Wedding Night

by Sophie Kinsella

  I’d forgotten how far the Amba Hotel is from the airport. It seems like several hours before we’re arriving, climbing out of the taxi, slamming the doors, and running up the marble steps.

  “Let’s give our luggage to a bellman,” I say breathlessly. “We can get it later.”

  “Fine.” Lorcan summons a bellman with a trolley and swings our cases up onto it. “Let’s go.”

  He’s almost more impatient than I am. He gradually became more and more urgent and tetchy in the car, consulting his watch and trying to contact Ben.

  “It’s nearly close of play,” he keeps saying. “I need these signatures scanned in and sent over.”

  Now, as we arrive in the familiar marble lobby, he turns to me expectantly. “Where will they be?”

  “I don’t know!” I riposte. “How should I know? In their suite?”

  Through the glass doors at the back of the lobby, I can see the shimmering, inviting blue of the sea, and Noah has spotted it too.

  “The sea! The sea!” He wrenches at my hand. “Come on! The sea!”

  “I know, darling!” I rein him back. “In a minute.”

  “Can we have a smoothie?” he adds, spotting a waiter carrying a tray of several pink smoothie-type drinks.

  “Later,” I promise. “We’ll have smoothies and we’ll go to the buffet and you can swim in the sea. But first we need to find Aunt Lottie. Keep your eyes open.”

  “Ben,” Lorcan is saying curtly into his phone. “I’m here. Where are you?” He rings off and turns to me. “Where’s their suite?”

  “Upstairs. I think I remember …” I’m leading him swiftly across the expanse of marble, dodging a group of tanned men in pale suits, when a voice assails my ears.

  “Fliss? Felicity?”

  I wheel round to see a familiar plump figure hurrying through the lobby on patent shoes. Shit.

  “Nico!” I say, trying to keep my chin up. “Hi, there. And thanks for everything.”

  “ ‘Thanks for everything’?” He seems almost apoplectic. “Do you realize the damage I have done in trying to carry out your wishes? Never have I known such farce. Never have I known such shenanigans.”

  “Right.” I gulp. “Er … sorry. I appreciate it.”

  “Your sister, she is beside herself with rage.”

  “I know.” I wince. “Nico, I’m so sorry. But I’ll be expressing my gratitude with a very big feature about you in the magazine. Very big. Very flattering. A double-page spread.” I’ll write it myself, I vow. Not one critical word. “There’s just one more tiny thing you could help us with—”

  “Help you?” His voice rises indignantly. “Help you? I have the gala ceremony to prepare for! I am late already. Fliss, I have to go. Please do not create any more chaos in my hotel.”

  Bristling all over, he marches away, and Lorcan raises his eyebrows at me.

  “You’ve made a friend there.”

  “He’ll be all right. I’ll sweeten him up with a glowing review.” I’m looking frantically around the lobby, trying to remember it. “OK, I think the Oyster Suite is on the top floor. And the lifts are this way. Come on!”

  As we’re traveling up in the lift, Lorcan tries Ben’s phone yet again.

  “He knew I was coming,” he mutters ominously. “He should have been ready to sign. This is so unhelpful.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute!” I retort irritably. “Stop stressing.”

  As we arrive at the top floor, I hare out of the lift, dragging Noah by the hand and not stopping to check any signs. I head to the door at the end of the corridor and bang on it as hard as I can.

  “Lottie! It’s me!” I notice a tiny doorbell and ring that too, for good measure. “Come out! Please! I want to apologize! I’m so sorry! I’M SO SORRY!” I thump on the door again, and Noah, delighted, joins in.

  “Come out!” he yells, banging on the door. “Come out! Come out!”

  Suddenly the door is flung open and a strange man wrapped in a towel stares at me.

  “Yes?” he says bad-temperedly.

  I stare back, disconcerted. This doesn’t look like the photo I saw of Ben. Nothing like.

  “Er … Ben?” I try anyway.

  “No,” he says flatly.

  My mind is racing. She’s in an open marriage. Does that mean— Oh my God. Are they having a threesome?

  “Are you with … Ben and Lottie?” I say cautiously.

  “No, I’m with my wife.” He glowers at me. “Who are you?”

  “This is the Oyster Suite?”

  “No, the Pearl Suite.” He points to a discreet sign by the door, which I totally missed.

  “Ah. Right. Sorry.” I back away.

  “I thought you knew this place,” says Lorcan.

  “I did. I do. I was sure—” I break off as something catches my eye through a nearby window. It’s a narrow window with a view of the sea, and I can just glimpse a jetty decorated with flowers. Standing in the middle of the jetty is a couple that looks very familiar—

  “Oh my God, it’s them! They’re renewing their vows! Quick!”

  I grab Noah again and all three of us hurry back along the corridor. The lift is unbearably slow but, even so, we’re soon outside, running over lawns and down paths, toward the sea. The jetty is ahead, decorated with flowers and balloons, and in the center, there they are, the happy couple, holding hands.

  “Swimming!” shouts Noah joyously.

  “Not yet,” I pant. “We need to—” I break off, peering again at the couple on the jetty. They’re facing away from us, but I’m sure it’s Lottie. I think it’s Lottie. Except …

  Hang on. I rub my eyes, trying to focus more clearly. I need my lenses checked.

  “Is it them?” demands Lorcan.

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “If they’d just turn round …”

  “That’s not Aunt Lottie!” says Noah scornfully. “That’s a different lady.”

  “Doesn’t really look like Ben,” confirms Lorcan, squinting at the guy. “Too tall.”

  At that moment, the girl turns her head and I realize she looks nothing like Lottie.

  “Oh God.” I sink down onto a nearby sun bed. “It’s not them. I can’t run around anymore. Can’t we have a drink?” I turn to Lorcan. “You must have missed your deadline by now. Get it done in the morning. Have a drink. Lorcan? What’s wrong?”

  I blink at him in surprise. His face is suddenly like stone. He’s staring at something beyond my shoulder, and I swivel to see what he’s looking at. It’s a normal luxury-hotel beach, with sun beds, and waves crashing onto the sand, and swimmers in the sea, and, beyond, a few sailing boats and, way beyond that, a big yacht moored in deep water. That’s what he’s staring at, I realize.

  “That’s Zhernakov’s yacht,” he says steadily. “What’s it doing here?”

  “Oh!” I gasp as I put the pieces together. “Of course. That’s where they are. I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  He sounds so censorious, I feel a tweak of resentment.

  “Lottie told me earlier, but it slipped my mind. Ben’s selling the company. He’s meeting Yuri Zhernakov on his yacht.”

  “He’s doing what?” Lorcan’s face drains of color. “He can’t be. We agreed he isn’t going to sell. Not yet. And not to Zhernakov.”

  “Maybe he’s changed his mind.”

  “He can’t change his mind!” Lorcan seems beside himself. “Why else am I here with a refinancing agreement in my briefcase? Why else have I chased him halfway across Europe? We have plans for the company in place. Exciting plans. We’ve spent weeks fine-tuning them. And now he takes a meeting with Zhernakov?” He suddenly focuses on me. “Are you sure?”

  “Here.” I scroll through till I find the text and show it to Lorcan, whose face freezes as he reads it.

  “He’s seeing Zhernakov, alone. With no advisers. He’s going to get absolutely shafted. The stupid fool.”

  Something about his reaction piques me. He keeps telling me
to calm down about Lottie, but now he goes berserk about a company which isn’t even his?

  “Oh well,” I say with deliberate insouciance. “His company. His money. Whatever.”

  “You don’t understand,” says Lorcan angrily. “This is a total fucking disaster.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a tad?”

  “No, I do not think I’m overreacting! This is important!”

  “Now who’s lost perspective?” I retort.

  “This is completely different—”

  “It’s not! If you ask me, you’re far too wrapped up in this company and Ben feels bitter about it and it’s a toxic situation which can’t end well!”

  There. I’ve said it.

  “He doesn’t feel bitter!” Lorcan looks absolutely incredulous. “Ben needs me on board. Yes, we have our fallings-out—”

  “You have no idea!” I’m so frustrated, I shake my phone at him. “Lorcan, you have no idea! I know more about your relationship with Ben than you do! Lottie told me!”

  “Lottie told you what?” Lorcan’s voice is suddenly quiet and his face still. I stare back, nervous of what I’m about to say. But I have to. He has to know the truth.

  “Ben resents you,” I say at last. “He thinks you’re a control freak. He thinks you’ve got a cushy number. He thinks you’re trying to muscle in and steal his company. You once confiscated his phone in public?”

  “What?” Lorcan stares at me.

  “Apparently.”

  Lorcan’s brow is creased in thought for a moment—then it clears. “Oh God, that. It was after his father died. Ben came up to Staffordshire and one of the older workers was making a speech. Ben took a call in the middle.” Lorcan’s face twists. “It was atrociously rude. I had to grab the phone and smooth things over. Jesus. He should be grateful.”

  “Well, he’s still angry about it.”

  There’s silence. Lorcan is quivering with emotion, his eyes distant.

  “Cushy number?” he bursts out at last, fixing me with accusing eyes. “Cushy number? Do you know how much I’ve done for him? For his father? For that company? I put my career on hold. I turned down offers from big City firms.”

  “I’m sure you did—”

  “I started Papermaker, I restructured the finances, I gave it everything—”

  I can’t listen to this anymore.

  “Why?” I interrupt bluntly. “Why did you?”

  “What?” He gapes at me as though he doesn’t understand the question.

  “Why did you?” I repeat. “Why did you go up to Staffordshire in the first place? Why did you get so close to Ben’s father? Why did you turn down City jobs to do this? Why have you got so emotionally involved with a company that isn’t yours?”

  Lorcan looks as though he’s floundering. “I … I had to step in,” he begins. “I had to take control—”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did! The whole thing was in a complete mess—”

  “You didn’t!” I take a deep breath, marshaling my words. “You didn’t have to do any of it. You chose to. You were in a horrible place after a relationship broke down. You were sad. You were angry.” This is hard to say, but I’m going to. “You were just trying to do the same as Lottie. And the same as me. Fix your broken heart. And you chose to do it by trying to save Ben’s company for him. But it wasn’t the right way to go.” I meet his eyes and add gently, “It was your Unfortunate Choice.”

  Lorcan is breathing hard. His hands are clenched into fists, as though he’s bracing himself against something. I can see pain rising in his face, and I’m sorry I caused it. But at the same time—I’m not.

  “I’ll see you later,” he says abruptly, and strides away before I can reply. I have no idea if he’ll ever talk to me again. Still, I’m glad I said what I said.

  I look affectionately down at Noah, who has been waiting patiently for us to finish talking.

  “Now can I go swimming?” he says. “Now can I?”

  I think of his swimming trunks, all the way back in his case in the lobby. I think of what a hassle it will be to go and get them. I think of how there’s only a few hours left of sunshine.

  “Swimming in your underpants?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Again?”

  “Underpants!” he cries joyously. “Underpants! Yay!”

  “Fliss!” I look up to see Nico making his way across the beach, his white shirt as starched as ever and his shoes shiny against the sand. “Where is your sister? I need to talk through the arrangements for the gala ceremony. She and her husband are our Happy Couple of the Week.”

  “Well, good luck with that. She’s there.” I gesture at the yacht.

  “Can you contact her?” Nico looks harassed. “Can you phone her? We should have had a rehearsal for the ceremony; everything has been thrown off course—”

  “Swimming?” begs Noah, who has already ripped all his clothes off and thrown them on the sand. “Swimming, Mummy?”

  As I stare down at his eager little face, something seems to pierce my heart. And suddenly I know what’s important in life. It’s not gala ceremonies. It’s not wedding nights. It’s not saving my sister. And it’s certainly not Daniel. It’s right here in front of me.

  My underwear is plain and black. It would just about pass as a bikini.

  “Excuse me,” I say cheerfully to Nico, and start stripping down to my bra and knickers. “I can’t stop. I’m going swimming with my son.”

  After half an hour of splashing with Noah in the turquoise Aegean waves, all’s right with the world. The late-afternoon sun is baking my shoulders, my mouth is salty from the surf, and my ribs hurt from laughing.

  “I’m a shark!” Noah is advancing on me through the shallows. “Mummy, I’m a splashing shark!” He splashes me furiously and I give as good back, and then we both tumble down onto the soft sandy floor of the sea.

  He’ll be OK, I find myself thinking, cradling his lithe little body. We’ll both be OK. Daniel can go and live in Los Angeles if he likes. Good place for him, in fact. They like plastic people out there.

  I beam at Noah bobbing alongside me.

  “Isn’t this fun?”

  “Where’s Aunt Lottie?” he demands in return. “You said we’d see Aunt Lottie.”

  “She’s busy,” I say soothingly. “But I’m sure we’ll see her.”

  Every time I glance up at the yacht looming huge in the bay, I vaguely wonder what’s happening on board. The bizarre thing is that, when I was still in England, Lottie’s affairs all felt so close and important and immediate. But now that I’m here, they feel distant.

  Not my life. Not my life.

  Suddenly I hear something that sounds like my name. I turn instinctively and see Lorcan standing at the water’s edge, incongruous in his business suit.

  “I have something to say to you!” he shouts indistinctly.

  “Can’t hear!” I yell back without moving.

  I’m not rushing around anymore. Even if he wants to tell me that Lottie has had twins by Ben, who has turned out to be a Nazi warlord, I can hear it later.

  “Fliss!” he calls again.

  I make a hand gesture which is supposed to mean, I’m busy with Noah; let’s catch up later, but I’m not sure he gets it.

  “Fliss!”

  “I’m swimming!”

  Some emotion seems to be gathering in Lorcan’s face. With an abrupt movement, he dumps his briefcase on the sand and marches into the shallows, still in his shoes and suit. He strides briskly through the waves until he reaches Noah and me, then stops. He’s up to his thighs in water. I’m so gobsmacked I don’t know what to say. Noah, who started gasping as Lorcan approached, now collapses in paroxysms of laughter.

  “You really haven’t heard of swimming trunks, have you?” I say, trying to stay deadpan.

  “I have something to say to you.” He glowers at me as though this is all my fault.

  “Go on, then.”

  There’s a long, long sile
nce, apart from the noise of waves and beach chatter and the cry of a gull. Lorcan’s eyes have an extra charge of intensity, and his hand is constantly raking through his hair as though trying to order his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, and then another, but doesn’t speak.

  A rubber dinghy full of children pulls near us, then bobs away again. And still Lorcan doesn’t speak. I think I’m going to have to do this for him.

  “Let me guess,” I say gently. “In no particular order: You realize I was right. You find this difficult. You’d like to talk about it sometime. You’re wondering what you’re doing here, chasing after Ben, when he’s betraying everything you hold dear. You’re suddenly looking at your life in a different way and thinking that things need to change.” I pause. “And you wish you’d brought your swimming trunks.”

  There’s another long silence. A tiny muscle is working in Lorcan’s cheek, and I feel apprehensive. Did I go too far?

  “Close,” he says at last. “But you missed out a couple.” He takes a step through the sea, the water washing around his legs. “No one’s ever understood things like you. No one’s ever challenged me like you. You were right about Ben. You were right about my website photo. I went to have another look, and you know what I saw?” He pauses. “Who the hell are you? What are you looking at? I haven’t got time for this.”

  I can’t help smiling.

  “And you’re right: Dupree Sanders is not my company,” he continues, his jaw tightening. “Maybe I wish it was, but it’s not. If Ben really wants to sell, he should sell. Zhernakov will close the whole operation down within six months, but so be it. Nothing lasts forever.”

  “Won’t you feel bitter if that happens?” I can’t help pushing him. “You put so much into it.”

  “Maybe.” He nods seriously. “For a while. But even bitterness fades away eventually. We both have to believe that. Don’t we?” He meets my eyes, and I feel a wave of empathy for him. Emotional investment—it’s the hardest game of the lot.