 A
Perfect Proposal
Sophie Apperly’s frustratingly dismissive family
has never taken her seriously. Fiercely academic, they see her more
practical skills as frivolous – whilst constantly taking advantage
of her. So when her best friend Milly invites her over to New York,
she jumps at the chance. It’ll do her ungrateful family good
to do without her for a while and, as Milly keeps telling her, it’s
time she spread her wings. What’s more, she’s on a quest
– America holds the key to solving her family’s financial
woes, even if they don’t deserve her help.
From the moment Sophie hits the bright lights of
Manhattan she’s captivated. Feeling like she’s stepped
into the middle of a film set, Sophie is determined to enjoy every
minute of her big adventure. So when an evening at an art gallery
opening throws her into the path of Matilda, a spirited old lady
who invites her to Connecticut for Thanksgiving, Sophie willingly
accepts, much to the dismay of Matilda's grandson Luke. Undeniably
attractive but infuriatingly arrogant, he is very protective of
his grandmother and seems to doubt Sophie’s motives for befriending
her. No match for the formidable Matilda, he eventually admits defeat,
but first he has a proposal to make. He’ll help Sophie in
her quest to save her family from financial ruin if she returns
the favour. But just what does she have to do in return …?
Chapter One
‘So, remind me, who’s this “Evil Uncle Eric”
then? I’m sure you’ve told me but I can’t keep
track of my own relations, let alone other people’s.’
Sophie laid her teaspoon down in her saucer and looked thoughtfully
across the table at one of her two best friends. ‘He’s
some relation of Dad’s, Mands, but as I’ve never met
him either – or if I have, I was too young to remember –
it’s hardly surprising you’ve forgotten. I’m not
quite sure if he’s really an uncle or just an older cousin.
There was some sort of falling out which apparently is all sorted
out now.’
They were in their favourite coffee shop, at their favourite table
by the window where they could watch the passers-by, and, if appropriate,
comment on their clothes. Sophie, from habit, mopped up some spilled
coffee with a napkin.
‘And remind me why you’re going to look after him?
You’re only twenty-two. Not quite old enough to be palmed
off as a spinster and sent to look after single male relatives.’
Amanda’s disapproval was evident in the way she was carving
patterns on the top of her cappuccino in choppy downward movements.
Sophie narrowed her eyes in mock disapproval. ‘You read
too much historical fiction, Mandy, although I must say it does
sound as if the unattached daughter is being sent to live with the
rich uncle in the hope that he’ll leave her all his money.’
She frowned. ‘It’s not really that at all.’
Her friend raised her eyebrows sceptically.
‘It’s not!’ protested Sophie.
‘So your family aren’t using you as a dogsbody –
yet again? While this random relative’s minder goes on holiday?'
Sophie shrugged. ‘She’s not a minder! She’s
a housekeeper, or a carer or something. Minder sounds awful.’
Amanda looked Sophie in the eye. ‘Why you? Why not anyone
else in your family? Your mother, for example?’
‘Oh, Amanda! You know why! No one else would do it and,
to be fair, I am currently between jobs.’ Sophie was aware
that her friend was much more outraged by her going to look after
an aged relative than she was. Maybe she did let herself get pushed
around by her family. ‘I am going to make him pay me.’
‘And do you think he will? Surely if he wanted to, he could
just get someone from an agency to look after him. He wouldn’t
be insisting on getting a family member to do it. He must be mean.
That’s why they call him “evil”.’
Sophie considered. ‘Well, as I said, I’ve never met
him personally, but the family do all say he’s terribly tight-fisted.
Apparently they tried to borrow some money during some financial
crisis or other and he sent them out of the house uttering Shakespearean
texts about borrowers and lenders and not being one.’ She
laughed. She was imagining the irritation her parents must have
felt. ‘It was years and years ago though.'
‘Well, he must be penny-pinching to ask you to care for
him if he can afford a professional.’
Sophie bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell Amanda that
her mother had offered Sophie’s services, possibly to sweeten
Uncle Eric now he was so much nearer to death than he had been years
before. If he wouldn’t lend them the money, he might still
leave them some, given that he didn’t have many other relations.
And Sophie’s family had always been desperately short of money.
But Amanda had known Sophie since primary school and was well
aware of how Sophie’s family regarded its youngest member.
‘Don’t tell me, your mother said you’d do it.’
‘Well, I won’t then!’ Sophie twinkled at her
friend over her coffee cup. ‘It’s OK! I know you think
they all bully me dreadfully, but I do have my way more often than
they think I do. Being thought stupid by people – even your
family – does give you a bit of power, you know.’ She
felt she had to explain her lack of indignation. ‘I know I
always seem to take it on the chin, but I never do anything I really
don’t want to.’
Amanda sighed. ‘Well, if you say so, but what I’ve
never really got is why your family think you’re thick?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘I suppose because I’m not academic
like they all are, and being the youngest and all. It’s partly
habit and partly because they don’t see my strengths as useful.’
She sighed. ‘Although they do get the benefit of them. In
my family if it doesn’t involve letters after your name, it
doesn’t count.’
Amanda humphed. ‘Well, I’d like to hear what Milly
has to say on the subject.’
Milly, the third of the trio known at school as ‘Milly-Molly-Mandy’
– unfairly, according to Sophie, who didn’t awfully
like being called Molly – lived in New York. A couple of years
older than the other two, she was the head of the gang and spoke
her mind even more than Amanda did.
‘I haven’t bothered Mills with this, although I am
due to ring her. But now I must fly. I’ve got to find some
half-decent plastic glasses for the children. People are turning
up at about one.’ She made a face. ‘My mother is insisting
we make a children’s room upstairs in the old playroom. She
says it’s because it’ll be more fun for them, but really
she doesn’t want kids cluttering up her party.’
‘You see! There you are again, doing loads to help your
mother have a party and they still treat you as a second-class citizen.’
Sophie giggled. ‘It’s not about class, darling, it’s
about brains! I do have the former, but my exam results indicated
I didn’t have many of the latter.’
‘You sound just like your mother!’
‘Do I? That’s not good!’
‘It’s inevitable. And to be fair to your mother, I
think she has a point about the children’s room. Parents’
parties can be frightfully dull when you’re little. And your
father is prone to demanding if people are learning Latin –
if you’re a child, anyway.’
Sophie raised an eyebrow. ‘They’re quite dull when
you’re five foot six, which is why you’re not coming.
Unlike last year. And he doesn’t ask you about Latin any more.
He knows you went to the same school as I did, and didn’t.’
Amanda obviously now felt guilty. ‘Do you really want me come?
I will. We did used to have fun at your parents’ annual bash.’
‘When we three used to cover each other in face paint and
play with the hose in the garden.’ They both sighed reminiscently
and then Sophie went on: ‘No, you’re fine. I’ll
do this one on my own. After all, I’m used to my ghastly family.
I can cope with them.’ She frowned slightly. She hadn’t
been entirely truthful with Amanda. Although she always appeared
to accept her lot in the family pecking order it had irked her more
lately. Especially during these hard times, when her skill with
turning shabby into chic was particularly useful, she could have
done with the occasional pat on the back.
Cover illustration by Sophie Griotto; Cover: www.headdesign.co.uk
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