Page 145 of Heart of The Night

He stroked his bearded mouth, looking thoughtful. ‘And does she seem receptive to the idea in general?’

I paused, recalling our conversations. Cara had never shown aversion to the idea of marriage, yet she hadn’t explicitly stated a desire for it either. ‘I’m not entirely sure, but I’m hopeful.’

‘Well, then perhaps it’s time you find out.’

Leaning forward, I gave a half-smile. ‘Actually, Greg, I plan to do just that after today’s session. That’s probably why I was plagued by six nightmares last night. Nerves, or whatever your professional term for it is.’

Dr Fielder raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. ‘I’d imagine. Perhaps we should schedule a follow-up soon, just in case. You can always postpone it if all goes well.’

I nodded, exhaling deeply. ‘That sounds wise.’

§ § §

The winter sun had deigned to appear, a rare guest in the grey expanse of London’s sky, so I chose to walk from Dr Fielder’s office on Westbourne Terrace back to the new flat in Kensington. Cara and I were to collect the keys today, the flat conveniently situated a stone’s throw from Alexander’s place and not too far from where Olivia now lived with Jason in Notting Hill. We had agreed to meet at eleven, both taking the day off work in anticipation of the removal men who, at noon, would help transplant our lives into this new abode.

It was piercingly cold today, yet it retained a certain stark beauty – the kind that makes one feel more alive or, given my sleep-deprived state, painfully sensitive to the light. Thankfully, I had remembered my sunglasses. Shielded now, I could truly appreciate the surroundings. Tall trees lined the lane, their branches bare and shimmering like silver under the weak fire of the December sun.

As I reached Craven Road, I turned toward Paddington Station. My plan was clear: purchase three cups of coffee – two for Cara and me, and a third empty cup for what I hoped would be a pivotal moment in our lives. A marker was also on my list, a simple tool for a significant task.

Worry nagged at the back of my mind as I approached a shop – the concern that my proposal might not live up to the grand romantic gestures often glorified in films and novels. Yet, knowing Cara, I doubted she would prefer anything ostentatious. She cherished privacy, subtlety, the intimate moments shared without an audience. And I wanted to preserve the element of surprise. This seemingly mundane method would surely catch her unawares, lending a unique charm to the moment. The timing seemed particularly apt as well, coinciding with our move into the new flat, symbolising not just a change of address but a deeper commitment.

As I stepped into the queue, I contemplated the significance of the coffee cups in our relationship. Nearly every morning since we’d met, I had brought Cara a cup of coffee, each bearing a different message scrawled on its side – a daily ritual that had become our silent dialogue of affection and humour.

Today’s message would be the most momentous yet. And inside, beneath the lid, would be the ring – a white gold band with a blue diamond that mirrored the colour of Cara’s eyes.

With the coffees secured and warming my hands through the paper cups, I stepped out of the café and made my way to a nearby shop to purchase a marker. As I approached the counter, a bold headline on the front page of a newspaper caught my eye. Scandal Unfolds: Gastronomy Group’s Unethical Practices Exposed.

My pulse quickened as I set the coffees on the counter and picked up a copy, the paper crackling in my hands. Skimming the article, I saw how it detailed a sweeping investigation into Gastronomy Group. It was a surreal moment; the campaign I had initiated before being brutally sidelined was now front-page news. After my assault, Dad had tirelessly continued the fight, defending Fusion, and now, here it was, the culmination of our efforts, sprawled across the newsprint. He’d warned me last night that the news would break today, but I’d been so preoccupied with my plans for proposing to Cara that I had completely forgotten about it.

I purchased the marker and the newspaper, tucking the latter under my arm. As I walked out, my thoughts briefly shifted to Robert Simmons and his unfair dismissal case. Gastronomy would likely seek a quiet settlement to avoid public embarrassment and further damage to their reputation, especially now with the scandal breaking. One way or another, he was due some form of compensation for the injustices he had endured. Knowing Natalie was representing him brought some peace of mind. Her sharp skills in employment law made her exactly the right person to help him secure the compensation he deserved.

As I made my way through the bustling crowd, the cold air suddenly seemed less biting, the winter sun less harsh, as if everything were finally aligning perfectly.

§ § §

I arrived at the spacious Kensington penthouse a bit early, eager and slightly nervous to collect the keys from the estate agent – a cheerful woman who seemed as excited as I was, albeit for different reasons. With the keys now in hand, I first headed to the modern kitchen, which boasted a sleek island at its heart, surrounded by high-end appliances that gleamed under the recessed lighting. The worktops, a pristine black granite, reflected the soft winter sunlight that filtered through the windows.

I set the coffees and the newspaper on the island, then reached into the pocket of my coat, withdrawing the ring box. Taking out the ring, I placed it inside the empty coffee cup and put the lid back on. My hand trembled slightly as I grabbed the marker and wrote on the side of the cup, as steadily as I could manage: Will you marry me?

With the proposal set, I began to tour our new home alone, filled with anticipation of Cara’s arrival and the future we were about to build together. The penthouse sprawled over two expansive floors, each room flowing seamlessly into the next. The living area was bathed in natural light, the vast windows offering a panoramic view of the London skyline. Five bedrooms promised more than enough space for a future family, each one designed with a unique yet understated elegance. The master suite, in particular, was a haven of luxury, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the cityscape and a private balcony where Cara and I could enjoy the city life from above.

As I ambled through the flat, my footfalls echoed slightly on the polished hardwood floors. With each step, I mentally rehearsed my proposal, the words beating in rhythm with my heart.

Suddenly, the doorbell’s chime resonated throughout the space, snapping me back to reality. I hurried to the intercom, my hand shaking slightly as I pressed the button.

‘Hello?’ I managed, trying to sound calm.

‘It’s me.’ Cara’s familiar voice floated through the speaker, sending a jolt through me. My heart catapulted to my throat as I quickly unlocked the door downstairs, too overwhelmed to respond. Leaving the front door ajar, I went back to the kitchen, my mind consumed with thoughts of the proposal.

I leaned against the island, trying to appear casual, but my palms were damp against the cool stone. I wiped them on my trousers, willing the tremor in my hands to stop.

Time stretched unbearably. My pulse thundered in my ears, a relentless reminder of what I was about to do. I tried to take deep breaths, inhaling through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth, but despite my best efforts, each one was shallow, barely enough to fill mylungs.

Finally, the sound of footsteps in the hall caught my attention. My heart palpitated.

‘Will?’ Cara’s voice, soft yet clear, cut through the silence.

‘In the kitchen,’ I called out, my voice cracking slightly.

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