Wedding Night (15 page)

“He
owns
Dupree Sanders,” Lorcan corrects me.

“What?” I say stupidly.

I don’t even know what Dupree Sanders is, exactly. I didn’t stop to check it out.

“As of his father’s death a year ago, Ben is the major shareholder in Dupree Sanders, a paper-manufacturing company worth thirty million pounds. And, for what it’s worth, his life has been complicated and he’s also pretty vulnerable.”

As I digest his words, a boiling hot fury starts to rise within me.

“You think my sister’s a
gold digger
?” I erupt. “
That’s
what you think?”

I have never been so insulted in all my life. The arrogant … conceited …
shit
. I’m breathing faster and faster, staring daggers at his screen face.

“I didn’t say that,” he counters calmly.

“Just listen to me, Mr. Adamson,” I say in my iciest tones. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we?
Your
precious friend talked
my
sister into a ridiculous, rushed marriage.
Not
the other way round. How do you know she isn’t an heiress worth even more? How do you know we’re not related to the … the Gettys?”

“Touché,” says Lorcan after a pause. “Are you?”

“Of course we’re not,” I say impatiently. “The point is, you jumped to conclusions. Surprising, for a lawyer.”

There’s another silence. I get the feeling I’ve needled him. Well, good.

“OK,” he says finally. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply anything about your sister. Maybe she and Ben are a match made in heaven. But that doesn’t change the fact that we have some very big stuff happening at the company. Ben needs to be available in the UK now. If he wants to go on honeymoon, he’ll have to do it later.”

“Or never,” I put in.

“Or never. Indeed.” Lorcan sounds amused. “You’re not a fan of Ben, then?”

“I’ve never even met him. But this has been a useful chat. It’s all I needed to know. Leave it with me. I’ll deal with it.”

“
I’ll
deal with it,” he contradicts me. “I’ll talk to Ben.”

God, this guy is winding me up. Who says he should be in charge?

“I’ll talk to Lottie,” I counter as authoritatively as I can. “I’ll fix it.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He talks straight across me. “I’ll speak to Ben. The whole thing will be forgotten.”

“I’ll talk to Lottie,” I repeat, ignoring him. “And I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted everything out.”

There’s silence. Neither of us is going to concede, I can tell.

“Right,” says Lorcan at last. “Well, goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

I put down the receiver, then grab my mobile and dial Lottie’s mobile. No more Ms. Nice Sister. I am stopping this marriage. Right here, right now.

6
FLISS

I can’t
believe
she’s ignored me for a full twenty-four hours. She’s got some nerve.

It’s the following afternoon, the wedding is due to start in an hour, and I still haven’t spoken to Lottie. She’s sidestepped my every call (approximately one hundred of them). But at the same time she’s managed to leave a whole series of messages on
my
phone, about the registry office and the restaurant and meeting for pre-wedding drinks at Bluebird. A purple satin bridesmaid’s dress arrived at my office at lunchtime by bike. A poem arrived by email, along with a request for me to read it aloud during the ceremony:
It will make our day so special!

She doesn’t fool me. There’s a reason she’s not been taking my calls: she feels defensive. Which means I’m in with a chance. I know I can talk her out of this nonsense. I just need to work out exactly where her vulnerability is and exploit it.

As I arrive at Bluebird, I can see her already sitting at the bar in a cream lace minidress, with roses in her hair and adorable vintage-style shoes with button straps. She looks radiantly
beautiful, and for a moment I feel bad, coming in to derail her.

But, no. Someone has to stay sane around here. She won’t be looking so radiant when she’s being billed for her
decree nisi
.

Noah’s not with me. He’s having a sleepover with his friend Sebastian. I fibbed to Lottie, saying it was really special and he would be “so sorry to miss the wedding.” The real reason is that I’m not intending for there to be any wedding.

Lottie has spotted me and waves to get my attention. I wave back and approach with an innocent smile. I’m walking into the paddock quietly, unthreateningly, the halter hidden behind my back. I’m the Bride Whisperer.

“You look gorgeous!” As I reach Lottie, I give her a huge hug. “How exciting. What a happy day!”

Lottie scans my face without replying, which proves I’m right: she’s on the defensive. But I keep my smile steady, as though I haven’t noticed a thing.

“I thought you weren’t keen on the idea,” she says at last.

“What?” I act shocked. “Of
course
I’m keen on the idea! I was just surprised. But I’m sure Ben is absolutely wonderful and you’ll be happy for many, many years.”

I hold my breath. She’s visibly relaxing. Her guard is coming down.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, we will. Well, sit down. Have some champagne! Here’s your bouquet.” She hands me a little cluster of roses.

“Wow! Fabulous.”

She pours me a glass and I raise it in a toast. Then I glance at my watch. Fifty-five minutes to go. I need to get cracking on the derailment strategy.

“So, any honeymoon plans?” I say casually. “You probably didn’t manage to book anywhere at such short notice. What a shame. A honeymoon is such a special time, you want it to be perfect. If you’d held on a few weeks, I could have helped you arrange something amazing. In fact … shall we do that?” I put down my glass as though seized by a brilliant new idea. “Lottie, let’s put off the wedding just a
teeny
bit and have fun planning the perfect honeymoon for you!”

“Don’t worry,” says Lottie happily. “We already have the perfect honeymoon arranged! One night at the Savoy and then off tomorrow!”

“Really?” I get ready to trump it. “Where are you going, then?”

“We’re going back to Ikonos. Back to where we met. Isn’t it perfect?”

“To a backpackers’ guest house?” I stare at her.

“No, silly! To that amazing hotel! The Amba. The one with the waterfall. Didn’t you review it?”

Damn. The Amba is pretty untrumpable. It opened three years ago and we’ve reviewed it twice since then—five stars each time. It’s the most spectacular place in the Cyclades and was voted Top Honeymoon Destination two years running.

Since then, it’s already become
just
a touch tacky, truth be told. It’s been flooded with celebrity couples and
Hello!
magazine photo shoots, and it plays to the “honeymoon” market too strongly if you ask me. Still, it remains an amazing, world-class hotel. I’ll need to work hard to talk her out of it.

“The only thing about the Amba is, you have to be on the best side.” I shake my head gloomily. “At such short notice, they’ve probably shoved you in that awful side wing. There’s no sun, and it smells. You’ll be miserable.” I suddenly
brighten. “I know! Wait a few weeks, and let me call in a favor. I can get you the Oyster Suite, I’m sure. Honestly, Lotts, the bed alone is worth waiting for. It’s massive, with a glass dome above so you can see the stars. You
have
to have it.” I proffer my phone. “Why don’t you call Ben and say you want to put things off, only for a few weeks—”

“But we’ve
got
the Oyster Suite!” Lottie interrupts me joyfully. “It’s all booked! We’re having a bespoke honeymoon, with our own private butler and treatments every day and a day on the hotel yacht!”

“What?” I stare at her, my phone dangling limply in my hand. “How?”

“There was a cancelation!” She beams. “Ben uses some special concierge service and they fixed it up. Isn’t it great?”

“Marvelous,” I say after a pause. “Super.”

“Ikonos is so special to us.” She’s bubbling over. “I mean, it’s been totally ruined, I’m sure. When we were there, they didn’t even have an
airport
, let alone any big hotels. We had to get there by boat. But, still, it’ll be like going back in time. I can’t wait.”

There’s no point pushing this one any further. I sip my champagne, thinking hard.

“Have you got a vintage Rolls-Royce today?” I try a different tack. “You always wanted a vintage Rolls-Royce for your wedding.”

“No.” She shrugs. “I can walk.”

“But what a shame!” I put on a stricken expression. “It was your dream to have a vintage Rolls-Royce. If you just waited a bit, you could have one.”

“Fliss.” Lottie gives me a gently chiding smile. “Aren’t you
being rather shallow? The important thing is love. Finding a life partner. Not some random car. Don’t you think?”

“Of course.” I smile back tightly. OK, leave the car. Try another approach.

Dress? No. She’s wearing a lovely dress.

Wedding-gifts list? No. She’s not that materialistic.

“So … will there be any hymns at the wedding?” I ask at last. There’s silence. Quite a long silence. I stare at Lottie in sudden hope. Her face has tightened.

“We’re not allowed hymns,” she says at last, and looks down into her drink. “You can’t have them at a registry-office wedding.”

Yes! Bingo!

“No hymns?” I raise a hand to my mouth in horror, as though I hadn’t known this all along. “But how can you have a wedding without hymns? What about ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’? You were always going to have that at your wedding.”

Lottie was in the choir at our boarding school. She used to sing solos. Music was a big deal to her. I should have started with this tack first.

“Well. It’s not important.” She smiles briefly—but her whole demeanor has changed.

“What does Ben think?”

“Ben’s not really into hymns,” she says after a pause.

Ben’s not really into hymns
.

I want to whoop. This is it. Her Achilles’ heel. I have her like putty in my hands.

“I vow to thee, my country,” I start singing very quietly. “All earthly things above.”

“Stop,” she says, almost snapping.

“Sorry.” I raise an apologetic hand. “Just … thinking aloud. For me, a wedding is all about the music. The beautiful, wonderful music.”

This is untrue. I couldn’t care less about music, and if Lottie were sharper, she’d instantly realize I’m winding her up. But she’s looking away, lost in her own world. Are her eyes a little glassy?

“I always imagined you kneeling at the altar in a country church with the organ playing,” I muse, rubbing it in. “Not at a registry office. Funny, that.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t even turn her head.

“Da-da
-daah
-da-da-da
-da-ah
-da …” I’m still humming the tune of “I Vow to Thee, My Country.” Obviously I don’t know all the words, but the tune is enough. That’s what’ll get her.

Her eyes
are
glassy. OK, time to go in for the kill.

“Anyway!” I break off from singing. “The important thing is that this is your special day. And it’s going to be perfect. Nice and quick. No stupid fussing about with music, or choirboys, or bells pealing from a country steeple … Just in and out. Sign a paper, say a couple of words, and you’re done. For life,” I add.
“Finito.”

I feel almost cruel. I can see her bottom lip quivering very slightly.

“Do you remember the bridal scene in
The Sound of Music
?” I add casually. “When Maria walks up the aisle to the nuns’ singing and her big long veil floating everywhere …”

Don’t overdo it, Fliss.

I lapse into silence and sip my champagne, waiting. I can see Lottie’s eyes flickering with thoughts. I can sense her inner battle between romance and lust. I think romance is just getting
the edge. I think the violins are playing louder than the jungle drums. She looks as if she’s coming to a decision.
Please
go the right way, go on.…

“Fliss …” She looks up. “Fliss …”

Just call me the World Champion Bride Whisperer.

There was no argument. No confrontation. Lottie thinks it was
her
idea to postpone. I was the one saying, “Are you sure, Lottie? Are you positive you want to call things off? Really?”

I’ve totally sold her on the idea of a country wedding with music and a choir and bells. She’s already looked up the name of the chaplain at our old school. She’s off on a new dream of satin and posies and “I Vow to Thee, My Country.”

Which is fine. A wedding is lovely. Marriage is lovely. Maybe Ben is destined to be her life partner and I’ll kick myself as she has her tenth grandchild and think,
What was my problem?
But at least this way gives her some breathing space. At least it gives her time to look at Ben and think,
Hmm. Sixty more years with you. Is this a good idea?

Lottie’s gone off to the registry office, to tell Ben the news. My work is done. The only task remaining is to buy her
Brides
magazine. We’re going to meet up for coffee tomorrow and have a cozy chat about veils, and then, in the evening,
finally
I’ll get to meet Ben.

I’m waiting to cross the King’s Road, mentally congratulating myself for being so brilliant, when I see a face I recognize. Beaky nose. Windswept dark hair. Rose in his buttonhole. He’s about ten feet tall and is striding along the pavement on the other side, with the kind of thunderous frown that you wear when your rich best friend has been grabbed by an evil
gold digger and you’ve got to be best man. As he’s walking, his rose suddenly falls out, and he stops to pick it up. He’s looking at it with such a murderous expression, I almost want to laugh.

Ha. Well, wait till I tell
him
. What’s his name again? Oh yes, Lorcan.

“Hi!” I wave frantically as he moves off. “Lorcan! Stop!”

His stride is so fast, I’ll never catch up with him. He pauses and swivels round suspiciously, and I wave again to get his attention.