(Or was she just trying to make herself seem as interestingly peculiar as Saskia?)

At any rate, Patrick would have to be told about Saskia’s subterfuge at some point. But she wouldn’t ruin this little interlude from real life. She would wait until they were back in Sydney. Also, there was still the pregnancy. The baby.

She felt Patrick’s hand tighten around hers as he stirred and woke up.

“Hello, you,” he yawned, running his other hand over her shoulder, down her waist and letting it rest on her hip. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” she said, without even a tremor in her voice.

“Mmmm. Me too.”

After they got up, Patrick suggested a walk. He pulled her to the window. “See the headland? There’s a spot just by the entrance to the national park where I thought we could watch the sun go down. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” said Ellen.

And it almost was.

There was a table and bench right on the headland. The lush green of the national park contrasted with the deep blue of the ocean. The sky was all soft pastels: pink and blue and orange.

Patrick had bought an expensive bottle of champagne and cheese and biscuits and strawberries. He’d carefully wrapped two champagne glasses from the hotel mini-bar in his beach towel.

“This is very impressive,” said Ellen, as Patrick uncorked the champagne with a celebratory pop.

“Stick with me, babe.” Patrick filled their glasses. “Us surveyors know how to treat a woman right.”

She decided she’d have one glass of champagne. Her mother had told her that the “occasional glass of wine is hardly going to cause fetal alcohol syndrome.”

“To us.” Patrick clinked his glass against hers. “May we have many more weekends exactly like this.”

“May we drink many more glasses of champagne exactly like this,” said Ellen. The champagne was excellent: dry and creamy.

“May we—oops, just let me get that.”

“What did you drop?” asked Ellen, confused, as Patrick scrabbled about at her feet.

He didn’t answer. He seemed to be getting back up in an extremely awkward manner, like an old, arthritic man.

“Have you hurt yourself?” Ellen stood up and went to help him.

“Sit down, woman! I haven’t hurt myself.” Patrick seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“What are you doing then?”

“Ellen,” said Patrick, and his voice changed, becoming deep and ponderous. His face had a silly, sheepish look about it, as if he was playing a game of charades.

He had one knee on the ground and the other propped out in front of him. He held up a little black velvet case in the palm of his hand.

Oh, my Lord in heaven, he was proposing. He was doing one of those proper, bended-knee, ring-already-purchased proposals. How wonderful.

And yet how strangely excruciating.

Her eye was caught by something behind him. A slight movement. There was somebody standing at the lookout, taking photos of the sunset.

“Ellen,” said Patrick again. He cleared his throat. “OK, I feel sort of stupid. And there’s something digging into my knee. It looks so much easier in the movies.”

Ellen laughed and put down her champagne glass with slightly trembling fingers. She blinked back tears, overcome with flattered self-consciousness. A man is proposing to me at sunset.

She saw the woman with the camera turn around and face them. She was smiling.

“Ellen, will you, I mean, could you, I would be honored, would you, that is, marry me?”

“There are two things I need to tell you first,” said Ellen. She was surprised at the clarity of her voice.

“OK.” Patrick immediately dropped his hand holding the black velvet case and then almost lost his balance. He gripped the side of the picnic table for support. “Umm. Should I get back up?”

“I’m pregnant,” said Ellen. She paused. “Also, I’m pretty sure that woman over there is Saskia, and she’s coming this way.”

Then she laid one hand firmly on his right shoulder and hoped for the best.

Chapter 12

One of the effects of increasing urbanization is the increasing isolation and loneliness of the individual. It has therefore been suggested that psychiatrists and psychologists be invited to join town planning committees to contribute their thoughts on this complex issue.

—Excerpt from a paper delivered by Saskia Brown

at Urban Development for 2004 and

Beyond Conference, Noosa, 2004

Hi, Patrick. Hi, Ellen! I thought I recognized you!” Saskia came striding toward them and stopped at the picnic table, removed her sunglasses and smiled brightly down at them. She was wearing shorts (Ellen noted beautiful long, smooth legs) and a T-shirt and baseball cap, and her whole demeanor seemed perfectly sane and ordinary. She looked sporty and attractive. No one watching would ever guess that she was anything other than a woman out for a walk who had happened to run into some friends. If anything, they would think that Ellen and Patrick were the ones behaving strangely. Neither of them spoke; they stared dully up at Saskia.

“It’s such a beautiful evening.” Saskia polished the lenses of her sunglasses with the edge of her T-shirt and put them back on, gesturing at the sky. “It’s one of those sunsets that should be on a postcard.”

“Saskia,” said Patrick hoarsely. He went to stand up; his back hunched, like an old man.

“Oh, no, Patrick, please don’t let me interrupt!” Saskia made friendly, flapping gestures with her hands, indicating that he should kneel back down. “You get right back to proposing. Lovely to see you both!”