âTHIS is my favourite part,â Molly whispered as the glamorous couple on her TV screen walked sadly but stoically to opposite ends of Londonâs Westminster Bridge. âHeâs going to turn back to her any minute now.â
Molly was curled on her couch in a tense ball. Karli, at the other end of the couch, helped herself to more popcorn.
âDonât miss this, Karli. I cry every time. Look. He hears Big Ben, and he stops, andââ Mollyâs voice broke on a sob. âHe turns.â She hugged her knees. âSee the look on his face?â
âOhhh â¦â Karli let out a hushed breath. âYou can see he really, really loves her.â
âI know. Itâs so beautiful.â Molly reached for tissues as the gorgeous hero stood alone on the bridge, stricken-faced, shoulders squared, waiting for the woman in the long fur coat to turn back to him.
Karli grabbed a cushion and clutched it to her chest. âHeâll chase after her.â
âNo. Itâs up to her now. If she doesnât turn back, he knows she doesnât love him.â
On the screen, a red double-decker London bus slowed to a stop and the movieâs heroine, in her ankle-length, glamorous coat, hurried to catch it.
âNo,â Karli moaned as the bus took off with the woman on board, and the camera switched to another close-up of the heroâs grimly devastated face. âDonât tell me itâs a sad ending.â
Molly pressed her lips together to stop herself from speaking. The camera tracked upwards to a birdâs eye view of London, showing the silvery River Thames curving below, and the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben ⦠the solitary figure of the hero standing on Westminster Bridge ⦠and the red bus driving away.
Karli was scowling. Molly hugged her knees tighter, gratified that her friend was hooked into the tension.
The camera climbed higher still, and the London bus was matchbox-size. The sounds of the city traffic were replaced by musicâviolins swelling with lush and aching beauty.
Molly had seen this movie more than a dozen times, but tears still rolled down her cheeks.
And then ⦠at last â¦
At last â¦
The bus stopped.
The tiny figure of the heroine emerged â¦
The camera swooped down once more, zooming closer and closer as the lovers ran towards each other, arms outstretched, embracing at last.
The credits began to roll. Karli wrinkled her nose. âOK. I admit that wasnât bad.â
âNot bad?â Molly sniffed. âI suppose thatâs why you practically bit a piece out of my sofa cushion? Come onâadmit itâs amazing. The look on Christianâs face when he thinks heâs lost Vanessa is the most emotional moment in cinematic history.â She gave a dramatic sigh. âAnd London has to be the most romantic city in the world.â
Shrugging, Karli reached for more popcorn. âIsnât Paris supposed to be the most romantic city?â
âNo way. Not for me. Paris isâParis is ⦠Oh, I donât know.â Molly gave a helpless flap of her hands. âParis just ⦠isnât London.â
âAdmit it, Mozza. You have a thing for English guys. Youâre convinced that London is full of perfect gentlemen.â
It was best to ignore her friendâs sarcasm. Molly wasnât going to admit that it held a grainâOK, maybe even more than a grainâof truth. Her love affair with London was deeply personal.
Pressing the remote to turn the set off, she went to the window and looked out into the night. The moon was almost full and it silvered the tall pines on the headland and the smooth, sparkling surface of the Coral Sea.
âOne thingâs for sure,â she said. âNothing romantic like that is ever going to happen to me. Not on this island.â
âOh, I donât know. Our island might not have Big Ben or Westminster Bridge, but the moonlight on Picnic Bayâs not bad. I wasnât complaining when Jimbo proposed.â