped out, legs bare and tanned below khaki shorts.

  Elle climbed out more slowly, almost in sensory overload as a hot breeze tossed her hair over her face, the sun on the water dazzling. Behind her, traffic grumbled along a road on the other side of the gardens.

  ‘You like hot weather?’ The driver opened the car boot and tugged out a suitcase, swinging it onto the quayside.

  ‘I love it.’ Elle gazed around, identifying what she’d learned from Simon and the ‘boating for beginners’ website she’d been haunting for the past few weeks. The metal box rising out of the quayside was where the boat connected to the electricity and water supplies. The Shady Lady didn’t have an integral gangplank, as the bigger vessels did, but a wooden plank lay between the shore and the big shelf on the back of the boat, the bathing platform. White fenders hung at strategic points to keep the Shady Lady from rubbing up against her neighbours, Fallen Star and Alice.

  ‘Very hot, the sun in Malta.’ The driver hauled out suitcase two.

  ‘It feels great after the British drizzle.’

  ‘You be careful.’ Suitcase three slapped to the ground. ‘You get—’ The driver paused to open the back door to drag out suitcase four, which had travelled from Malta International Airport as a rear-seat passenger. He lined it up with the others: two black that matched, a leaving gift from her colleagues in her last job, at Waterfield Systems; a bubblegum pink one from TK Maxx and one decorated with the Union flag, purchased from a market stall by Elle Jamieson, Adventurer.

  ‘—sunstroke!’ he produced triumphantly. ‘Sunstroke makes you very sick. Sweaty. Dizzy.’

  And even as she held out his fare and began to thank him, Elle found herself experiencing something very much as he described, complete with giddiness and sweat. It was nothing to do with the sun, though the heat was beginning to press on the crown of her head.

  It was everything to do with the man who had just emerged through the door of the Shady Lady and frozen mid-step.

  ‘Thank you, madam.’ The friendly taxi driver slid back into his car, inched around nearby fishermen dangling their lines between the boats, turned and set off back along the marina access road.

  ‘Lucas.’ The word stuck to the sides of Elle’s suddenly dry throat. Her heart, which had been floating with joy, plummeted to the dusty ground. ‘Lucas,’ she repeated, stupidly. His black hair was longer, blowing around his jawline in the breeze, and his dark eyes burned in a tanned face. His feet were bare and if he’d ever carried even an extra ounce, it was gone. Every part of him was hard and lean.

  ‘Elle,’ he returned, flatly, ‘what the high-flying fuck are you doing here?’ His disbelieving gaze swept over her luggage before returning to her face. Slowly, he stepped down onto the bathing platform and halted at the edge. Eighteen inches of water lapped between them.

  Elle’s chest gave a painful squeeze. She swallowed. ‘S-S-’ She paused to will her tongue to untie itself. ‘S-Simon has lent me his boat.’ She glanced down at the name on the stern, seeking reassurance that she was actually in the right place. And that Lucas wasn’t.

  ‘I don’t think so. Simon has lent me the boat.’

  Silence. Stupid tears prickled at the back of Elle’s eyes. Lucas belonged deep in the past, not here, now, obstructing the gateway to her big adventure.

  ‘You’d better come aboard while we sort this out,’ he snapped. And then, as Elle stooped to the Union flag suitcase, ‘You can leave your baggage there.’

  ‘Right, like I’m about to heap disaster upon catastrophe by getting my suitcases stolen.’ Masking her anxiety with bravado, she hauled the first towards the edge of the quay.

  With a curse, Lucas leaped the gap between boat and shore and stooped to manhandle the gangplank through a couple of iron hoops and into position.

  Then he swiped the suitcase out of her hand and swung it on board, beside the cockpit seat. The other three followed rapidly and Elle was left clutching her backpack as Lucas stalked across the plank, through the sliding doors and out of sight.

  Barely breathing, she followed, onto the bathing platform and through the cockpit to the saloon, registering only absently the sliding gliding movements of the craft on the sea. Already familiar with boat’s interior from the photos she’d pored over, her focus was on Lucas.

  He slid into one of the sofa seats, propped his forearms on the table and glowered, the air fairly crackling with his irritation. ‘I’m working in Malta and Simon said I could live on the boat. I’ve been here a week already.’

  Elle slid onto one of the vacant seats, shock beginning to recede. She straightened her spine. It was time to take charge of the meeting. ‘I’m in Malta working and volunteering and Simon said I could live on the boat at least until the autumn. It was agreed months ago. I can show you the e-mails—’

  ‘I believe you,’ he cut in, obviously having taken charge of a few meetings himself. His fingertips tapped on the plastic tabletop. ‘It’s bloody Simon.’

  Miserably, she gazed at him. ‘Maybe he made a mistake—’

  ‘More likely he didn’t. Now I understand the thoughtful pause when I asked if it was possible for me to use the Shady Lady. I just thought he needed reassurance that I didn’t intend to host wild parties, and I told him that I’m relatively sane these days.’ His mouth set in a grim line. ‘But I suppose he was actually wondering whether to tell me that he’d already lent the boat to you, or whether to just let me make this pleasant little discovery for myself.’

  Elle recoiled. ‘Why on earth would he let us end up in the boat at the same time?’

  Lucas snorted. ‘My guess would be that he thinks it might get us back together. Like that’s going to happen.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she agreed, stonily.

  ‘You’ll have to find a hotel.’

  ‘Or you could.’

  His eyes glittered. ‘Simon’s my uncle.’

  ‘Simon’s my friend. You’ve already admitted that he offered me the Shady Lady first.’

  He glared. ‘But I’m in situ.’

  ‘I can’t afford a hotel. I’ve arranged to work part-time on another boat for my keep but I’m going to be spending a lot of time working somewhere else. Unpaid,’ she added. And, in case it made any difference, ‘For charity.’

  Lucas folded his arms. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and a dusting of dark hair outlined the muscles of his arms. ‘What’s Miss Great Job in IT doing volunteering?’

  ‘Becoming Miss Redundant, House Rented Out to Pay the Mortgage.’

  He eyed her. ‘Really?’

  Elle bristled. ‘Really.’ She fought hard to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks. She knew that scepticism in his eyes, the scornful impatience whenever he suspected anything but the unvarnished truth. Seared in her memory was the way he’d once talked her round in circles until she tripped up over all the things she’d kept from him and he’d said things that couldn’t be unsaid and stormed off to his new life in America. She lifted her chin. ‘So, how about you? If you’re here on vineyard business maybe you and Simon c
an find the funds to move you into a hotel?’

  ‘Maybe, if I was,’ he snapped. ‘But I’m not working for Simon. It seems you and me are both trying something new this summer. My budget isn’t based on coughing up for accommodation, either.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to ring Simon,’ she snapped back.

  He leaned back, quirking one eyebrow. ‘Good idea. Give Uncle Simon my love.’

  Lucas watched as Elle marched out through the cockpit and ashore. After a few moments she paced out of his view along the concrete quayside, phone clamped to her ear. Then she paced back, her frown a blonde slash across her brows. Both blue-tinted sliding doors were pushed to one side, making it look as if she were changing colour as she moved behind them. Then she became animated and began to speak. Stopped. Paced. Listened. Threw up her hands. Glared at the boat. Clocked him watching; glared more fiercely and moved out of his line of sight.

  He waited for her to reappear, noticing absently that his respiration rate had returned to normal and the pressure he’d felt like a band on his forehead was easing. It had been some moment when he’d seen her standing there behind her wall of suitcases, like a beautiful apparition from a disobedient imagination that should have barred heavy doors against Elle Jamieson a long time ago. But hadn’t.

  Had he reacted well to her appearance? He reran what he could remember of the conversation. No, he didn’t think he’d been cool, though he usually considered that the past four years had calmed him some, especially since he’d taken up scuba diving. Underwater, everything had to be measured, at least if you wanted to breathe while down there and come up healthy. Dive tables and formulas couldn’t be impetuously ditched.

  Lucas had learned too from being around Simon, who usually saw the best in people. Grown. Mellowed.

  Until he’d seen Elle again.

  Until she’d tried to work her voodoo with her big ice-blue eyes turning to pools of confusion and outrage. Like he hadn’t seen that look before. Like he hadn’t been driven to fury by her innocent act.

  While he waited, he went to the galley and got himself a cold beer. Cisk, the produce of the Maltese brewery, was usually one of his pleasures, but today he could scarcely taste it. It was as if his senses had shut down to anything but Elle, her spicy perfume, the storm of blonde hair piled high on her head, her soft voice shocked and defiant by turns. He’d once found that voice so sexy.