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10: Lottie
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Our Wedding Night 11
And that was it. It felt magical. He wasn’t with the blond woman after all, and after the intermission he switched seats to be next to me. We went back to the opera on our first anniversary, and I thought we’d do it every year for the rest of our lives.So much for that. So much for telling the story at the wedding reception and everybody saying, Ahh …“Oh God.” Ben is peering at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve said something. What’s wrong?”“Nothing!” I smile hastily and blink. “Just … everything. You know. Life.” “Exactly. Exactly.” He nods fervently as though I’ve solved some massiveproblem he was wrestling with. “Lotts, do you feel as fucked up by life as I do?” “Yes.” I take a deep slug of wine. “Yes, I do. Even more so.”“When I was eighteen, when we were out there, I knew what I was about.” Ben is staring moodily into space. “I had clarity. But you start out in life and somehow it all gets … corroded. Corrupted. Everything closes in on you, you know what I mean? There’s no escape. There’
Our Wedding Night 12
“Stop it.”“Will you marry me?” Now he’s speaking more loudly. A couple at the next table look over and smile.“Shh!” I say irritably. “It’s not funny.”To my utter shock, he gets out of his seat, kneels down, and clasps his hands. I can see other diners turning to watch.My heart is pounding. No way. No way.“Charlotte Graveney,” he begins, swaying slightly. “I’ve spent fifteen years chasing pale imitations of you, and now I’m back here with the original I should never have let go. My life has been darkness without you and now I want to switch on the light. Will you do me the honor of marrying me? Please?”A weird sensation is stealing over me. I feel as if I’m turning into cotton wool.He’s proposing. He’s actually proposing. For real. “You’re drunk,” I parry.“Not that drunk. Will you marry me?” he repeats.“But I don’t know you anymore!” I give a half laugh. “I don’t know what you do for a living, I don’t know where you live, I don’t know what you want in life—”“Paper supply. Sh
Our Wedding Night 13: Fliss
FLISSI hope Lottie’s OK, I really do. I’ve been away for two weeks and I haven’t heard one word from her. She hasn’t answered any of my friendly texts, and the last phone call we had was when she was planning to fly to San Francisco and surprise Richard. As Unfortunate Choices go, that one took the biscuit. Thank God I headed it off.But since then: nothing. I’ve tried leaving voicemails as well as texting, but no response. I did manage to get through to her intern, who assured me that she was coming in to work every day—so at least I know she’s alive and well. But it’s not like Lottie to be incommunicado. It troubles me. I’ll go round and see her tonight, make sure she’s OK.I pull out my phone and send her yet another text: Hi, how’s it going??? Then I put it away and survey the school playground. It’s thronging with parents, children, nannies, dogs, and toddlers on scooters. It’s the first day of term, so there are lots of tanned faces and shiny shoes and new haircuts. And that’s
Our Wedding Night 14
There’s silence at the other end. I’m breathing fast. My hands feel sweaty around the steering wheel. I’m flashing back to my date with Nathan. I thought Iwas talking about Daniel in an amusing, detached, ironic way. Nathan never said a word to indicate he wasn’t having a good time. Is that what everyone’s been doing? Humoring me?“OK,” I say at last. “Well, now I know. Thanks for the heads-up.”“Anytime.” Barnaby’s cheerful voice resounds through the car. “Before you say it, I am your friend. And I do love you lots. But this is what you need. Tough love, Fliss. I’ll talk to you soon.”He rings off, and I signal left, chewing my bottom lip and glaring darkly at the road. It’s all very well. It’s all very well.When I get to work, I can see my in-box is full, but I sit at my desk, staring blindly at my computer. Barnaby’s words have stung me more than I want to admit to myself. I’m turning into a bitter, twisted hag. I’m going to end up a gnarled old crone in a black hood who scowls a
Our Wedding Night 15
I should never have relaxed. I should never have gone on holiday. I should have realized Lottie wouldn’t rest till she’d found something to channel all her hurt energy into. And it’s this. A marriage.By the time I get to Selfridges, my heart is thumping and I have a head full of questions. Lottie, on the other hand, has a basket full of underwear. No, not underwear, sex kit. She’s standing looking at a transparent basque as I hurtle toward her, almost knocking over a rail of Princesse Tam Tam teddies. As she sees me, she holds it up.“What do you think?”I eye the stuff in her basket. She’s clearly been at the Agent Provocateur concession. There’s lots of black see-through lace. And is that an eye mask?“What do you think?” she says impatiently, and jiggles the basque at me. “It’s quite expensive. Shall I try it on?”Isn’t there a slightly bigger question we should be discussing? I want to yell. Like: who is this Ben and why are you marrying him? But if I know one thing about Lottie,
Our Wedding Night 16
I lean toward the screen and scan the photo intently, trying to get a sense of this man who is zooming like a torpedo toward being related to me. He’s good- looking, I’ll have to agree. Boyish-looking. Slim. Affable. Not sure about his mouth. It looks kind of weak.After a bit, the pixels start to dance in front of my eyes, so I sit back and type in Lorcan Dupree Sanders.A moment later another page pops up, with a photo of a very different-looking man. Dark, thrusting hair, black eyebrows, and a frown. Strong, slightly beaky nose. He looks fairly forbidding. Underneath the picture it says, Lorcan Adamson. Extension 310. Lorcan Adamson practiced law in London before joining Dupree Sanders in 2008 … responsible for many initiatives … developed the luxury stationery brand Papermaker … worked with the National Trust to expand the visitor center … committed to sustainable, responsible industry …A lawyer. Let’s hope he’s the rational, reasonable type, not the arrogant asshole type. I dial
Our Wedding Night 17: Fliss
FLISSI can’t believe she’s ignored me for a full twenty-four hours. She’s got some nerve.It’s the following afternoon, the wedding is due to start in an hour, and I still haven’t spoken to Lottie. She’s sidestepped my every call (approximately one hundred of them). But at the same time she’s managed to leave a whole series of messages on my phone, about the registry office and the restaurant and meeting for pre-wedding drinks at Bluebird. A purple satin bridesmaid’s dress arrived at my office at lunchtime by bike. A poem arrived by email, along with a request for me to read it aloud during the ceremony: It will make our day so special!She doesn’t fool me. There’s a reason she’s not been taking my calls: she feels defensive. Which means I’m in with a chance. I know I can talk her out of this nonsense. I just need to work out exactly where her vulnerability is and exploit it.As I arrive at Bluebird, I can see her already sitting at the bar in a cream lace minidress, with roses in he
Our Wedding Night 18
Just call me the World Champion Bride Whisperer.There was no argument. No confrontation. Lottie thinks it was her idea to postpone. I was the one saying, “Are you sure, Lottie? Are you positive you want to call things off? Really?”I’ve totally sold her on the idea of a country wedding with music and a choirand bells. She’s already looked up the name of the chaplain at our old school. She’s off on a new dream of satin and posies and “I Vow to Thee, My Country.”Which is fine. A wedding is lovely. Marriage is lovely. Maybe Ben is destined to be her life partner and I’ll kick myself as she has her tenth grandchild and think, What was my problem? But at least this way gives her some breathing space. At least it gives her time to look at Ben and think, Hmm. Sixty more years with you. Is this a good idea?Lottie’s gone off to the registry office, to tell Ben the news. My work is done. The only task remaining is to buy her Brides magazine. We’re going to meet up for coffee tomorrow and ha
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