Si had his back to me and didn’t see me coming, so I touched his arm, sliding up next to him.
“Hello,” I said.
He was talking to a man who I seemed to remember was an uncle on his mum’s side. I’d met him once at Pauline and Roger’s house.
“Hello, gorgeous. You made it, then,” said Si, kissing me lightly on the lips.
His uncle gave me a hug and I made him laugh with my account of the disastrous journey and after a while he went off to find another drink, leaving the two of us alone. I looked around. It was perfect, just as Catherine had wanted. The restaurant was decorated with flowers and candles, and the tables were all set up with the marshmallow favors and the place cards that somebody else had written out.
“Ceremony went well, didn’t it?” said Si.
“It was lovely,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, my feet already aching.
“I’m glad you’re here, Han,” he said.
He looked smart in his suit. Catherine had tried to strong-arm him into wearing Paul Smith, too, but once he’d seen the price tag, he’d swiftly declined. He’d chosen the navy French Connection one he wore to work instead, with a white shirt and a red tie.
“How was Paris?” he asked.
I looked down at my glass, swirling the liquid around. “Fine.”
He grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and necked half of it in seconds.
“You’re drinking?” I said, surprised.
He nodded. “Just this once. As it’s a special occasion.”
I sipped slowly at mine; I didn’t think getting drunk was the best idea, given the circumstances. The room was full of chatter and the low rumble of laughter and the photographer shouting instructions and the celebratory clinking of glasses all around us.
“You were better off out of it,” he said. “I never want to see another napkin ring as long as I live.”
I looked sympathetic. “That bad?”
He nodded. “Afraid so.”
“She seems to have chilled out now it’s all over,” I said.
I could see them over Si’s shoulder, Jasper’s hands on her waist, the photographer snapping away, leaping about, trying to get the right angle, clambering on top of an ornamental rock garden.
Alison walked past us with a glass of champagne in each hand, holding them precariously above her head as she made her way through the crowds.
“The bridesmaids look stunning,” I said, thinking this might be an opportunity to weave her organically into the conversation. We didn’t have to have it out right now, that would be inappropriate, but if I could just test the waters. Get a feel for what had been going on. He might even volunteer the information.
He grabbed another two glasses of champagne and handed me one. He was drinking much too quickly. At this rate he’d be out of it before the meal started.
“It must have been a help having them around,” I said. “Alison is maid of honor, isn’t she? Hope she managed to keep Catherine calm.”
“Not sure,” he said, sounding vague.
“How well do you know her?” I asked, watching her stop to whisper something in Catherine’s ear.
He shrugged. “Not very. She’s an old school friend of Cath’s.”
He was lying to me again. My heart began to thump. “You must have had a lot to catch up on, then,” I said.
He looked at me strangely. “I’ve barely seen any of them this morning, Han. I was busy doing all your jobs, remember?”
He was on the defensive. He did that when he felt under pressure, I’d seen it before.
There was a whoop as the photographer took a group shot of Catherine and the bridesmaids. They all threw their bouquets in the air and caught them, except Alison, who dropped hers.
“Relax, Hannah,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “I know what you’re like when you haven’t had much sleep.”
I finished my drink, placing my empty glass on a nearby table and starting on my next. He was hiding something from me—I could see it in his eyes, in the sweat slicked across his upper lip. And then, because he could have been nicer about it all, and because I was too exhausted to pretend anymore, my resolve to wait and hash it out later, in private, seemed to dissolve in the blink of an eye.
“I read your texts,” I said, very quietly, so that nobody but him could hear.
I saw him swallow, watched his left eye twitch.
“What texts?”
“The ones from Alison,” I said. “What was she trying to get hold of you for?”
He rubbed at his eyebrow nervously. “It was nothing, Han. Something about the wedding, that was all. She was getting fed up with Cath and needed some advice.”
“That’s all it was?”
He put his hands on my shoulders, pressing down too hard, looking into my eyes in what he probably thought was an earnest and sincere manner but really felt like the opposite of that. “You’re being silly. Jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re hurting me,” I said quietly.
He let go, dragging his hands through his hair.
“It’s my sister’s wedding, for God’s sake,” he hissed. “I’m not having this ridiculous conversation with you here.”
And then there was the tinny chiming of metal on glass, signaling it was time for the speeches. Si took a step back so that there was half a meter between us, but really it felt like much more.
21
I headed back to the terrace for the speeches. The last thing I wanted to do was make a scene, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to tell him everything I knew and to demand an explanation. If I kept my distance, talked to other people, spent some time up in the room if I needed to, there was a chance I could do the right thing and keep it together until we got the opportunity to be alone.
I edged through the throng of guests, stopping to say hello to one of Si’s cousins, his aunt Patricia, the group of Catherine’s mates from work I’d met on the hen weekend. I managed to hold perfectly normal conversations with them, made polite small talk about the dress, about the weather, about how long we were all staying in Amsterdam. And then I edged toward the microphone that had been set up in front of the pergola, where the speakers would be framed by the beautifully fragrant roses that Catherine had chosen from Amsterdam’s most exclusive florist. I found a spot behind Pauline, who was whispering urgently into Roger’s ear before ripping a drink out of his hand and then beaming around at us all as though nobody had noticed that (a) he was wasted and (b) she was fuming about it. Léo flashed into my mind. I imagined his smirk, the funny remarks he might make, and since he clearly wasn’t a fan of weddings, I was pretty sure he’d have plenty to say on the subject. From my new position I could see Alison sitting at a table with the other bridesmaids. I watched her run her fingertips absentmindedly around the rim of a glass of Buck’s fizz. How did she fit into this puzzle that was now surrounding Si and the relationship I’d thought we had?
“Hannah!”
Catherine was beckoning me over, pulling me close to her, linking her arm through mine.
“Congratulations,” I whispered to her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”
“My dad’s drunk,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “What should I do?”
I suppressed a smile. “He is a bit. It’ll be fine, though. He’ll say a few words, we’ll all do a toast and job done.”
I stood on tiptoes, keeping Alison in my eyeline.
“What if he says something awful?” asked Catherine, widening her eyes. “Something to embarrass me?”
“He won’t,” I reassured her, although I wasn’t so sure. Roger was a liability when he’d been drinking, from what Si had told me.
I looked over my shoulder for Si, but he was nowhere to be seen. The best man’s speech had begun a
nd was being delivered by some dry, charmless friend of Jasper’s from university. When it came to an end we all clapped politely. I imagined Léo making some funny and perfectly observed comment about it. A passing waiter topped up my glass. I wanted to take the edge off, but I also had to keep my focus. Roger took to the stage, knocking a chair over in the process. He’d managed to get his hands on another drink and was swinging it precariously around, holding the glass by its stem.
“Hello? Hello? Testing, testing?” he said, a squeal ringing out because his mouth was too close to the mike.
“Oh God,” said Catherine under her breath.
She turned to say something to Jasper and I scanned the room for Si. He was usually easy to spot, but because we were in Holland, there were more blond guys than usual. Where was he?
Roger started his speech, reading from a crumpled piece of paper that looked as though it had been retrieved from the bin. His words were slurred but, when you could make them out, very lovely. He told us about the moment he and Pauline had brought their beautiful daughter home from the hospital and how she’d been the most precious thing they’d ever seen. And about how Catherine’s face had lit up when she’d first told them about Jasper, how she’d insisted immediately that she’d met “the One.”
“See? He’s doing fine,” I whispered to Catherine.
“I suppose,” she said, sighing and shaking her head. “Because I don’t need anything else going wrong.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about the makeup artist not turning up on time. Just what you didn’t need,” I said.
Catherine frowned, as though she didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Was she not late?” I asked. Surely Si hadn’t been telling more lies.
“Not as far as I know,” she said. “But loads of other stuff went tits up. I had to get the deputy manager from the hotel to write out the place cards and she did a terrible job.” She reached over and swiped one from the table behind us. “Look. She rushed them and her handwriting looks crap. It’s all spiky.”
I glanced down. “Yeah,” I said, feeling bad. “It’s not great, is it?”
“I’m not blaming you, I know you had a tough time getting here, but I’ve been running around all morning making sure that everyone had done what I asked them to do. It wasn’t the best.”
The words hotel, wedding and planner were on the tip of my tongue.
“Sorry,” I said.
“I know you are,” she said, giving her dad a thumbs-up and making a circular motion with her finger, indicating that she would like him to wind it up now, please. “And then to top it off, I had to deal with a bridesmaid who didn’t fit into her dress,” said Catherine, keeping her voice low while simultaneously fake-smiling at her dad. “She only just squeezed into it; it took two of us to yank the zip up.”
“But you had so many fittings! Had she put on weight or something?”
Pauline threw me a look over her shoulder.
“You could say that. She’s pregnant,” said Catherine, rolling her eyes at me.
I suddenly felt burning hot and I picked up a drinks menu, fanning myself with it. Roger was still blathering on, his voice sounding muffled, as though he was underwater. I heard the clashing of glasses as everyone raised a toast to the bride and groom.
“Which bridesmaid?” I asked, my voice high and light. I thought: Please don’t let it be her.
Catherine didn’t hear me at first, because of course she’d been caught up with the toast and had turned away from me to kiss Jasper. There was a minute or so of unbearable uncertainty. Perhaps it was one of the others. Even if it was Alison, it could be anybody’s baby, it didn’t mean it had anything to do with Si.
“Cath,” I hissed. “Which one is pregnant?”
She looked around, scanning the terrace, then said conspiratorially in my ear: “Alison. You know, my friend from school.”
My brain went all fuzzy, like when there was interference on the TV. It was too much of a coincidence, surely: Si’s moods, his refusal to come clean about being in touch with her, his inability to reassure me that I had nothing to worry about. The fact she’d been so keen to talk to him, seemingly as a matter of urgency.
“Are you okay?” asked Catherine, looking concerned.
I nodded, smiling tightly. “Back in a sec,” I said, touching her elbow, stumbling away.
I rushed to the nearest bathroom and locked myself in a cubicle, taking huge breaths, gulping in as much air as I could, willing myself not to throw up. I leaned my forehead against the door of the cubicle, trying to cool my skin, desperately trying to hold it together. Once my stomach had settled, I went out to the sinks and dabbed my forehead with a tissue, trying not to ruin my makeup, although I supposed that was the least of my worries. My pale, clammy, crumpled face was reflected back at me in the mirror. I thought back to that moment on the train with Léo, when I’d seen the two of us so clearly in the window as we went through a tunnel. I’d looked relaxed and happy then. At peace. Nothing like the way I felt now. It was no good, I was going to have to find Si and confront him, and there was no way it could wait.
I headed straight for Alison, for the table she’d been sitting at, but she wasn’t there anymore. I changed direction, whirling around, looking for Si. I thought about the engagement ring hidden somewhere in his bag. If he’d been sleeping with her, and she was pregnant, it was perfectly possible that it wasn’t meant for me at all. How naive of me to presume it was; I should have put two and two together when we left Venice and he still hadn’t done it. Who took a ring to Venice and didn’t propose?
I went back out into the atrium, smiling at people as I passed them, trying to act like my normal, sane self. Somebody called my name but I pretended not to hear; I didn’t think I’d be able to string a sentence together, anyway. Distracted by the music starting up, I knocked clumsily into a waitress carrying a tray of canapés, all the while looking for a flash of magenta chiffon and Si’s navy suit. I couldn’t see them anywhere, but I had a feeling they were together.
I knew I should wait until I’d calmed down, that I ought to consider Catherine’s feelings, my own dignity, but I suspected I wouldn’t be able to contain myself once I’d found them. I marched around the perimeter of the atrium, opening doors, peering behind them. It wasn’t until I started out toward the bedrooms that I saw them: Alison and Si, standing together at the bottom of the stairs, having some sort of heated conversation. I flattened myself against the wall, tipping my head so that my right ear was angled toward them. I could hear snatches of what they were saying, words that I couldn’t fit together. I heard her mention my name. I heard Si say that he couldn’t do something. He was trying to keep her calm, I thought, but in that passive-aggressive, hissy tone he often adopted with me. I thought of Léo, about what he would do if it were him, and I took some kind of strength from that. From the way in which he was honest with everyone, how he said exactly what was on his mind no matter what the consequences, because it made sense to me now. Honesty suddenly seemed like the only thing I wanted.
And then Roger weaved toward me and blew my cover.
“Hannah! What are you doing lurking about up here?” he shouted. I peeled myself away from the wall, brushing down my skirt, straightening my hair.
“Nothing much,” I said brightly.
He carried on past and I glanced casually toward the staircase, where the two of them were now standing guiltily to attention.
“Hi,” said Si, pulling it together first. “You remember Alison, don’t you? From the hen weekend?”
“Sure,” I said. Two could play at that game. “How’s it going, Alison?”
She nodded like a maniac. “Fine, fine. You?”
I kept my tone even. “Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”
“Um, yeah, lovely,” she said, dragging her fingers through her hair, which considering the amount of ha
ir spray that had been applied, was a feat in itself.
I crossed my arms, cold suddenly, my body temperature going from one extreme to the other. I was vaguely aware of hotel guests coming past with suitcases, the concierge bustling about, waiters scuttling past with room-service trolleys.
“Did you two manage to catch up, then?” I asked.
Now Si was hair-dragging. A dead giveaway, I would remember not to do that next time I felt the need to lie.
“I noticed you texted Si earlier, Alison, while we were on the train. Sounded like you needed to speak to him about something quite important. I hope everything was all right?” I said, taking a step toward them, trying to read their body language, looking for a flicker of something that might give them away.
Si stepped in to rescue her, of course. “Oh, that. I already told you, Hannah, it was about Cath, wasn’t it, Al? She was making everyone’s life a misery and you thought I might be able to help.”
“Well, not exactly,” she said, glaring at Si.
Because I had nothing to lose, I thought I might as well come clean about everything. Compared to what they’d done, snooping around in someone’s e-mail account was hardly the crime of the century. Actually, it was pretty bad, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. I’d seen what I’d seen, and I wasn’t going to be able to challenge them about it if I didn’t admit to it.
The Paris Connection Page 23