Wedding Night

  “Both of you,” he cuts across me, taking in Richard with his glance too. “I’m flying out to Ikonos for good reason. I have some important business to discuss with Ben. He needs to be focused. So if you’re planning to yell at him or beat him up or steal his wife from him, or whatever you’re going to do, I have a request. Please leave it till our meeting is over. Then he’s all yours.”

  I feel an instant surge of resentment.

  “That’s all you have to say?” I jut out my chin.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re only interested in your business. Not in the fact that you caused this marriage?”

  “I did not cause it,” he retaliates. “And of course the business is my priority.”

  “ ‘Of course’?” I echo sarcastically. “Business is more important than marriage? Interesting viewpoint.”

  “Right now, yes. And it needs to be Ben’s priority too.”

  “Well, don’t worry.” I roll my eyes. “We’re not going to beat him up.”

  “I might beat him up.” Richard pounds his palm with his fist. “I might just do that.”

  The elderly lady sitting next to me looks appalled. “Excuse me,” she says hurriedly to Lorcan. “Would you like to exchange seats so you can talk to your friends?”

  “No, thank you,” I begin, as Lorcan says, “Thank you so much.”

  Great. A minute later, Lorcan is buckling up his seat belt next to me while I stare studiously ahead. Just the sense of him so close to me is making my skin prickle. I can smell his aftershave. It’s giving me Proustian flashbacks to that night, which are really not helpful.

  “So,” I say shortly. It’s only one syllable, but I think it successfully conveys the message: You’re wrong on everything, from who’s to blame for this marriage, to what exactly I meant that morning, to your priorities generally.

  “So,” he replies with a curt nod. I have a feeling he means much the same thing.

  “So.” I open my newspaper. I’m hereby going to ignore him for the whole flight.

  The only trouble is, I can’t help glancing over at his laptop every so often and seeing phrases that interest me. Richard and Noah are listening to the iPod together while Noah makes inroads into his lollipops. There’s no one else to talk to, even if he is an arrogant bighead on the other team.

  “So, what’s going on?” I say at last, with a shrug to indicate I’m really not interested.

  “We’re rationalizing the company,” says Lorcan after a pause. “Expanding one part of our business, refinancing another, jettisoning another. It all needs to be done. The paper industry these days—”

  “Nightmare,” I agree before I can stop myself. “The price of paper affects us too.”

  “Of course. The magazine.” He nods. “Well, then, you’ll know.”

  The two of us are making a connection again. I don’t know if this is a mistake or not, but somehow I can’t help it. It’s such a relief to have someone to talk to who isn’t my boss or my staff or my child or my ex-husband or my loopy little sister. He doesn’t need anything from me. That’s the difference. He’s just sitting there, composed, as though he doesn’t give a fuck.

  “I read online you developed Papermaker,” I say. “That was you?”

  “My brainchild.” He shrugs. “Others more talented than me design the stuff.”

  “I like Papermaker,” I allow. “Nice cards. Expensive.”

  “But you still buy them.” He gives me a tiny grin.

  “For now,” I retaliate. “Till I find another brand.”

  “Touché.” He winces and I give him a sidelong look. Maybe that was a bit harsh.

  “Are you actually in trouble?” Even as I ask, I know it’s an inane question. Everyone’s in trouble right now. “I mean, real trouble?”

  “We’re at a junction.” He exhales. “It’s a tricky time. Ben’s dad died with no warning, and we’ve been treading water ever since. We need to make a few brave decisions.” He hesitates. “The right brave decisions.”

  “Ah.” I consider this. “Do you mean Ben has to make the right brave decisions?”

  “You catch on quickly.”

  “And is he likely to? You can tell me. I won’t let on.” I pause, wondering whether to be tactful or not. “Are you about to go bust?”

  “No.” He reacts so hotly, I know I’ve hit a nerve. “We are not about to go bust. We’re profitable. We can be more profitable. We have the brand names, the resources, a very loyal workforce.…” He sounds as though he’s trying to convince some imaginary audience. “But it’s hard. We held off a bid for the company last year.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a solution?”

  “Ben’s father would turn in his grave,” says Lorcan shortly. “It was from Yuri Zhernakov.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Wow.” Yuri Zhernakov is one of those guys who appear in the paper every other day with words like “billionaire” and “oligarch” attached to their names.

  “He saw the house on TV and his wife fell in love with it,” Lorcan says drily. “They wanted to live there for a few weeks every year.”

  “Well, that could be good, couldn’t it?” I say. “Sell up while there’s some cash on offer?”

  There’s silence. Lorcan is glowering at the screen saver on his laptop, which I notice is a Papermaker design that I’ve bought myself.

  “Maybe Ben will sell,” he says at last. “But to anyone but Zhernakov.”

  “What’s wrong with Zhernakov?” I challenge him, laughing. “Are you a snob?”

  “No, I’m not a snob!” retorts Lorcan forcefully. “But I care about the company. A guy like Zhernakov isn’t interested in some two-bit paper company spoiling his view. He’d close down half the company, relocate the rest, ruin the community. If Ben ever spent any time up there, he’d realize—” He stops himself and exhales. “Besides which, the offer’s wrong.”

  “What does Ben think?”

  “Ben …” Lorcan takes a gulp of his mineral water. “Unfortunately, Ben’s pretty naïve. He doesn’t have the business instinct of his father but he thinks he does. Which is dangerous.”

  I glance at his briefcase. “So you want to get out there and persuade Ben to sign all the restructuring contracts before he can change his mind.”

  Lorcan is silent for a while, drumming his fingers lightly together.

  “I want him to start taking responsibility for his inheritance,” he says at last. “He doesn’t realize how lucky he is.”

  I take a few sips of champagne. Some of this makes sense to me and some of it really doesn’t.

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” I say at last. “It’s not your company.”

  Lorcan blinks, and I sense I’ve touched a nerve again, although he’s careful to hide it.

  “Ben’s dad was an amazing guy,” he says at length. “I just want to make things work out the way he would have wanted. And they can,” he adds with sudden vigor. “Ben’s creative. He’s smart. He could be a great leader, but he needs to stop dicking around and offending people.”

  I’m tempted to ask exactly how Ben has offended people, but I can’t quite bring myself to be that nosy.

  “You were a lawyer in London, weren’t you?” My thoughts head off in a new direction.

  “Freshfields are still wondering where I am.” Lorcan’s face flashes with humor. “I was on gardening leave between law firms when I went up to stay with Ben’s dad. That was four years ago. I still get calls from recruitment companies, but I’m happy.”

  “Do you do annulments?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  “Annulments?” Lorcan raises his eyebrows very high. “I see.” As he meets my eyes, his expression is so quizzical, I nearly laugh. “You have a Machiavellian mind, Ms. Graveney.”

  “I have a practical mind,” I correct him.

  “So they really haven’t—” Lorcan interrupts himself. “Hey. What’s going on there?”

  I follow his glance and see that th
e old woman who was sitting next to me is clutching her chest and fighting for breath. A teenage boy is looking around helplessly, and he calls out, “Is there a doctor? Is anyone here a doctor?”

  “I’m a GP.” A gray-haired man in a linen jacket hurries to the seat. “Is this your grandmother?”

  “No! I’ve never seen her before!” The teenager sounds panicky, and I don’t blame him. The old lady doesn’t look very well. We’re all watching the doctor talk to the old woman in a low voice and feel for her pulse, when suddenly the air hostess with the French plait appears.

  “Sir,” she says breathlessly to us. “Please could we ask for your help?”

  Help? What on earth—

  I realize the truth just as Richard does. They think he’s a doctor. Oh shit. He glances at me wildly and I pull an agonized face back.

  “We have an expert here!” the air hostess is saying to the man in the linen jacket, her eyes alive with excitement. “Don’t worry, everyone! We have a very senior pioneering surgeon from Great Ormond Street on board! He’ll take charge!”

  Richard’s eyes are bulging in alarm. “No!” he manages. “No. Really. I’m … not …”

  “Go on, Uncle Richard!” says Noah, his face bright. “Cure the lady!” Meanwhile, the GP looks affronted.

  “It’s a straightforward case of angina,” he says testily, getting up. “My medical bag’s on board if you’d like me to assist. But if you want to give a second opinion—”

  “No.” Richard looks desperate. “No, I don’t!”

  “I’ve given her sublingual nitroglycerin. Would you agree with that?”

  Oh God. This is bad. Richard looks absolutely desperate.

  “I … I …” He swallows. “I—”

  “He never practices on board planes!” I come to his rescue. “He has a phobia!”

  “Yes,” gulps Richard, shooting me a grateful glance. “Exactly! A phobia.”

  “Ever since a flight which went dreadfully wrong.” I shudder dramatically, as though from a painful memory. “Flight 406 to Bangladesh.”

  “Please don’t ask me to talk about it.” Richard plays along.

  “He’s still in therapy.” I nod gravely.

  The GP stares at us both as if we’re crazy.

  “Well, good thing I was here,” he says shortly. He turns back to the old woman, and both Richard and I subside. I feel weak. The air hostess shakes her head in disappointment and heads over to the other side of the plane.

  “Fliss, you have to get Noah sorted out,” says Richard in a low, urgent voice. “He can’t go around just making up stories. He’ll get someone in real trouble.”

  “I know.” I wince. “I’m so sorry.”

  The old lady is being taken to some farther bit of the plane. The GP and the cabin crew are having what looks like a tense discussion. They all disappear behind a curtain, and for a little while there’s no sign of life. Richard is staring ahead intently, his forehead creased in concern. He must be worried about the old woman, I find myself thinking benevolently. He has a kind heart, Richard.

  “So, listen. Tell me.” He turns to me at last, his brow still furrowed. “They really haven’t done it yet?”

  Oh, honestly. Silly me. He’s a man. Naturally he’s thinking about only one thing.

  “Not as far as I know.” I shrug.

  “Hey, maybe this Ben can’t get it up.” Richard’s face brightens in sudden animation.

  “I don’t think that’s it.” I shake my head.

  “Why not? It’s the only explanation! He can’t get it up!”

  “Can’t get what up?” asks Noah with interest.

  Great. I glare at Richard, but he’s so triumphant, he doesn’t notice. I’m sure there’s some special long German word meaning “the joy you feel at your rival’s sexual impotence,” and right now Richard has it with bells on.

  “Poor guy,” he adds, as he finally notices my disapproving look. “I mean, I feel for him, obviously. Nasty affliction.”

  “You have no evidence for this,” I point out.

  “It’s his honeymoon,” retorts Richard. “Who doesn’t do it on their honeymoon unless he can’t get it up?”

  “Can’t get what up?” Noah’s voice pipes louder.

  “Nothing, darling,” I say hastily to Noah. “Just something very grown-up and boring.”

  “Is it a grown-up thing that goes up?” asks Noah with piercing curiosity. “Does it ever go down?”

  “He can’t get it up!” Richard is exultant. “It all falls into place. Poor old Lottie.”

  “Who can’t get it up?” says Lorcan, turning toward us.

  “Ben,” says Richard.

  “Really?” Lorcan looks taken aback. “Shit.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  Oh God. This is how rumors start. This is how misunderstandings happen and archdukes get shot and world wars begin.

  “Listen, both of you!” I say fiercely. “Lottie has said nothing whatsoever to me about anything being up … or down.”

  “Mine is up,” volunteers Noah matter-of-factly, and I gasp in horror before I can stop myself.

  OK, Fliss. Don’t overreact. Be cool. Be an enlightened parent.

  “Really, darling? Gosh. Well.” My cheeks have flamed. Both men are waiting with expressions of glee. “That’s … that’s interesting, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll have a little talk about it later. Our bodies do wonderful, mysterious things, but we don’t always talk about them in public.” I give a meaningful look at Richard.

  Noah seems perplexed. “But the lady talked about it. She told me to put it up.”

  “What?” I stare at him in equal confusion.

  “For takeoff. ‘Put your tray table up.’ ”

  “Oh.” I gulp. “Oh, I see. Your tray table.” I can feel a snort of mirth rising.

  “Poor Uncle Ben’s tray table doesn’t go up,” says Richard, deadpan.

  “Stop!” I try to sound admonishing, but I’m in fits of laughter. “I’m sure it does—” I break off as the air hostess’s voice comes over the sound system.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? I have a very important announcement.”

  Uh-oh. I hope the old lady’s OK. I suddenly feel mortified that we’ve been laughing while a drama’s going on.

  “I regret to inform you that, due to a medical emergency on board, the plane will be unable to land at Ikonos as originally planned but will be landing at our nearest available airport with full medical facilities, which, at this moment, is Sofia.”

  I’m pinned to the seat with shock. My hilarity has melted away. We’re being diverted?

  “I do apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you and will of course give you any further information when I have it.”

  A ruckus of protest has broken out all around me, but I barely hear it. This cannot be happening. Lorcan turns to me incredulously.

  “Sofia, Bulgaria? How many hours will that delay us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong?” Noah is looking from face to face. “Mummy, what’s wrong? Who’s Sofia?”

  “It’s a place.” I swallow hard. “Turns out we’re going there first. Won’t that be fun?” I glance again at Richard. He’s lost all his ebullience too. He’s sagged right down and is gazing at the seat back with a savage scowl.

  “Well, that’s it. We’ll be too late. I thought we had a chance to get there before they … you know.” He spreads his hands. “But now it’s impossible.”

  “It’s not impossible!” I retort, trying to reassure myself as much as him. “Richard, listen. The truth is, Lottie’s so-called marriage is already falling to bits.”

  I wasn’t going to say as much as that, but I think he needs a shot of confidence in the arm.

  “You don’t know that,” he growls.

  “I do! What you don’t know is, there’s a history here. Every time Lottie breaks up with someone, she does this.”

  “She gets ma
rried?” Richard looks scandalized. “Every time?”

  “No!” I want to laugh at his expression. “I just mean she does something rash and idiotic. And then she comes to. I’ll probably get off the plane and find a text waiting for me, saying, Fliss, I made a huge mistake! Help!”

  I can see Richard digesting this idea. “You really think so?”

  “Believe me, I’ve been here before. I call them her Unfortunate Choices. Sometimes she joins a cult, sometimes she gets a tattoo.… Think of this marriage as an extreme piercing. Right this minute, they’re doing a Couples’ Quiz,” I add to encourage him. “I mean, what a joke! They haven’t got a clue about each other. Lottie will see that, and she’ll start to think straight, and then she’ll realize.”

  “Couples’ Quiz?” says Richard after a pause. “You mean like that TV game?”

  “Exactly. Like, ‘What is your partner’s favorite meal that you cook for her?’ That kind of thing.”

  “Spaghetti carbonara,” says Richard, without missing a beat.

  “There you go.” I squeeze his hand. “If you guys did it, you’d win. Ben and Lottie are going to tank. Then she’ll come to her senses. You wait and see.”

  15

  LOTTIE

  It’s a game. Just a game. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Even so, I’m feeling more irritable by the second. Why can’t I remember this stuff? And, more to the point, why can’t Ben? Isn’t he interested in the details of my life?

  We’re sitting in the hotel garden with ten minutes to go before Couples’ Quiz starts, and I’ve never felt less prepared for a test in my life. Ben is lying in a hammock, drinking beer and playing some new rap song on his iPad, which really isn’t improving my mood.

  “Let’s go again,” I say. “And, this time, concentrate. What shampoo do I use?”

  “L’Oréal.”

  “No!”

  “Head and Shoulders, extra strong for monster dandruff.” He smirks.

  “No!” I kick him. “I told you. Kerastase. And you use Paul Mitchell.”

  “Do I?” he says blankly.

  I feel instant rage boiling up inside me. “What do you mean, ‘do I’? You told me you use Paul Mitchell! We have to be on the same page for this, Ben. If you say Paul Mitchell once, you have to stick to Paul Mitchell!”