many times. It was sweet, and she didn’t want to interrupt him when he was saying it again, but Dolly didn’t know how much longer she could keep her questions and thoughts about Vivien from bubbling to the surface.
‘I meant it, Doll. I’d do anything you asked.’
‘Do you think you could get the waiter to check the heating?’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I, it’s freezing in here all of a sudden.’ She wrapped her arms across her middle. ‘Can you feel it?’ Jimmy didn’t answer, he was too busy digging in his trouser pocket for some-thing. Dolly glimpsed their waiter and tried to get his attention. He appeared to see her, but then turned and headed back to-wards the kitchen. She noticed then that the other couple had gone and they were the only ones left in the restaurant. ‘I think we should leave,’ she said to Jimmy. ‘It’s late.’
‘Just a minute.’
‘But it’s cold.’
‘Forget the cold.’
‘But Jimmy—’
‘I’m trying to ask you to marry me, Doll.’ He’d surprised him-self, she could tell by his face, and he laughed. ‘I’m making a bit of a mess of it, apparently—I’ve never done it before. I don’t intend to do it again.’
He eased out of his seat and went to kneel before her, taking a deep breath. ‘Dorothy Smitham,’ he said, ‘will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Dolly waited to understand, for him to break character and laugh. She knew he was joking; he was the one who’d insisted back at Bournemouth that they wait until he’d saved enough money; any minute now he’d laugh and ask her if she’d like to order some dessert. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, staring up at her. ‘Jimmy?’ she said. ‘You’ll get chilblains down there. Hop up, quickly.’
He didn’t. Without looking away, he raised his left hand and revealed a ring between his fingertips. It was a band of yellow gold with a small stone in a claw setting—old enough not to be new, too modern to be a real antique. He’d brought a prop, she realised, blinking at it with surprise. He really was doing a splendid job playing his part; she had to admire him; she wished she could say the same for herself, only he’d caught her off guard. Dolly wasn’t used to Jimmy initiating games of pretend—that was her job; she wasn’t sure she liked it. ‘Let me wash my hair and think about it,’ she quipped.
His own hair had fallen across one eye and he tossed his head to shift it. There was no hint of a smile on his face as he stared at her for a moment, as if he were collecting his thoughts, as he sighed. ‘I’m asking you to marry me, Doll,’ he said, and something in the honest woody quality of his voice, the complete absence of subterfuge and doublemeaning, made Dolly feel the first inkling of suspicion that he might in fact be in earnest.
She thought he was joking. Jimmy almost laughed when he realised that. He didn’t, though; he swiped his hair out of his eyes and thought about the way she’d taken him upstairs the other night, the way she’d looked at him as her red dress dropped to the ground, as she lifted her chin and met his gaze, and he’d felt young and strong and so very glad to be alive right then, right there, with her. He thought about the way he’d sat up afterwards, unable to sleep for the blessed knowledge that a girl like her could possibly be in love with him, the way he’d known as he watched her dream that he would love her all his life and hers, until they were old together, sitting on comfortable armchairs in their farmhouse, their children all grown up and flown away, taking it in turns to make each other cups of tea.
He wanted to tell it all to her, to remind her, to make her see the picture as clearly as he did, but Jimmy knew that Dolly was different, that she liked surprises and didn’t need to see the ending when they were still right at the start. Instead, when all his thoughts had been gathered like leaves, he exhaled slowly and said as plainly as he could, ‘I’m asking you to marry me, Doll. I’m still not a rich man, but I love you, and I don’t want to waste another day without you.’ And then he watched as her face changed, and