It was the beginning of a brand new year, and if nothing else, Rosalind and Christopher Robins knew how to throw a good party, Sophy thought, watching as everyone kissed and hugged and wished each other a Happy New Year. Rosalind had a reputation as a good actress, but when Kane had mentioned her once he’d been of the opinion that her looks, rather than her acting skill, had got her the leading roles for which she was known. Certainly she was beautiful, her golden-brown hair and eyes so blue they were almost violet setting her apart from many of her peers, and perfect for the traditonal, ‘pretty’ roles she favoured. Her husband, on the other hand, was a somewhat dour individual, but then if half the rumours about his wife were true, he had a lot to put up with. Of course he wasn’t an actor so that didn’t help, although there was no doubt his wealth hadn’t done any harm in furthering his wife’s career. Actresses with successful marriages tended to be married to fellow actors who did not expect them to conform to the conventional role of wife and mother, although in the Robins’ case it was more Rosalind’s cuckolding of her husband that was the problem.
Had Toby had an affair with Rosalind? Was he still having an affair with her? He said not, but then he would, wouldn’t he. And then the next moment she found herself whisked round and into his arms as he said, ‘I’ve been looking for you – where did you get to? Happy New Year, my darling,’ and he kissed her hard. For an instant she returned the pressure of the kiss – it was always the same when he touched her, she melted – but then she pulled away. She tried to tell herself Toby was in love with her when thoughts of him and Rosalind came to torment her, that he wouldn’t betray her, and when she was with him she believed it. There were always rumours about someone or other flying around in the theatre world, half of which weren’t true. It was just how it was. But with Rosalind near, she felt . . . odd.
Quietly, she said, ‘I didn’t go anywhere. I thought you were getting us another drink?’
‘I got sidetracked, you know how it is. People who wouldn’t have bothered to speak a year ago now act as though I’m their best friend.’
This was said with a certain amount of satisfaction. Toby was enjoying his triumph in the West End and still couldn’t understand the reluctance she’d expressed in following him there a year ago when she’d had the opportunity. He had told her more than once that the seat prices in his theatre ranged from one shilling in the pit to half a guinea in the stalls, and the theatre was full every night, with box-office takings of three thousand pounds a week. The play was an extravagant musical comedy with wonderful dancers and, of course, the famous Rosalind, but to hear Toby talk you would have thought the show’s success was down to him alone. But she was being unkind, she told herself.
‘Come on.’ He took her hand, pulling her out of the magnificent drawing room and through the hall into another smaller room which appeared to be a morning room, whereupon he shut the door. She expected him to take her in his arms again, so when he dropped to one knee, taking her hand and looking up at her with the blue-grey eyes that had the power to make her weak at the knees, she was taken aback. She looked down on their joined hands. His was soft and finely boned for a man, the fingers long and thin. Quite different to Kane’s hands, which were sturdy-looking, the backs covered in fine black hair. She didn’t know why thoughts of Kane had intruded at such a moment, especially as she was now aware of what Toby was about to say.
‘Will you marry me, Sophy? Will you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to be my wife?’
She had been longing for this moment, praying for it for months whilst doubting it would ever happen, but now it was here she felt strangely detached as though they were acting in a play. Perhaps it was because Toby’s demeanour had the air of the theatrical about it, or maybe it was just that she had never been proposed to before and had imagined the moment so often it could never have lived up to expectation. Whatever, it tied her tongue and she gazed down at him, her eyes wide.
‘Well, sweetheart, what is my answer?’ His voice was laughing, playful; aware that he had surprised her, he probably thought she was overcome. But it wasn’t that. Not exactly. She didn’t know what it was.