“Well, that makes sense, at least,” Izzy says dryly. “I’ve never seen you do anything on a whim. Turn them on, would you?”
I flick on the lights, a bad mood blooming in my stomach. What’s so good about whims? Isn’t it just another word for not thinking things through?
“What would you want, then?” I ask her as we step back to admire the overall effect. “You would prefer to be blindsided?”
“No, of course not, I’d just want it to be romantic, not some sort of pre-agreed contrived thing, you know? Ooh, they’re here!” she hisses, checking the nearest outdoor heater is working with one hand and lighting the candle at the centre of the table with the other.
We’ve instructed Ollie to come out and wait on the table no more than fifteen minutes after Charlie and Hiro are seated. Charlie wants to propose at the start of the meal, so that he can enjoy his dinner. Or—I can’t help thinking—so that he has time for a quick getaway if Hiro says no.
“Go! Go! Go!” Izzy whispers.
She runs off into the woods. I stare in the direction of her flying hair and the white bottoms of her trainers before walking after her. Running is entirely unnecessary. Also, she’s going in a completely random direction. I hesitate when I hit the path that will take me back to the hotel, and the evening I had planned for myself: drive home, heat up a portion of feijoada from the freezer, and eat it in front of A Grande Família. It is what I always do on Thursdays. Every two months I batch-cook a huge feijoada specifically for this reason.
It is safe and comfortable. A small joy in a stressful week.
If I follow Izzy somewhere into the New Forest, I suspect I will not have a safe and comfortable night. I hesitate, listening to the sounds of Charlie and Hiro settling into their seats: Hiro’s murmur of delight, Charlie’s nervous laugh.
I step off the path.
Izzy
I’m up a tree by the time I realise Lucas has followed me. He really is surprisingly stealthy.
“Izzy. Are you in a tree?”
His tone is as dry and expressionless as ever. I shift on my branch to get a better view, ignoring the dampness soaking into my clothes. Between the trees, the pergola is lit up in yellow gold, and if Lucas would shut up, I’d be able to hear every word Hiro and Charlie are saying.
This place is so gorgeous at night. If the New Forest seems like a fairy-tale wood in the daytime, in the dark it’s all goblins and witchcraft. No matter how wet or cold it is, there’s magic in the air. I once saw a white owl drop between the trees right in front of me on my walk home, its pale face turned to mine in wide-eyed surprise. And the night sky here is stunning: reams of stars, as thick and bright as spilled glitter.
“Izzy. I heard something up this tree. Is it you? Or a cat?”
I snort.
“It is you. What are you doing?”
“Will you shush? I’m trying to watch!”
“Did you climb a tree so you could spy on Charlie’s proposal?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“This is a private moment for two people you don’t know.”
“Oh, please. It’s not like I’m livestreaming. Aww, that is adorable.”
“What is adorable?”
“He’s—oh, oh my God, this is too cute.”
“What is too cute?”
“Will you either shut up or get up?”
“I am not climbing this tree.”
There is a brief, wonderful silence. Between the branches, the light hits Hiro’s face as he lifts his hands to his mouth in shock and delight, and I feel myself tearing up. Lucas is such a cynic. This proposal is exactly what Hiro wanted, and they’re absolutely going to live happily ever after.
“Tell me what is happening,” Lucas says.
“Are you kidding?”
“Do you actually want me in your tree?”
It is a pretty small tree.
“Fine. He said yes. They’re—aww . . .”
“You are terrible at this.”
“What do you want, like, a football commentary?”
“That would be perfect.”
“And he’s leaning in, the ring’s on Hiro’s finger, I don’t believe it, Charlie’s done it! He’s really done it! Charlie Matterson has proposed to Hiro Tanaka, and Hiro has accepted. Here today at Forest Manor Hotel and Spa, Charlie’s shown the world what he’s made of, and—oh—he’s leaning in for a kiss! And it’s another winner!”
“Please stop.”
I’ve given myself the giggles. I wriggle off my tree branch to the one below and then hop down to ground level with a little less grace than I’d like; I stumble and have to grab on to something, which turns out to be Lucas’s arm, though it’s hard to tell the difference between that and a tree trunk, to be fair.
He pulls away from me in the darkness as if I’ve scalded him.
“What!” I say before I can stop myself. “I’m not contagious.”
It’s hard to read his expression—down here the lights from the pergola are blocked by the trees, and he’s shadowy, edged in dark gold.
“What did I do wrong this time?” Lucas says without particular rancour.
The forest floor is wet, its moss soaked through from today’s rain. We begin to walk back to the hotel, skirting the clearing with the pergola to give Charlie and Hiro their privacy. Our work is officially done—it’s over to Arjun, Ollie, and the waiting staff now.
“Do you honestly find me so repellent? Seriously?”
I glance across at Lucas’s profile, the hard jut of his brow and jaw, the precise lines of his haircut.
“You once expressed a desire never to come within two metres of me, ‘pandemic or no pandemic,’?” he says. “I am just respecting your wishes.”
I wince. I did say that. It sounds harsh rather than funny when he quotes it back to me. I remind myself that this man read the Christmas card in which I confessed my feelings for him and laughed. I do not need to feel bad for offending him.
“That was right after you told Mrs. SB on me when I’d broken lockdown rules for that wedding. I was pissed off,” I say, looking down at the path. We’re lit by little inset lights—they glow against Lucas’s ridiculously well-polished shoes with each step.
“I did not ‘tell on you.’ I raised a concern, because if you continued risking the health of everyone at the hotel in order to please a handful of guests, you could have got us closed down.”
“It was their wedding day,” I say, and here’s the rising tide of frustration that always comes after prolonged exposure to Lucas. “They wanted their whole family there, and all I did was find an innovative solution to how to get more than fifteen people celebrating without technically all being at the same—”
“It’s done,” he says, breaking in as we step onto the lawns. “We have already agreed to disagree on whether it was right.”
I grit my teeth. We’re almost at the hotel car park. Almost time to slam the door on my beautiful sky-blue Smart car, get Harper Armwright’s Christmas album playing, and drive away from Lucas at speed.
My phone buzzes in my hand, lighting up, and we both look down at the screen. An email from Mrs. SB. Subject line: ?15,000 reward from Eric Matterson?!?!
“Holy shit,” I whisper, coming to a halt and flicking the email open.
New plan, it reads. Return every ring. Even just one more reward like that would make this worth every bit of effort. Wow. You’re an absolute star, Izzy—WELL DONE!! X
“Well,” Lucas says stiffly, setting off towards the car park again. “You certainly got the credit.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was me who did it, so . . .” I have to double-step to keep up with him. “Don’t be jealous. This is a hotel mission now. You’re officially part of the Ring Thing.”
He waits a long moment before responding. “That is a significant reward.”
“I’m sorry, was that an admission that the Ring Thing was an excellent idea and from now on you’re going to help me?”
“You didn’t do this in the hope of a reward.”
“I did it because it felt right, and putting good stuff out into the universe gets you good stuff back.” I spread my arms as we step between the hedges and into the car park. “Isn’t that kind of the same?”