Wedding Night (25 page)

“Of course, sir,” says Georgios at last. He nods at the girl, who comes to a hasty final cadence, stands up, bows, then starts trundling her harp away. The two butlers pack the trays up and remove them to a trolley outside. Then Georgios appears back in the bedroom area.

“Mr. and Mrs. Parr, I hope you have enjoyed the Champagne Breakfast with Music. Now I will await your command. I am at your disposal entirely. No request is too large or too small.” He waits expectantly.

“Great,” says Ben off-puttingly. “Tell you what, we’ll call you.”

“I await your command,” repeats Georgios, and withdraws, shutting the doors to the bedroom.

Ben and I just look at each other. I feel a bit hysterical.

“Oh my God.”

“Fucking hell.” Ben rolls his eyes. “That’s a first.”

“Didn’t you want your eggs?” I say teasingly. “They’ve got saffron, you know.”

“I know what I want.” He pushes down the straps of my cami, and just the feel of him sends sparks of lust through me.

“Me too.” I reach for him and he gives a little shudder.

“Where were we again?” His hands travel down under the covers, slow and purposeful. I’m so sensitive to his touch I can’t help moaning.

His eyes are huge and urgent. His breathing is raspy. Now I’m pulling him toward me, and his lips are everywhere, and my mind is emptying as my body takes over. OK, here we go.
Here
we go. I’m making sounds and so is he, and it’s going to happen, it’s really going to happen.… I’m going to explode … come on, come
on
.…

And then I freeze. I can hear a sound. A rustling sound. Just outside the bedroom door.

In reflex, I shove Ben away and sit up, every sense on alert.

“Stop! Stop it. Listen.” I can barely frame the words properly. “He’s still here.”

“What?” Ben’s face is contorted with desire, and I’m not sure he’s understanding anything I’m saying.

“He’s still here!” I bat Ben’s hand off my breast and gesture frantically at the door. “The butler! He hasn’t left!”

“What?”
A murderous scowl comes over Ben’s face. He swings his legs round and gets out of bed, totally naked.

“You can’t go out like that!” I squeak. “Put on a robe.”

Ben’s scowl becomes yet more murderous. He shrugs on a terry-cloth dressing gown and throws open the door to the bedroom. Sure enough, there’s Georgios, arranging glasses neatly on the cocktail bar.

“Ah, Georgios,” says Ben. “I think you misunderstood. Thanks very much. That will be all for now. Thank you.”

“I understand, sir.” Georgios makes a little bow. “I await your command.”

“Right.” I can sense Ben’s temper starting to fray. “Well, my command is for you to go. Leave the room. Go.
Adiós
.” He makes a shooing motion. “Leave us
alone
.”

“Ah.” At last light dawns on Georgios’s face. “I see. Very good, sir. You call me if you need anything.” He gives another bow, then heads toward the kitchen. Ben hesitates a moment, then follows him to make sure he actually exits.

“That’s right,” I can hear him say firmly. “You go and put your feet up, Georgios. Don’t worry about us. No, we can pour our own water, thank you. Bye, then. Bye …” His voice recedes as he enters the kitchen.

A few moments later, he appears at the door of the bedroom and pumps the air. “Gone! At last!”

“Well done!”

“Stubborn bastard.”

“Just doing his job, I suppose.” I shrug. “He’s obviously got a really strong sense of duty.”

“He didn’t want to leave,” says Ben incredulously. “You’d think he’d leap at the chance for some time off. But he kept telling me we’d need him to pour our mineral water, and I kept telling him, no, we wouldn’t, we’re not total lazy gits. Makes you wonder what kind of people stay here—” Ben breaks off mid-sentence and his jaw drops. As I turn my head, I can feel mine dropping too.

No.

That
can’t
be …

Both of us stare in disbelief as Hermes, the assistant butler, strides into the sitting room.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Parr,” he says cheerfully. He approaches the cocktail bar and starts arranging exactly the same glasses that Georgios was tidying ten seconds ago. “May I offer you a drink? A small snack? May I help you with your entertainment for the day?”

“What … what …” Ben seems almost incapable of speech. “What the hell are you
doing
here?”

Hermes looks up, apparently perplexed by the question.

“I am your assistant butler,” he says at last. “I am on duty while Georgios is resting. I await your command.”

I feel like I’ve gone mad.

We’re trapped in butler hell.

Is this how rich people live? No wonder celebrities look so miserable the whole time. They’re thinking,
If only the butler would let us have some bloody
sex.

“Please.” Ben looks almost demented. “Please go. Now. Go.” He’s ushering Hermes toward the door.

“Sir,” says Hermes in alarm. “I do not use the guest entrance, I use the kitchen entrance—”

“I don’t care which bloody entrance you use!” Ben practically yells. “Just go! Get out! Vamoose! Scram!” He’s batting Hermes toward the door as though he’s a pest, and Hermes is backing away, looking terrified, and I’m watching from the doorway, the duvet wrapped around me, and all three of us jump violently as the doorbell rings. Ben stiffens and looks around as though suspecting a trick.

“Sir.” Hermes is composing himself. “Please, sir. You permit I answer the door?”

Ben doesn’t answer. He’s breathing heavily through his nostrils. He glances at me and I give an agonized shrug. The doorbell rings again.

“Please, sir,” repeats Hermes. “You permit I answer the door?”

“Go on, then,” says Ben, glowering. “Answer it. But no cleaners. No turndown service, no turnup service, no champagne, no fruit, and no bloody harps.”

“Very good, sir,” says Hermes, eyeing him anxiously. “You permit me.”

Hermes edges past Ben, into the lobby, and opens the door. In sweeps Nico, followed by the six workmen from last night.

“Good morning, Mr. Parr, Mrs. Parr!” he breezes. “I trust you slept well? A thousand apologies for last night. But I have good news! We have come to change your bed.”

13
LOTTIE

This can’t be happening. We’ve been turfed out of our own honeymoon suite.

What is
wrong
with them? I’ve never seen such an inept crew in my life. They unscrewed the legs of one bed, shuffled it round, and lifted it up and pronounced it too big, then Nico suggested they screw the legs back on and start again … and all the time Ben was simmering to a boil.

At last he started yelling so loudly, the workmen gathered protectively around Nico. To his credit, Nico kept his cool, even when Ben started brandishing the hair dryer. Nico asked if we would please leave the suite while the workmen were operational and perhaps we would enjoy a complimentary à la carte breakfast on the veranda?

That was two hours ago. There’s only so much à la carte breakfast you can eat. We’ve been back to the room to get our beach stuff and there are
still
people in there, all peering at the beds and scratching their heads. The room is full of bed legs and headboards and a super-king mattress propped up
against the wall. Apparently it’s the “wrong kind of bed.” What does that even mean?

“How hard can it be to swap a couple of beds?” says Ben with a furious scowl, as we head toward the beach. “Are they morons?”

“That’s just what I was thinking.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Ludicrous.”

We pause by the entrance to the beach. It’s quite something. Blue sea, golden sand, rows of the plushiest sun beds I’ve ever seen, white umbrellas billowing in the breeze, and waiters hurrying around with drinks on trays. Any other day, I’d be salivating at the sight.

But there’s only one thing I want right now. And it’s not a suntan.

“They should have given us another room,” says Ben for the hundredth time. “We should be suing.”

As soon as they asked us to leave, Ben requested a substitute room, and for one heavenly moment I thought everything was going to work out after all. We could disappear into a spare room, have a wonderful morning together, emerge in time for lunch.… But, no, Nico wrung his hands and said he was devastated and mortified but the hotel was fully booked, could he offer sir a complimentary hot-air-balloon ride instead?

A complimentary bloody hot-air-balloon ride. I thought Ben was going to throttle him.

As we’re pausing by the towel stand, I become aware of a presence lurking. It’s Georgios. Where did he appear from? Has he been following us? Is this all part of the service? I nudge Ben, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Madame,” says Georgios gravely. “May I help you with your towels?”

“Oh. Um, thanks,” I say awkwardly. I don’t really need help, but it would be rude to tell him to go away.

Georgios collects two towels and we follow a beach attendant to a pair of sun beds facing the sea. Lots of guests are already ensconced, and there’s a smell of sun cream in the air. Waves are washing gently onto the beach. This is fairly blissful, I have to admit.

Between them, the beach attendant and Georgios are laying out our towels with military precision.

“Bottled water.” Georgios sets a chiller on our table. “Should I open the cap for madame?”

“Don’t worry. Maybe I’ll have some later. Thanks so much, Georgios. That will be all for now. Thank you.” I sit down on a bed, and Ben takes the other. I kick off my flip-flops, peel off my caftan top, lean back, and close my eyes, hoping this will give the message to Georgios. A moment later a shadow crosses my eyelids and I open them. To my disbelief, Georgios is neatly straightening my flip-flops and folding up my caftan.

Is he planning to hang around with us all bloody
day
? I glance at Ben, who is clearly thinking the same thing.

As he catches me sitting up, Georgios leaps to attention.

“Madame wishes to swim? Madame wishes to cross the hot sand?” He proffers the flip-flops.

What?

OK, this is just stupid. These five-star hotels have gone way, way too far. Yes, I’m on holiday; yes, it’s nice to have some personal service. But that doesn’t make me suddenly incapable of laying out a towel or unscrewing a bottle cap or putting on my own flip-flops.

“No, thanks. What I’d really like is …” I try to think of some time-consuming challenge. “I’d like a freshly squeezed orange juice with honey drizzled in it. And some M&M’s. The brown ones only. Thank you so much, Georgios.”

“Madame.” To my relief, he bows and walks away.

“Brown M&M’s?” says Ben incredulously. “You diva.”

“I was trying to get rid of him!” I retort in an undertone. “Is he going to stalk us all day? Is that what a personal butler does?”

“God knows.” Ben seems distracted. He keeps eyeing my bikini top. Or, rather, the contents of my bikini top.

“Let me rub your sun cream in,” he says. “I’m not giving that job to the butler.”

“OK. Thanks.” I hand him the bottle and he squeezes a big dollop of cream onto his palm. As he starts to apply it, I hear him inhale sharply.

“Let me know if I’m too rough,” he murmurs. “Or not rough enough.”

“Er … Ben,” I whisper. “I meant my back. I don’t actually need help applying it to my cleavage.”

I don’t think Ben can hear, because he doesn’t stop. A nearby woman is giving us an odd look. Now Ben takes another dollop of sun cream and starts rubbing it
under
my bikini top. With both hands. He’s breathing very heavily. And now several people are looking.

“Ben!”

“Just being thorough,” he mumbles.

“Ben! Stop!” I jerk away. “Do my
back
.”

“Right.” He blinks a few times, his eyes unfocused.

“Maybe I should do it myself.” I take the bottle from him and start slathering it on my legs. “Do you want some? Ben?”
I wave to get his attention, but he seems in a trance. Then suddenly he comes to.

“I’ve had an idea.”

“What kind of idea?” I say warily.

“A brilliant idea.”

He gets up and approaches a couple lying on sun beds nearby. I noticed them earlier, at breakfast. They both have red hair and I’m already worried about them burning in the sun.

“Hi, there.” Ben smiles charmingly down at the woman. “Enjoying your holiday? I’m Ben, by the way. We’ve just arrived.”

“Oh. Hi, there.” The woman has a slightly suspicious tone.

“Lovely hat.” He gestures at her head.

Lovely hat?
It’s the most nondescript straw hat I’ve ever seen. What is he up to?

“Actually, I was wondering,” Ben carries on. “I’m in a bit of a bind. I’ve got a very important call to make and our room is out of action. Would you mind if I used yours? Just briefly. I’d pop up really briefly. With my wife,” he adds carelessly. “We’d be quick.”

The woman looks a bit flummoxed.

“A call?” she says.

“An important business call,” Ben says. “As I say, we’d be super quick. In and out.”

He glances at me and gives the tiniest of winks. I’d smile if I weren’t so transfixed with longing. A room. Oh God, we
so
need a room.…

“Darling?” The woman leans over and nudges her husband. “These people want to borrow our room.” The husband
sits up and stares at Ben, shading his eyes against the sun. He’s older than his wife and is doing
The Times’
s crossword.

“Why on earth would you need to do that?”

“For a call,” says Ben. “A really quick business call.”

“Why can’t you use the conference center?”

“Not private enough,” says Ben without missing a beat. “This is a very confidential, discreet kind of call. I’d very much appreciate a secluded space.”

“But—”

“I’ll tell you what …” Ben hesitates. “Why don’t I give you a little gift for your trouble? Say, fifty quid?”

“What?” The husband sounds flabbergasted. “You want to pay us fifty quid just to use our room? Are you serious?”

“I’m sure the hotel would find you a room for nothing,” puts in the wife helpfully.