Summer at the Lake (33 page)

‘Where to?’ he asked, also on his feet. ‘Your place?’

‘If you promise to behave.’

‘I’ll even remove my shoes at the door,’ he said. ‘I’m very well trained. If nothing else, Imogen’s done an extremely thorough job on domesticating me. I even put the loo seat down these days.’

He kept eye contact with her for a beat too long and sensing another trap, Floriana said, ‘Where did you say you’d left your car?’

‘Nice,’ he said, standing in the sitting room and staring round. ‘It’s very you.’

‘Is that code for cheap and arty?’

‘It wouldn’t be you otherwise. But honestly, it’s nice; I like it. It feels comfortable, like a proper home.’

‘Thank you. Drink?’

‘What are you offering?’

‘Not very much, I’m afraid.’ She stepped through the archway into the kitchen. ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘Not even your
friend
?’

Ignoring him, and the emphasis he put on the word ‘friend’, she looked in the fridge. ‘I have two bottles of beer and some white wine.’ The wine had been a gift from Adam to thank her for helping to tackle the wilderness that had swallowed up his garden. Esme had helped as well, issuing commands as to what had to be dug up and what was worth keeping.

Having followed her into the kitchen, Seb peered into the fridge next to her. ‘A bottle of Cloudy Bay, no less; I’ll have some of that. Your taste in wine has obviously improved. Is it your
friend
who is responsible for introducing you to the world of decent wine? Is he an elitist North Oxford wine connoisseur?’ Smarting with annoyance, she gave Seb a cool look. ‘Adam is no such thing.’

‘Hallelujah! Finally we have a name for the mystery man!’

‘You are aware, aren’t you, that you’re turning into a tedious bore with your sarcasm and constant snidey comments? What’s the matter with you?’

He had the grace to pull a placatory face. ‘Sorry. How about you pour the wine while I use your bathroom and then I’ll let you decide what’s wrong with me?’

Listening to Seb moving about upstairs, Floriana wondered how he would react to the news that her going to Lake Como to his wedding was no longer just about him and his marriage. It had become something far bigger and, very likely, a whole lot more interesting.

When Esme had first asked Floriana and Adam to accompany her to Lake Como, stressing that the most sensible thing to do would be to coincide the trip with Seb’s wedding, and that she would meet all costs involved – that was non-negotiable – Floriana had been lost for words, not something that happened to her too frequently. Adam had been stunned into silence as well. An even more profound silence than usual from him.

‘It’s good to know that even at my age I can still surprise people,’ Esme had said with a smile. ‘I know it sounds like a madcap scheme, but please believe me, I haven’t lost my marbles while being ill, I really couldn’t be more serious about this.’

There had followed several days of intense discussion, mostly between Floriana and Adam as they came up with a list of reasons why the idea was barmy and shouldn’t be considered, not for a single minute. It was the responsibility that frightened them. What if Esme was ill? What if it was all too much for her? Floriana even discussed it with her parents, who said it sounded like a wonderful thing to do and she should view it as an opportunity. An adventure. By then Floriana couldn’t stop thinking about the irresistibly romantic prospect of retracing Esme’s stay at the lake all those years ago. ‘It’s her swansong,’ she said to Adam, after she’d checked with Tony in the office that she could take the time off, ‘how could we have the heart to refuse her? And just think, what if we tracked down Marco?’

‘What indeed?’ had been Adam’s less than enthusiastic response.

‘Oh, don’t be like that, it could be fun. And selfishly, it would certainly take my mind off Seb’s wedding.’

Despite the doubts he kept airing, Adam finally gave in. ‘I’m doing this against my better judgement,’ he said, ‘and on the basis that not only do you need a driver, since neither of you can drive, but more importantly you need a responsible adult on hand!’

‘And nobody’s more suited to that task than you,’ Floriana had teased him.

Esme had been delighted when Floriana had called in to give her the news. She had clapped her hands like an excited child.

‘Oh, how wonderful! And now, my dear, you won’t have the worry of going to Seb’s wedding unaccompanied, you’ll be able to take Adam.’

‘This might surprise you, but I wasn’t that worried about going alone.’

‘Well, I was worried for you; I hated the idea of you being all on your own. So much better this way, now you’ll have a lovely handsome man to show off.’

With a laugh, Floriana had warned Esme not to let Adam catch her talking about him as if he were a piece of arm candy.

‘Do that and he’ll back out of the trip altogether!’

It was a few days after this conversation had taken place that Floriana admitted to herself that Esme was right – it would be much better to have Adam with her when she was forced to witness Seb and Imogen marry. So plucking up her courage, and making it very clear that she would quite understand if he’d rather not, she had asked Adam if he’d like to be her plus-one. To her surprise, he’d agreed. ‘OK, why not?’ he’d said. ‘So long as I won’t be an embarrassment to you.’

It had been such an odd comment for him to make, and it puzzled her still. Why would he think he would be an embarrassment to her? The other way round, she could understand.

After Seb had come down from the bathroom and apologised again for acting like an idiot, and after Floriana had listened to what he had to say, she shook her head at him. ‘For heaven’s sake, Seb, you’ve got a classic case of pre-wedding jitters, it’s perfectly normal. All couples go through it.’

‘I hope you’re right because I’m beginning to think I’ve made a terrible mistake. She’s . . . she’s changed.’

‘Of course Imogen’s changed! She has a wedding to organise and by definition that’s turned her into Bridezilla.’

‘I get that, but what about me? Why aren’t I included in any of the arrangements? I’m not kidding, Florrie, it’s like I don’t exist. She and her parents talk about nothing but the wedding. If it’s not worrying about the photographer or the flowers, it’s the place settings, or declaring war on the Italians if they fail to deliver good weather on the day. Then there’s the cost of it; it’s obscene the amount they’re lashing out.’ He rubbed at his unshaved chin. ‘And it’s not just the wedding they’ve hijacked, it’s everything, it’s . . . it’s our relationship. They keep making plans for us. Holidays, Christmases, even what car we should consider buying. And naturally everything they say is disgustingly extravagant. When I point out to Imogen we can’t afford whatever it is her father’s just recommended, she tells me to relax and let her parents buy it for us.’

Surprised to hear Seb talking about money this way, she said, ‘But I thought you earned staggeringly good money?’ Three years ago Seb had landed a plum job with a prestigious advertising agency and within weeks had become their blue-eyed boy after he’d come up with an ad campaign for a mobile phone company that had gone viral on YouTube; its success had sent his earnings and creative reputation into the stratosphere.

He swatted her comment away with an impatient hand. ‘I do, but I like to live within my means. No one’s immune from financial meltdown. And that’s where we’re heading if Imogen has her way, because I absolutely refuse to let her parents own me with their money.’

Sympathising with him on that score, Floriana said, ‘All right, and putting the matter of money aside, you wouldn’t be the first groom to feel like a spare part before getting married; it goes with the territory. You’d be doing yourself a huge favour if you just left Imogen and her parents to get on with it. What’s more, her parents will want to do this for their only daughter, they’ll want to give her a perfect day.’

Frowning, Seb let out his breath. ‘What makes you such an expert?’

‘Don’t you remember Ann’s wedding? The run-up to that very nearly brought about Armageddon.’

He suddenly smiled – the first time he had since they’d met in the park. ‘God yes, your sister’s wedding, what a day. I was your plus-one, wasn’t I?’

‘And you got spectacularly drunk. Much to my sister’s disgust you tried to perform an excuse-me during her and Paul’s first dance.’

‘I couldn’t have been that drunk as I clearly remember the look on her face. I thought she was going to deck me.’

‘She would have if she hadn’t been worried it would spoil her make-up. Which just goes to prove every bride turns into a monster. Just accept that Imogen’s going to be suffering from the emotional bends and be outrageously cranky until the big day. You have exactly four weeks to get through and then life will return to the blissful state it was before.’

The smile dropped from his face. ‘Trouble is, I can’t remember a time when it was blissful. We used to laugh, I’m sure of it, but for the life of me I can’t think when or why.’

The warning voice from earlier, accompanied by a loud klaxon, advised extreme caution. ‘Seb,’ Floriana said carefully, ‘haven’t you got any friends in London you can talk to about this?’

He shook his head. ‘They’re all mutual friends. I’d only have to utter a single negative word to any one of them and it would get back to Imogen in a flash.’

‘What about your best man? Surely he’s somebody you’re close to and in whom you can confide?’

Draining his glass, he settled it on the arm of the sofa and contemplated it, as if hinting for Floriana to give him a refill. Mindful of his drive back to London, she didn’t. ‘Well?’ she pressed.

‘This is going to sound seriously weird, but I didn’t get to choose my best man. Imogen insisted on her brother doing the job. About eighteen months ago he was in an accident and lost both legs, but he’s since learnt to walk with prosthetic limbs and Imogen thought it would be great if he was given the honour of being my best man, so –’ he shrugged – ‘it was a done deal.’

Seb was right, it did sound weird that he hadn’t been able to choose his own best man, but Floriana kept that thought to herself. ‘I can see how Imogen would like that, but you could have suggested he was an usher and chosen who you really wanted. Didn’t you try that?’

‘I did. But she put her foot down. I mean, to a degree I can see her point, that it goes against convention, the person I wanted, but so what?’

‘Who did you want that would be so unconventional?’

His knee started to jiggle again. ‘You.’

Floriana spluttered on a mouthful of wine. ‘You’re joking?’ she said when she’d recovered.

‘Given that you’ve been my best friend since for ever, why not you? You know me better than anyone.’

‘Because anyone can see that it would freak Imogen out. No wonder she’s got an attack of the emotional bends!’

‘I don’t see why.’

Haven’t you forgotten that excruciating day when I told you I loved you?
Floriana wanted to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words aloud. Instead she said, ‘Don’t be obtuse, Seb.’

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said.

‘If you really do, then you wouldn’t need me to tell you what an idiot you are.’

‘But that’s all in the past,’ he said with an annoyingly trivialising wave of his hand. He suddenly lurched forward in his seat, not noticing his elbow had knocked his empty glass to the floor.

‘It was just a mad heat of the moment thing, wasn’t it? Besides, you don’t feel that way about me still, do you?’

‘You’ve knocked your glass over,’ she murmured, not knowing how to answer him. Could Seb really believe that the two years of silence between them had been the result of nothing more than a crazy heat of the moment thing, a meaningless tiff? Or was it his way of convincing himself they could pick up where they’d left off, no harm done?

He bent down to his glass and helped himself to the bottle on the table. ‘This is my big day as well, not just Imogen’s; I don’t understand why she can’t respect my wishes. Or at least respect just one important wish.’

‘You’re whinging like a spoilt child,’ Floriana said gently. ‘Isn’t it enough for you to know that I’ll be there to stick my tongue out at you as you walk down the aisle a happily married man?’

When he didn’t say anything, just lifted his wineglass to his mouth and drank from it, she said, thinking once more of his drive back to London, ‘How about something to eat?’

‘What have you got in mind?’

‘I could rustle something up or we can get a takeaway. There’s a great Bangladeshi restaurant on North Parade.’

He smiled. ‘Having seen the lacklustre contents of your fridge, let’s have a takeaway.’

They set off to walk the short distance. It was a beautiful summer’s evening, the air lightly perfumed with the sweet smell of freshly cut grass. The sound of birdsong rang out along with the persistent whirr of a low-powered lawnmower.

They turned into Latimer Street and when they were level with Trinity House, and as she always did, Floriana looked to see if there was any sign of Esme at the drawing room window. There wasn’t; she was probably in the kitchen getting her supper ready.

Outside Adam’s house there was a skip – they came and went with regularity – but the space where he parked his silver Mercedes was empty; he’d gone to spend the day with his family to celebrate his stepmother’s seventieth birthday.

‘So come on, then,’ Seb said, linking his arm through hers, just like old times, ‘put me out of my misery and tell me all about this guy you’re bringing to my wedding. You’ve been annoyingly evasive so far. Which makes me think you either have something to hide or you’re deliberately teasing me. Which is it?’

‘I’m doing neither. His name’s Adam and that’s where he lives, just back there.’

Seb twisted his head to see. ‘Ah, so he’s a neighbour, how very cosy.’

‘And how very jealous you keep sounding,’ she said. ‘It’s as though you don’t really want me to bring someone.’

‘I suppose it’s true, I don’t like sharing you, I never have.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, it’s human nature to want to keep a best friend all to oneself.’