Wedding Night (48 page)

Lorcan was the quiet star. He steered the conversation whenever it was threatening to become awkward, and he ordered fantastic wine, and he kept a kind of humorous knee-nudging thing going on with me, which I liked. I like him. I don’t just fancy him, I like him.

As for Ben, he’s disappeared. Which is understandable. Once it became plain that he’d been publicly rejected for another man by his brand-new wife, he skedaddled. Can’t blame him. I expect he’s found solace at a bar somewhere.

Richard and Lottie have gone for a walk down the beach, and Noah is skimming stones at the water’s edge, so it’s just Lorcan and me, sitting on a low wall with our bare feet in the sand. The smell of cooking from the restaurant is mingled with the salty sea air and the faint aroma of his aftershave, which is bringing back all sorts of memories.

I don’t just like him, I fancy him. Really quite a lot.

“Oh, wait. I got you something,” he says suddenly.

“You
got
me something?” I stare at him.

“It’s not much. I put it aside … Hold on.” He heads toward the restaurant and I watch him, intrigued. A few moments later he comes back, holding a plant in a pot. A little olive tree in a pot, to be precise.

“For your patio,” he says, and I stare at him in disbelief.

“You bought that for me?” I’m so touched, tears spring to
my eyes. I can’t remember the last time someone bought something for me.

“You need something,” he says gravely. “You need … a start.”

He couldn’t have put it better. I need a start. As I look up again, his eyes are so warm I feel something stumble inside me.

“I don’t have anything for you.”

“You already gave me something. Clarity.” He pauses. “I thought I’d give you peace.” He fingers the olive leaves. “What’s done is done.”

What’s done is done
. The words resonate in my brain, round and round. And then I get to my feet. There’s something I have to do, right now. I detach my memory stick from the chain around my neck and look at it. All my pain and anger toward Daniel seems to be contained in this one tiny piece of metal. It feels toxic. It’s contaminating me. It has to go.

I head briskly to the shallows and put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. As he looks up, I smile.

“Hi, darling. I’ve got something for you to skim.” I hand him the memory stick.

“Mummy!” He looks up at me, his eyes wide with shock. “This is a computer thing!”

“I know.” I nod. “But it’s a computer thing I don’t need anymore. Just throw it in the sea, Noah. As far as you can.”

I watch as he takes aim and skims it. Three bounces and it’s gone, into the Aegean Sea. Gone, gone, gone,
really
gone.

I walk slowly back up the beach to Lorcan, relishing the feel of my bare feet on the sand.

“So.” He reaches out and entwines his fingers in mine.

“So.” I’m about to suggest a walk along the beach, when Ben’s voice hits the back of my head.

“Lorcan. There you are. At bloody last.”

I don’t even need to look to know that he’s drunk, and I feel a squirm of sympathy. It can’t be easy for him.

“Hi, Ben,” says Lorcan, getting to his feet. “You OK?”

“I met with Zhernakov today. On his yacht.” Ben eyes both of us expectantly, as though waiting for a reaction. “I met him on his yacht,” he repeats. “Drank some Krug, shot the breeze, you know.…”

“Great.” Lorcan nods politely. “So you’re selling after all.”

“Maybe. Yes.” Ben sounds aggressive. “Why not?”

“Shame you couldn’t have let me know that before I spent weeks on those refinancing and restructuring agreements. They’re all a bit irrelevant now, aren’t they?”

“No. I mean … yes.” Ben seems confused. “Thing is …” His swagger dips a little. “Yuri and I made an agreement. A gentleman’s agreement. But now …” He wipes his face. “He’s already sent me an email I don’t understand.…” He holds out his BlackBerry to Lorcan, who ignores it and gazes at Ben, his expression unreadable.

“You really want to sell,” he says quietly. “The company that your father built up over years and years. You’re just letting it go.”

“It’s not like that.” Ben glares at him. “Yuri says nothing will change for the company.”

“Nothing will change?”
Lorcan bursts into laughter. “And you bought that?”

“He’s interested in developing new projects!” says Ben hotly. “He thinks it’s a great little company!”

“You think Yuri Zhernakov is interested in creating a new aspirational paper range for the middle-class consumer?” Lorcan shakes his head. “If you believe that you’re even more naïve than I thought. He wants the house, Ben. Nothing else. I hope you got a good price out of him.”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly … I’m not sure what we …” Ben wipes his face again, clearly beleaguered. “You need to look at it.” He holds out his BlackBerry again, but Lorcan lifts his hands.

“I don’t need to do anything at this moment,” he says calmly. “My office day is done.”

“But I don’t know what I’ve agreed to.” All hint of bravado disappears from Ben’s demeanor. “Have a look, OK, Lorcan? Sort it out.”

There’s a long silence, and just for a moment I wonder whether Lorcan is going to capitulate. But at last he shakes his head.

“Ben, I’ve sorted out enough for you.” He sounds weary and a little sad. “I have to stop.”

“What?”

“I’m resigning.”

“What?”
Ben looks absolutely staggered. “But … you can’t do that!”

“Consider this my notice. I’ve been with you far too long already. Your father’s gone and … well, it’s time for me to go too.”

“But … but you can’t! You’re really into the company!” Ben’s eyes are wide with panic. “You’re into it more than me! You love it!”

“Yes. And that’s the problem.” There’s a wryness to Lorcan’s voice, and I reach out to squeeze his hand. “I’ll help you
till my notice period is served out, then I’m going. And it’ll be for the best.”

“But what will
I
do?” Ben sounds genuinely freaked.

“You’ll take charge of the situation.” Lorcan takes a step toward him. “Ben, you’ve got a choice. You can sell the company to Yuri if you want to. Pocket the cash and have fun. But you know what else you could do? Take the reins. Take control. It’s your company. It’s your heritage. Make a go of it.”

Ben seems poleaxed.

“You can do it,” adds Lorcan. “But it’ll be a pretty big challenge. You’ll need to
want
to do it.”

“I made a gentleman’s agreement with Yuri.” Ben’s eyes dart wildly about. “Oh Jesus. I don’t know. What do I do?”

“Yuri Zhernakov is no gentleman,” says Lorcan sardonically. “So I think you’re safe there.” He sighs, ruffles his fingers through his hair, his face unreadable. “Look, Ben. I have the restructuring agreements in my briefcase, and I’ll take you through them tomorrow. I’ll explain what all your options are, as I see it.” He pauses. “But I’m not telling you what to do. Sell, not sell, it’s your choice.
Yours
.”

Ben’s eyes are fixed on Lorcan. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, apparently unable to speak. Then at last he turns on his heel and walks away, pocketing his BlackBerry as he goes.

“Well done.” I squeeze Lorcan’s hand again as we sit back down on the wall. “That was courageous.” Lorcan says nothing, just tilts his head.

“Will he make a go of it?” I ask tentatively.

“He might.” Lorcan exhales. “But if he doesn’t do it now, it’s never.”

“And what will you do when you leave?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll take up that job offer I had in London.”

“London?” I say, brightening in spite of myself.

“Or Paris,” he says teasingly. “I’m fluent in French.”

“Paris is crap,” I say. “Everyone knows that.”

“Quebec, then.”

“Funny.” I hit him.

“I’m a lawyer.” Lorcan’s teasing tone disappears; he looks thoughtful. “That was my training. That was my career. And maybe I was knocked off course for a while. Maybe I
did
make the wrong choice.” His eyes flicker toward mine, and I nod in acknowledgment. “But now it’s time to get back on course.”

“Rev up the engine.”

“Full steam ahead,” he counters.

“You see life as a boat trip?” I say, in mock incredulity. “It’s a
road trip
. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s a boat trip.”

“It’s
so
a road trip.”

We sit there for a while, watching as the sunset turns from orange and pink to mauve and indigo and streaks of vivid crimson. It really is a corker.

Presently, Lottie and Richard come sauntering along the beach, and they perch on the wall beside us.
They look good together
, I can’t help thinking yet again. They just fit.

“So, I’m out of a job,” says Lorcan conversationally to Lottie, “and it’s all your sister’s fault.”

“It’s not my fault!” I exclaim at once. “How is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t made me look at my life with a fresh pair of
eyes, I never would have resigned.” His mouth twitches. “You have a lot to answer for.”

“I did you a favor,” I retort.

“Still your fault.” His eyes twinkle.

“Well …” I cast around. “No. I dispute that. It’s actually Lottie’s fault. If she hadn’t run off and got married, I would never have met you and we never would have discussed the matter.”

“Ah.” Lorcan nods. “Good point. I blame you.” He swivels to Lottie.

“It’s not my fault!” she retorts. “It’s Ben’s fault! That stupid marriage was all his idea. If he hadn’t proposed, I would never have come out here, and you would never have met Fliss.”

“So Ben’s the villain of the piece?” Lorcan raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes,”
Lottie and I say in unison.

“Yes,”
agrees Richard firmly.

The sky is a deep purple by now, mottled with midnight blue. The sun is a sliver of orange brightness at the horizon. I imagine it sliding down to another bit of the world, another bit of the sky, shining on other sets of Lotties and Flisses, with all their troubles and joys.

“Wait,” I say, and sit bolt upright at the realization. “The villain of the piece isn’t Ben, it’s Richard. If he’d proposed to Lottie in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

“Oh,” says Richard, and rubs his nose. “Ah.”

There’s a weird, silent little beat, in which I wonder wildly whether Richard will hurl himself onto one knee on the sand and do the business, but it passes, and no one says anything.
Yet there’s a strangeness in the air now; this is pretty awkward; I should never have mentioned it.…

“Well, I can do something about that.” Lottie has a strange fire in her eyes. “Wait there. I need my bag.”

We all watch in puzzlement as she hurries back to the restaurant, heads straight to our table, and starts scrabbling in her handbag. What on earth is she up to?

And then suddenly I gasp. Oh God. I know. I want to hug myself with glee, with nerves, with anticipation. This could be amazing, this could be brilliant.…

Do
not
fuck it up, Richard.

And now she’s coming back toward us and her chin is up but trembling, and I can see exactly what she’s going to do, and I am so, so,
so
glad I am here to see this.

I can’t breathe. Lottie is walking slowly and deliberately up to Richard. She kneels down in front of him and holds out a ring.

It’s quite a nice ring, I see, to my relief. Quite manly.

“Richard,” she says, and blows out sharply, as though with nerves. “Richard …”

36
LOTTIE

Tears are in my eyes. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s what I should have done in the first place.

“Richard,” I say for a third time. “Even though I’m currently married to someone else—will you marry me?”

There’s a taut, still silence. The last sliver of light from the sun slips away into the sea, and, above us, tiny stars start to glimmer in the deep-blue sky.

“Of course. Of course. Of
course
.” Richard envelops me in a bear hug.

“You will?”

“Of course! It’s what I want. Marriage. To you. Nothing else. I was an idiot before.” He hits his own head. “I was a fool. I was a—”

“It’s OK,” I say gently. “I know. So … it’s a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! Oh God.” He shakes his head. “Of course it’s a yes. I’m not letting you get away again.” He’s holding my hand so tightly, I think he may break a bone.

“Congratulations!” Fliss throws her arms around me,
while Lorcan pumps Richard’s hand energetically. “You’re engaged! For real this time! We need champagne!”

“And an annulment,” puts in Lorcan drily.

I’m engaged! To Richard! I feel light-headed with euphoria and shock at myself. I proposed?
I
proposed? Why didn’t I do this before? It was easy!

“Good work!” says Lorcan, kissing me. “Congratulations!”

“I’m so happy.” Fliss is hugging herself. “So, so,
so
happy. It’s exactly what I hoped for.” She shakes her head disbelievingly. “After all that.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand.

“After all that.” I squeeze it back. A waiter is passing, and Fliss summons him over.

“Champagne, please! We have an engagement to celebrate!”

And now, as we all finally draw breath, there’s a pause. Everyone’s looking at the ring lying in my palm. Richard still hasn’t taken it from me. Should I slide it onto his finger? Or just hand it over? Or … what? What are you supposed to
do
with men’s engagement rings?

“Sweetheart, about the ring,” says Richard at last. I can tell he’s trying to contort his face from “dubious” to “enthusiastic,” but it’s not working.

“Nice ring,” observes Lorcan.

“It’s lovely,” says Fliss encouragingly.

“Absolutely,” says Richard quickly. “Very … shiny. Very smart. It’s just that—”

“You don’t have to
wear
it,” I say hastily. “It’s not for
wearing
. You can keep it on your nightstand or whatever … maybe keep it in a drawer … or in a safe.…”

The look of relief on Richard’s face is so palpable, I can’t help laughing. As he hugs me tight again, I slip the ring into my pocket. We’ll just quietly forget it.