Jessica Hart - Last-Minute Proposal

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-’

Bemused by the flood of words, or possibly by the allure of Tilly’s cleavage, the policeman backed away from the van. He had evidently given up trying to make sense of it all and simply held up a hand to stop Tilly in mid-sentence.

‘Where is this wedding?’ he asked gruffly.

‘At Hammerby Hall. It’s-’

‘I know where it is.’ He waved them back to the van. ‘If I catch you speeding again, I won’t be so lenient,’ he warned them, ‘but I’ll make allowances for today. We don’t want to disappoint the bride, do we?’

Climbing on to his bike, he kicked up the stand and switched on the flashing light. ‘Follow me.’

CAMPBELL pulled out after the policeman, who was already speeding ahead along the dual carriageway, siren blaring, to clear the traffic out of their way, and for a good minute there was utter silence in the van.

Then they both started to laugh at the same time.

‘I can’t believe you got away with that!’ said Campbell, still laughing but trying to sound disapproving. ‘I’ve never seen such a revolting display! I’m so sorry, officer,’ he mimicked her breathy voice. ‘Please look down my cleavage instead of writing a speeding ticket.’

Tilly wiped her eyes. ‘It worked, didn’t it? It’s not as if you were getting far.’ She burst into giggles again. ‘I wish you could have seen your face when he asked if you were Mr Sweet!’

Campbell snorted and shook his head. ‘That was your fault for making me wear that stupid apron!’ he said but his attempt at disgust was short-lived in the face of Tilly’s infectious laughter, and in the end he gave in and laughed too as they sped after the policeman.

Thanks to their escort, they arrived bare moments before the bridal party. Waving a grateful farewell to their policeman, Tilly and Campbell hurried in and were just lifting the cover off the cake when the television crew turned up, all ready to record Cleo’s reaction.

She didn’t disappoint, squealing with delight when she clapped eyes on the cake and throwing her arms around Campbell’s neck.

‘It’s so fabulous! You clever thing!’ she exclaimed as she planted a resounding kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Campbell. It’s the best wedding cake ever! I’m never going to be able to cut it. Oh, I think I might be going to cry, it’s so perfect.’

Alarmed at the prospect of tears, Campbell patted her gingerly and rolled his eyes over her shoulder at Tilly in a silent plea for help.

‘Cleo, what do you think of Antony’s costume?’ she asked, coming to his rescue. ‘Campbell researched it down to the last detail. He’s even got the shoes right!’

To Campbell’s relief, Cleo let go of him and bent to examine the cake in more detail. ‘It’s incredible. I can’t believe you’ve learnt to do this in just two weeks, Campbell! Tony, come and look at this.’

Fortunately for Campbell, her groom restrained himself from hugging, but he was equally complimentary. ‘This is really impressive,’ he said to Campbell. ‘I can see a hell of a lot of research has gone into it.’ He walked round the cake, inspecting it closely. ‘Isn’t Cleopatra’s Antony spelt without an “h”, though?’

Tilly met Campbell’s gaze across the cake. A definite smile was tugging at his mouth, and the sight of it unlocked something deep in her chest, releasing a disquieting tingle that seeped slowly along her veins.

‘Could we have a quick interview?’

Suzy’s voice at her elbow startled Tilly out of her thoughts. The producer drew her and Campbell away from the crowd gathering round the cake and beckoned Jim, the cameraman, over.

‘It’s certainly a wonderful cake, Campbell,’ Suzy began. ‘Is it really all your own work?’

‘Yes,’ said Tilly, as Campbell said, ‘No.’

Suzy looked from one to the other.

‘I had to have Tilly’s help in the end,’ he told her. ‘I’d made a mistake, and Tilly put it right.’

‘Why did you say that?’ Tilly demanded crossly under her breath while Suzy was conferring with the cameraman. ‘Now we’ll lose points! I thought you wanted to win.’

‘I do, but I’m not going to cheat to do it. The rules were clear. I had to make the cake entirely myself.’

‘You did that! It was perfect.’

‘It wasn’t perfect. I spelt the name wrong, and you had to put it right.’

Tilly chewed her lip. ‘No one would ever have known it wasn’t you. You’d done it exactly the same, just without the “h”.’

‘I would have known,’ said Campbell. He looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? I thought you didn’t care whether we won or not?’

Tilly couldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t tell him that she only wanted to win for his sake. ‘We’ve gone to all this effort,’ she said. ‘It just seems a shame to blow it now.’

‘We’ve done what we can,’ he said carelessly. ‘It’s down to the viewers now. One way or another, it’ll be over soon.’

Tilly looked away. Yes, it would all be over soon, and that was probably just as well. The tension over the last few days had been almost unendurable, erupting at last in that stupid row over how to spell Anthony. She had been torn between not wanting their time together to end and wishing that it would so that she wouldn’t have to live any longer with the breathless churning that gripped her whenever she looked at Campbell.

She was going to miss him so much, but there would be a certain relief in not having to fight the attraction any more. She had to think about that, and not about how empty the kitchen was going to be without his solid, straight but somehow steadying presence. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how the severe expression relaxed when he was amused, crinkling the corners of his eyes and deepening the creases on either side of his mouth.

His mouth…she definitely couldn’t afford to let herself think about that. Or his hands. Or the whole lean, muscled length of him.

It was extraordinary how a man so austere and restrained-looking on the surface could have reduced her to a state of feverish desire where the most casual brush against each other left her boneless, a smile would stop the breath in her throat and the touch of his hand was like a jolt of electricity.

Campbell wasn’t romantic, he wasn’t passionate, he wasn’t any of the things Tilly yearned for in a man. He was tough and terse and acerbic, and she wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone before.

But she couldn’t have him. He was leaving. Remember that, Tilly?

She wished now that she had ignored his reluctance and told him how she felt after that kiss. At least they could have had a week together and she would have had some memories. But it was too late now. Tomorrow he would be gone.

There was no point being miserable about it, Tilly decided, forcing her shoulders back and fixing on a bright smile. She had made a choice and now she had to live with it. In the meantime, it was Cleo’s wedding, and Cleo would want her to enjoy herself.

She threw herself into the party spirit with a touch of desperation, and it wasn’t, after all, that hard. She knew lots of people and there was a very happy atmosphere, especially after Cleo and Tony performed a dance routine for all their guests. This seemed to involve Cleo pushing Tony around the floor and hissing exasperated instructions at him. Clearly, he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to be doing, and their audience was soon laughing uproariously.

Campbell looked at Tilly beside him. She was almost doubled over, helpless with laughter. Her face was alight, her eyes glowing, and he was seized by the urge to touch her, to hold her, to draw her warmth and her light around him.

So strong was the impulse that he had to make himself move away, but the more he tried to concentrate on making conversation with the other guests, the more aware he was of Tilly, scintillating, sparkling, in the background. She was talking and laughing, smiling, hugging friends, kissing acquaintances on the cheeks, and Campbell was gradually consumed by the longing to stride over, take hold of her and pull her away, outside.

To make her smile at him. Touch him. Kiss him.