Wedding Night: A Novel

14

FLISS

We’re at the departure gate at Heathrow when my phone rings. Before I can move, Noah plucks it out of the side pocket of my bag and studies the display.

“It’s Aunt Lottie phoning!” His face lights up in excitement. “Shall I tell her we’re coming to surprise her on her special holiday?”

“No!” I grab the phone. “Just sit down a minute. Look at your sticker pack. Do the dinosaurs.” I press answer and take a couple of steps away from Noah, trying to compose myself. “Lottie, hi!” I greet her.

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you! Where are you?”

“Oh … you know. Just around.” I force myself to pause before I add, light as gossamer, “Any luck with your room yet? Or the bed? Or … anything?”

I know from Nico that she’s still roomless. But I also know Ben tried to hire a room off another guest on the beach. Sneaky little sod.

“Oh, the room.” Lottie sounds disconsolate. “It’s been such a bloody saga. We’ve given up for now. We’re just going to enjoy the day.”

“Right. Sensible plan.” I breathe a slight sigh of relief. “So, how is it out there? Sunny?”

“Boiling.” Lottie sounds preoccupied. “Listen, Fliss, d’you remember that game Couples’ Quiz?”

I wrinkle my brow. “You mean the TV show?”

“Exactly. You had the board game, didn’t you? What kind of questions do they ask?”

“Why?” I say, puzzled.

“We’re doing a Couples’ Quiz contest. Are the questions hard?”

“Hard? No! They’re just fun. Silly things. Basic stuff that couples know about each other.”

“Ask me some.” Lottie sounds a bit tense. “Give me some practice.”

“Well, OK.” I think for a moment. “What kind of toothpaste does Ben use?”

“Don’t know,” says Lottie after a pause.

“What’s his mother called?”

“Don’t know.”

“What is his favorite meal that you cook for him?”

There’s a longer pause. “Don’t know,” she says at last. “I’ve never cooked for him.”

“If he was going to the theater, would he choose Shakespeare, a modern play, or a musical?”

“I don’t know!” wails Lottie. “I’ve never been to the theater with him. Ben’s right! We’re going to lose!”

Is she insane? Of course they’re going to lose.

“Does Ben know any of those things about you, do you think?” I ask mildly.

“Of course not! Neither of us knows anything!”

“Right. Well …”

“I really don’t want to lose,” says Lottie, lowering her voice savagely. “There’s this bridezilla girl here and she’s been boasting about her wedding, and if I don’t know anything about my husband and he doesn’t know anything about me …”

Then maybe you shouldn’t have married each other! I want to yell.

“Could you maybe … talk to each other?” I suggest at last.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it,” says Lottie, as though I’ve cracked some fiendish code. “We’ll learn it all. Give me a list of the stuff I need to know.” She sounds determined. “Toothpaste, name of mother, favorite meals … Can you text all the questions to me?”

“No, I can’t,” I say firmly. “I’m busy. Lottie, why on earth are you doing this? Why aren’t you lying on the beach?”

“I got talked into it. And now we can’t back out, or we’ll look like we’re not a happy couple. Fliss, this place is mad. It’s Honeymoon Central.”

I shrug. “You knew it would be, didn’t you?”

“I suppose.…” She hesitates. “But I didn’t realize it would be this honeymoon-y. They have loved-up couples everywhere, and you can’t take a step without someone saying ‘Congratulations’ or chucking confetti over you. That bridezilla girl is renewing her vows already, can you believe? She was trying to talk me into doing it too.”

For a moment I’ve forgotten where I am and the whole situation. I’m just chatting with Lottie.

“Sounds like it’s become totally gimmicky.”

“It is a bit.”

“So don’t do the Couples’ Quiz.”

“I have to.” She sounds resolute. “I’m not backing out now. So, should I know where Ben went to high school, all that kind of stuff? What about hobbies?”

My frustration returns in a flash. This is ridiculous. She sounds like someone mugging up, trying to fool an immigration officer. For an instant I consider saying all this to her right now.

But, at the same time, my deeper instincts tell me not to try anything by phone. All that will happen is we’ll have a steaming row and she’ll ring off and get Ben to impregnate her right then and there, probably on the beach in full view of everyone, just to show me.

I need to get out there. Pretend that I simply wanted to surprise her. I’ll assess the territory, let her relax. Then I’ll draw her aside and we’ll have a chat. A frank chat. A long, relentless chat, from which I will not let her escape till she’s seen the whole picture. Really seen it.

This Couples’ Quiz has played into my hands, I realize. She’s going to fall flat on her face in quite a public way. And then she’ll be ripe to hear the voice of reason.

A flight is being announced, and Lottie immediately demands, “What’s that? Where are you?”

“Station,” I lie smoothly. “Better go. Good luck!”

I switch off my phone and look around for Noah. I left him sitting on a plastic chair two feet away, but he’s made his way to the desk and is deep in conversation with an air hostess, who is crouching down and listening intently to him.

“Noah!” I call, and both their heads turn. The air hostess raises a hand in acknowledgment, stands up, and leads him back to me. She’s very curvy and tanned, with huge blue eyes and hair in a bun, and as she approaches I catch a waft of perfume.

“Sorry about that.” I smile at her. “Noah, stay here. No wandering.”

The air hostess is gazing at me, transfixed, and I put my hand to my mouth, wondering if I have a crumb on my lip.

“I just want to say,” she says in a rush, “that I heard about your little boy’s ordeal, and I think you’re all really brave.”

For a moment I can’t find a reply. What the hell did Noah say?

“And I think that paramedic should get a medal,” she adds, her voice trembling.

I look daggers at Noah, who returns my gaze, serene and untroubled. What do I do? If I explain that my son is a complete fantasist, we all look stupid. Maybe it’s easier to go along with it. We’ll be boarding in a minute; we’ll never see her again.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” I say at last. “Thank you so much—”

“Not a big deal?” she echoes incredulously. “But it was all so dramatic!”

“Er … yes.” I swallow. “Noah, let’s buy some water.”

I hurry him off to a nearby drinks machine, before this conversation can go any further. “Noah,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot, “what did you say to the lady?”

“I said I want to be in the Olympics when I grow up,” he replies promptly. “I want to do the long jump. Like this.” He breaks free of my grasp and leaps across the airport carpet. “Can I be in the Olympics?”

I give up. We’ll have to have a big chat at some time—but not now.

“Of course you can.” I ruffle his hair. “But, listen. No more chatting to strangers. You know that.”

“That lady wasn’t a stranger,” he points out reasonably. “She had a badge, so I knew her name. It was Cheryl.”

Sometimes the logic of a seven-year-old is undefeatable. We return to our seats and I sit him firmly down next to me.

“Look at your sticker book and do not move.” I take out my BlackBerry and polish off a few quick emails. I’ve just agreed to an entire supplement on Arctic holidays when I pause, frowning. Something has attracted my attention. The top of a head, behind a newspaper. A dark crest of hair. Long-fingered, bony hands turning a page.

No way.

I stare, riveted, until he turns another page and I catch a glimpse of cheekbone. It’s him. Sitting five yards away, a small travel bag at his feet. What the fuck is he doing here?

Don’t tell me he’s had the same idea as me.

As he turns yet another page, looking calm and unruffled, I start to feel a burning anger. This is all his fault. I’ve had to disrupt my life, take my son out of school, and stress out all night, simply because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was the one who went blundering in. He caused all this. And now here he is, looking as cool and relaxed as though he’s off on holiday.

His phone rings, and he puts down his paper to answer.

“Sure,” I can hear him saying. “I’ll do that. We’ll discuss all those issues. Yes, I know there’s a time factor.” Strain appears in his face. “I know this is not ideal. I’m doing the best I can in tricky circumstances, OK?” There’s a pause as he listens, then replies, “No, I’d say not. Need to know only. We don’t want to start the rumor mill.… OK. Right. Talk to you when I get there.”

He puts his phone away and resumes reading the paper, while I watch with growing resentment. That’s right. Lean back. Smile at a joke. Have a good time. Why not?

I’m glaring at him so hard, I feel I might start burning holes in the paper. An elderly lady sitting next to him picks up on my glare and eyes me nervously. I smile at her quickly, to indicate that it’s not her I’m livid with—but this seems to freak her out even more.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “But … is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” says Lorcan, misunderstanding and turning to her. “No, nothing’s wrong—” He catches sight of me and starts in surprise. “Oh. Hello.”

I wait for him to add a fulsome, groveling apology, but he seems to feel this greeting is enough. His dark eyes meet mine, and with no warning I have a flashback: a blurred moment of skin and lips from the middle of that night. His hot breath on my neck. My hands clutching his hair. The color comes to my cheeks and I glare at him even more venomously.

“Hello?” I echo. “Is that all you can say? ‘Hello’?”

“I guess we’re headed to the same place?” He puts his newspaper down and leans forward, his face suddenly intent. “Are you in touch with them? Because I have to talk to Ben, urgently. I have documents for him to sign. I need him to be at the hotel when I arrive. But he won’t pick up when I call. He’s avoiding me. He’s avoiding everything.”

I stare at him in disbelief. All he’s concerned with is some business deal. What about the fact that his best friend has married my sister in a totally stupid knee-jerk gesture caused by him?

“I’m in touch with Lottie. Not Ben.”

“Huh.” He frowns and turns back to the paper. How can he read the paper? I feel deeply, mortally offended that he can concentrate on the sports pages when he’s created such a mess.

“Are you OK?” He peers up at me. “You seem a little … fixated.”

I’m simmering all over with rage. I can feel my head prickling; I can feel my fists clenching. “Funnily enough, no,” I manage. “I’m not OK.”

“Oh.” He glances at the paper yet again, and something inside me snaps.

“Stop looking at that!” I leap up and grab it from his hands before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. “Stop it!” I crumple the paper furiously and throw it on the floor. I’m panting and my cheeks are blazing.

Lorcan stares at the paper, apparently bemused.

“Mummy!” says Noah, in delighted shock. “Litterbug!”

All the other airline passengers have turned to stare at me. Great. And now Lorcan is gazing up at me too, dark brows drawn together, as though I’m some inscrutable mystery.

“What’s the problem?” he says at last. “Are you pissed off?”

Is he joking?

“Yes!” I erupt. “I am a little pissed off that, after I had sorted out the whole situation with Ben and my sister, you had to go barging in and wreck it!”

I can see the truth slowly dawning on his face. “You’re blaming me?”

“Of course I’m blaming you! If you’d said nothing, they wouldn’t be married!”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head adamantly. “Incorrect. Ben’s mind was made up.”

“Lottie said it was because of you.”

“Lottie was wrong.”

He’s not going to back down, is he? Bastard.

“All I know is, I’d sorted the situation,” I say stonily. “I’d managed it. And then this happened.”

“You thought you’d sorted it,” he corrects me. “You thought you’d managed it. When you know Ben as well as I do, you’ll realize that his mind flips direction like a fish. Previous agreements count for nothing. Agreements to sign crucial, time-sensitive documents, for example.” There’s a sudden irritation in his voice. “You can pin him down all you like. He still slips away.”

“That’s why you’re here?” I glance at his briefcase. “Just for these documents?”

“If Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, the mountain has to cancel all his plans and get on a plane.” His phone bleeps with a text and he reads it, then starts typing a reply. “It would really help me if I could talk to Ben,” he adds as he types. “Do you know what they’re doing?”

“Couples’ Quiz,” I reply.

Lorcan looks baffled, then types some more. Slowly, I sit down. Noah has descended onto the floor and is making a hat out of Lorcan’s newspaper.

“Noah,” I say, without conviction. “Don’t do that. My son,” I add to Lorcan.

“Hello,” says Lorcan to Noah. “Nice hat. So, you never told me. What are you doing here, exactly? Joining the happy couple, I assume. Do they know?”

The question takes me off guard. I sip the water, my mind working hard.

“Lottie asked me to go out there,” I lie at last. “But I’m not sure if Ben knows yet, so don’t mention that you’ve seen me, OK?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “A little odd, asking your sister to join you on honeymoon. Isn’t she having a good time?”

“Actually, they’re thinking of renewing their vows,” I say in sudden inspiration. “Lottie wanted me there as a witness.”

“Oh, please.” Lorcan scowls. “What kind of shit idea is that?”

His tone is so dismissive, I find myself getting irritated.

“I think it’s rather a nice idea,” I contradict him. “Lottie’s always wanted a ceremony by the sea. She’s quite a romantic.”

“I’m sure.” Lorcan nods as though digesting this, then looks up, deadpan. “What about the ponies? Is she having those?”

Ponies? I peer at him blankly. What on earth—

Matching ponies. Great. So he did hear me yesterday morning. My face fills with blood, and just for an instant I feel myself losing my cool.

The way to deal with this, I swiftly decide, is to be direct. We’re grown-ups. We can acknowledge an embarrassing situation and move on. Exactly.

“So. Um.” I clear my throat. “Yesterday morning.”

“Yes?” He leans forward, with mock interest. He’s not going to make this easy for me, is he?

“I don’t know exactly what you …” I try again. “Obviously I was talking on the phone to my sister when you came into the room. And what you heard was totally out of context. I mean, you’ve probably forgotten what I said. But just in case you haven’t, I wouldn’t want you to … misinterpret anything.…”

He’s not paying me any attention. He’s taken out a notepad and is writing on it. So rude. Still, at least that means I’m off the hook. I offer the water bottle to Noah, who sips absentmindedly, his attention fixed on his newspaper hat. Then I look up as Lorcan taps me on the shoulder. He hands me his notepad, on which are lines of writing.

“I believe I have a good memory for words,” he says politely. “But please correct me if any of it is wrong.”

As I read the lines, my jaw drops in dismay.

Small. Seriously, tiny. The whole night was such an ordeal. I had to pretend I was having a good time, and all along … No. Terrible. And afterward wasn’t much better. I feel ill at the very thought. In fact, I might throw up. And then Lorcan will never love me, and we’ll never get married in a double wedding on matching ponies.

“Look,” I manage at last, my face puce. “I didn’t mean … that.”

“Which bit?” He raises his eyebrows.

Bastard. Does he think this is funny?

“You know as well as I do,” I begin icily, “that those words were taken out of context. They didn’t refer to …” I trail off as a growing hubbub attracts my attention. It’s coming from the desk. Two air hostesses are remonstrating with a man in a linen shirt and chinos, who’s trying to squash a suitcase into the hand-baggage measuring stand. As he raises his voice angrily to answer, I realize it’s familiar.

He turns, and I quell a gasp of shock. I thought so: it’s Richard!

“Sir, I’m afraid the case is clearly too big for the cabin.” A woman from the airline is addressing him. “And it’s too late to check it in now. Might I suggest that you wait and catch a later flight?”

“A later flight?” Richard’s voice erupts from him like the sound of a tormented animal. “There aren’t any other flights to this godforsaken place! One a day! What kind of service is that?”

“Sir—”

“I need to get on this flight.”

“But, sir—”

To my astonishment, Richard vaults up so that he’s resting on the high desk, his eyes level with the airline woman’s.

“The girl I love has tethered herself to another man,” he says intensely. “I was too slow off the mark, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But if I can do nothing else, I can tell her how I really feel. Because I never showed her. Not properly. I’m not even sure I knew myself.”

I gape at him, absolutely astonished. Is this Richard? Making declarations of love in public? If only Lottie could see this! She’d be bowled over! The airline woman, on the other hand, looks supremely unmoved. She has black dyed hair pulled into a harsh bun and a doughy face with mean little eyes.

“Be that as it may, sir,” she says, “your case is too big for the cabin. Could you step aside from the desk?”

What a bitch. I’ve seen plenty of people take luggage that size onto planes. I know I should step forward and tell Richard I’m here, but something inside me needs to see what will happen next.

“Fine. I won’t bring the bag.” Glowering at her, Richard jumps back down to the floor and snaps open the clasps of his case. He grabs a couple of T-shirts, a wash bag, a pair of socks, and some boxer shorts, then kicks the case aside.

“There. This is my hand luggage.” He brandishes it all at her. “Happy now?”

The airline woman regards him evenly. “You can’t leave that case there, sir.”

“Fine.” He snaps the case shut and dumps it on top of a litter bin. “There.”

“You can’t leave it there either, sir. It’s a security issue. We don’t know what’s in it.”

“You do.”

“No, we don’t.”

“You just saw me unpack it.”

“Be that as it may, sir.”

The entire place has turned to watch this exchange. Richard is breathing hard. His broad shoulders are raised. Again I’m reminded of a bull about to charge.

“Uncle Richard!” Noah has suddenly noticed him. “Are you coming on holiday with us?”

Richard’s whole body jolts in astonishment as he registers first Noah, then me.

“Fliss?” He drops a pair of boxer shorts on the floor and stoops to pick them up, looking a little less bull-like. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Richard.” I try to sound nonchalant. “We’re joining Lottie. What— er—” I spread my hands questioningly. “I mean, what exactly—”

Clearly I know the gist of what he’s up to, as does everyone here, but I’m interested in the details. Does he have a plan?

“I couldn’t just sit back,” he says gruffly. “I couldn’t just lose her and walk away and never even tell her what I—” He breaks off, his face working with emotion. “I should have proposed when I had the chance,” he adds suddenly. “I should have cherished what I had! I should have proposed!”

His roar of grief rises through the silent air. The whole place is agog, and, quite frankly, I’m flabbergasted. I’ve never seen Richard moved to such passion. Has Lottie?

I wish I’d recorded his whole speech on my BlackBerry.

“Sir, please remove your case from that bin.” The airline woman is addressing Richard. “As I say, it’s causing a security alert.”

“It’s not mine anymore,” he counters, brandishing his boxer shorts at her. “This is my hand luggage.”

The woman’s chin tightens. “Do you want me to call security and have your case destroyed, thus delaying the flight by six hours?”

I’m not the only person who gasps in horror. Around us, polite murmurs of protest start swelling into hostile, pointed comments. I’m sensing Richard is not the most popular passenger in the place. In fact, I’m sensing that the boos and slow hand-claps may begin any moment.

“Uncle Richard, are you coming on holiday with us?” Noah is consumed with joy. “Can we do wrestling? Can I sit next to you on the plane?” He throws himself at Richard’s legs.

“Doesn’t look like it, kiddo.” Richard gives him a wry smile. “Unless you can persuade this lady.”

“This is your uncle?” Noah’s friend Cheryl springs into life at the other desk, where she’s been watching proceedings with a vacant stare. “The uncle you were telling me about?”

“This is Uncle Richard,” confirms Noah happily.

I should never have let him get into the habit of calling Richard “Uncle,” I think to myself. It started one Christmas and we thought it was cute. We didn’t predict a breakup. We thought Richard had become part of the family. We never thought—

Suddenly I’m aware that Cheryl is almost hyperventilating.

“Margot!” At last she manages to speak through her gasps. “You’ve got to let this man on the plane! He saved his nephew’s life! He’s a brilliant man!”

“What?” Margot scowls.

“Huh?” Richard gapes at Cheryl.

“Don’t be modest! Your nephew told me the whole story!” Cheryl says tremulously. “Margot, you have no idea. This whole family. They’ve been through such a lot.” She steps out from behind her desk. “Sir, let me take your boarding pass.”

I can see Richard’s mind whirring in disbelief. He glances suspiciously at Noah, then at me. I pull an agonized face, trying to convey the message, Just go with it.

“And you too.” Cheryl turns gushingly to me. “You must have been deeply affected by your little boy’s ordeal.”

“We take each day as it comes,” I murmur vaguely.

This seems to satisfy her, and she moves away. Richard is still clutching his underpants, looking gobsmacked. I’m not even going to try to explain.

“So, um, you want to sit down?” I say. “I could get us a coffee or something?”

“Why are you joining Lottie?” he demands without moving. “Is there a problem?”

I’m not sure how to answer. On the one hand, I don’t want to give him false hope. On the other, could I perhaps hint that all is not perfect in paradise?

“They’re renewing their vows, aren’t they?” says Lorcan over his newspaper.

“Who’s this?” Richard reacts with instant suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Right,” I say awkwardly. “Um, Richard, this is Lorcan. Ben’s best man. Best friend. Whatever. He’s flying out there too.”

Immediately, Richard stiffens into his bull-like posture again.

“I see,” he says, nodding. “I see.”

I don’t think he does see, but he’s so tense I don’t dare interrupt. He’s instinctively squared up to Lorcan, his fists clenched.

“And you are?” says Lorcan politely.

“I’m the idiot who let her go!” says Richard with sudden passion. “I couldn’t see the vision she wanted for us. I thought she was, I don’t know, starry-eyed. But now I can see the stars too. I can see the vision. And I want it too.”

All the women nearby are listening to him, rapt. Where did he learn to speak like that? Lottie would love that stuff about stars. I’ve been fumbling at my BlackBerry, trying to surreptitiously record him, but I’m too slow.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” I quickly lower my phone.

“Oh God. Maybe this is a bad idea.” Richard suddenly seems to come to and see himself standing in the middle of a departure lounge with underwear in his hands and an audience of passengers. “Maybe I should just bow out.”

“No!” I say quickly. “Don’t bow out!”

If only Lottie could see Richard right now. If only she could know his true feelings. She’d see sense, I know she would.

“Who am I kidding?” He sags in desolation. “It’s too late. They’re married.”

“They’re not!” I retort before I can stop myself.

“What?” Richard and Lorcan both stare at me. I can see lots of other interested faces leaning in to listen too.

“I mean they haven’t, you know, consummated it yet,” I explain as quietly as I can. “So technically that means they could still get a legal annulment. The marriage would never have existed.”

“Really?” I can see a glimmer of hope rising on Richard’s face.

“Why haven’t they consummated it?” says Lorcan incredulously. “And how do you know?”

“She’s my sister. We tell each other everything. And as for why …” I clear my throat evasively. “It’s simply bad luck. The hotel messed up with the beds. Ben got drunk. That kind of thing.”

“Too much information,” says Lorcan, and starts putting his papers away in his briefcase.

Richard says nothing. His brow is furrowed and he appears to be taking this all in. At last he sinks down on the seat next to me and savagely screws his boxer shorts into a ball. I watch him, still feeling disbelief that he’s here at all.

“Richard,” I say at last. “You know the phrase ‘Too little, too late’? Well, you’re more like ‘Too much, too late.’ Flying halfway across the world. Rushing to the airport. Making romantic speeches all over the place. Why didn’t you do any of this before?”

Richard doesn’t answer the question but stares at me glumly. “You think I’m too late?”

That’s a question I don’t want to answer.

“It’s just an expression,” I say after a pause. “Come on.” I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. “We’re boarding.”

About half an hour into the flight, Richard comes up to the front, where Noah and I are sitting in a row of three in club class. I haul Noah onto my lap and Richard slides in next to me.

“How tall would you say this Ben is?” he says with no preamble.

“Don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

“But you’ve seen pictures. Would you say … five eight? Five nine?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d say five nine. Definitely shorter than me,” Richard adds, with a grim satisfaction.

“Well, that’s not hard,” I point out. Richard is at least six foot two.

“Never thought Lottie would go for a short-arse.”

I have no reply to make to this, so I roll my eyes and carry on reading the airline magazine.

“I looked him up.” Richard mashes an airsick bag between his fingers. “He’s a multimillionaire. Owns a paper company.”

“Mmm. I know.”

“I tried to find out if he’s got a private jet. It didn’t say. Expect he has.”

“Richard, stop torturing yourself.” I finally turn to him. “It’s not about private jets. Or height. There’s no point comparing yourself to him.”

Richard looks at me for a few silent seconds. Then, as though I hadn’t even spoken, he says, “Have you seen his house? They used it for Highton Hall. He’s a multimillionaire and he’s got a stately home.” He scowls. “Bastard.”

“Richard—”

“But he’s pretty puny, don’t you think?” He’s tearing the airsick bag into strips. “Never thought Lottie would go for someone so puny.”

“Richard, stop it!” I exclaim in exasperation. If he’s going to go on like this the whole journey, I’ll go mad.

“Is this our special guest?” A sugary voice interrupts us, and we look up to see an air hostess with a French plait, bearing down on us with a wide smile. She’s holding a teddy bear, an airline wallet, some lollipops, and a huge box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. “Cheryl told us all about you,” she addresses Noah brightly. “I’ve got some special gifts for you here.”

“Cool! Thank you!” Noah grabs the presents before I can stop him and gasps, “Mummy, look! A big box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates! You can get them!”

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly. “That’s really unnecessary.”

“It’s the least we can do!” the air hostess assures me. “And is this the famous uncle?” She bats her eyelashes at Richard, who stares back with a blank frown.

“My uncle can speak three languages,” says Noah proudly. “Uncle Richard, talk Japanese!”

“A surgeon and a linguist?” The air hostess opens her eyes wide, and I dig my fingers into Richard’s hand before he can protest. I don’t want Noah mortified in public.

“That’s right!” I say quickly. “He’s a very talented man. Thanks so much.” I smile at the air hostess fixedly till she leaves, after a final pat on the head for Noah.

“Fliss, what the hell’s going on?” expostulates Richard in an undertone as soon as she’s walked away.

“Can I have a credit card to put in my wallet?” asks Noah, examining it. “Can I have an AmEx? Can I have points?”

Oh God. He knows about AmEx points at the age of seven? This is mortifying. Almost as bad as when we checked in to a hotel in Rome and, by the time I’d found change for a tip, Noah had already asked to see a different room.

I get out my iPod and hand it to Noah, who whoops with delight and slots the earphones into his ears. Then I lean toward Richard and lower my voice.

“Noah told some made-up story to the ground staff.” I bite my lip, feeling a sudden relief at sharing my worries. “Richard, he’s turned into a complete fantasist. He does it at school. He told one teacher he’d had a heart transplant and another he had a surrogate baby sister.”

“What?” Richard’s face drops.

“I know.”

“Where did he get those kind of ideas, anyway? A surrogate baby sister, for God’s sake?”

“Off a DVD they were playing in the special-needs department,” I say wryly.

“Right.” Richard digests this. “So what story did he tell this lot?” He gestures at the air hostess.

“No idea. Apart from the fact that you play a starring role as a surgeon.” I meet his eye and we suddenly both snort with laughter.

“It’s not funny.” Richard shakes his head, biting his lip.

“It’s awful.”

“Poor little guy.” Richard ruffles Noah’s head, and he looks up briefly from his iPod trance, a beatific smile on his face. “Do they think he’s doing it because of the divorce?”

My residual laughter melts away. “Probably,” I say lightly. “Or, you know, the evil career mother.”

Richard winces. “Sorry.” He pauses. “How’s that all going, anyway? Have you signed the settlement yet?”

I open my mouth to answer honestly—then stop myself. I’ve bored Richard many times over dinner about Daniel. I can see he’s bracing himself for the rant. Why did I never notice people bracing themselves before?

“Oh, fine.” I give him my new saccharine smile. “All good! Let’s not talk about it.”

“Right.” Richard looks taken aback. “Great! So … any new men on the horizon?” His voice suddenly seems to have doubled in volume, and I flinch. Before I can stop myself, I glance at Lorcan, who is sitting by the opposite window, engrossed in his laptop, and thankfully didn’t seem to hear.

“No,” I say. “Nothing. No one.”

I’m telling myself furiously not to look at Lorcan, not to even think about Lorcan. But it’s like telling yourself not to think about a rabbit. Before I can stop them, my eyes have darted to him again. This time, Richard follows my gaze.

“What?” He peers at me in astonishment. “Him?”

“Shhh.”

“Him?”

“No! I mean … yes.” I feel flustered. “Once.”

“Him?” Richard sounds mortally offended. “But he’s on the other side!”

“There aren’t sides.”

Richard is surveying Lorcan with narrowed, suspicious eyes. After a moment, Lorcan looks up. He seems startled to see us both gazing at him. My whole body floods with heat and I abruptly turn away.

“Stop it!” I hiss. “Don’t look at him!”

“You were looking at him too,” points out Richard.

“Only because you were!”

“Fliss, you seem hassled.”

“I’m not hassled,” I say with dignity. “I’m simply trying to be an adult in an adult situation— You’re looking at him again!” I jab at his arm. “Stop!”

“Who is he, exactly?”

“Ben’s oldest friend. A lawyer. Works at his company.” I shrug.

“So … is it a thing?”

“No. It’s not a thing. We just hooked up and then …”

“You unhooked.”

“Exactly.”

“He looks like a bundle of laughs,” says Richard, still surveying Lorcan critically. “I’m being sarcastic,” he adds after a pause.

“Yup.” I nod. “Got that.”

Lorcan looks up again and raises his eyebrows. The next minute he’s unbuckling his seat belt and coming over to where we’re sitting.

“Great,” I murmur. “Thanks, Richard. Hello.” I smile sweetly up at Lorcan. “Enjoying the flight?”

“It’s tremendous. I need to talk to you.” His dark eyes are opaque as they meet mine, and my heart jumps in trepidation.

“Right. OK. But maybe this isn’t the place—”

“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 the 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 married?” 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.”