… AMAZING sunset … drank too many rum-and-Cokes … really REALLY sunburned … slept with this guy called Pete, shouldn’t have … made this plan to move to the South of France when we’re all like thirty …
… I WISH I spoke Italian better. This is where I want to live, forever. It’s AMAZING … ate too many gelati, urgh, my legs are hideous … leaving for Greece tomorrow …
… this place is INCREDIBLE … amazing party atmosphere, like we all just GET each other … I could LIVE on feta … diving in these underwater caves … this guy called Ben … picnic with some of the guys and Ben … slept with Ben … AMAZING …
“Lottie?” A male voice interrupts my concentration, and I start so violently the diary flies up into the air. I make an instinctive grab for it, then realize that’s incriminating, so I draw my hand away sharply and it falls on the floor, where I kick it away, then finally lift my head.
“Richard?”
He’s standing in the doorway in a raincoat, his hair disheveled and a suitcase in his hand. His face is agitated, and he’s definitely looking more young Gordon Brown than young Pierce Brosnan.
“Where’s Lottie?” he demands.
“I’m here for security,” I mumble hurriedly, my face blazing with shame and my eyes darting to the diary. “Security.”
Richard looks at me as though I’m making no sense at all. Which, to be fair, I’m not.
“Where’s Lottie?” he demands again, more forcefully. “What’s wrong? I go to her work, no one will tell me where she is. I come here, you’re sitting on her bed. Just tell me.” He drops his suitcase. “Is she ill?”
“Ill?” I almost want to laugh hysterically. “No, not ill. Richard, what are you doing here?”
His case has an airline tag on it. He must have come straight from the airport in a dashing, romantic manner. I feel quite sad that Lottie isn’t here to see it.
“I made a mistake. A bad mistake.” He strides to the window and stares out a moment, then darts me a look. “I don’t know how much she tells you.”
“A fair amount,” I say diplomatically.
I don’t think he’ll want to hear that she’s told me absolutely everything, including his penchant for doing it blindfolded and her penchant for sexy toys, which she’s terrified the cleaner will find.
“Well, we split up,” he says heavily. “A few weeks ago.”
No kidding.
“Yes, I heard that.” I nod. “She was very upset.”
“Well, so was I!” He wheels round, breathing hard. “It came out of nowhere! I thought we were happy together. I thought she was happy.”
“She was happy! But she couldn’t see where things were heading.”
“You mean …” He hesitates for a long time. “Marriage.”
I feel a flick of irritation. I’m not such a huge fan of marriage myself, but he doesn’t need to look quite so unenthusiastic.
“It’s not such an outlandish idea,” I point out. “It is what people do when they love each other.”
“Well, I know, but …” He makes a face, as though we’re talking about some freaky hobby pursued by people on freaky reality shows. Now I’m starting to feel furious. If he’d just manned up and bloody well proposed in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“What do you want, Richard?” I ask abruptly.
“I want Lottie. I want to talk to her. I want to get things back on track. She wouldn’t return my calls or my emails. So I told my new boss I had to come back to England.” There’s a throb of pride in his voice. He clearly reckons he’s made the supreme gesture.
“And what are you going to say to her?”
“That we belong together,” he says steadily. “That I love her. That we can work things out. That maybe marriage is a possibility, down the line.”
Maybe marriage is a possibility down the line. Wow. He really knows how to woo a girl.
“Well, I’m afraid you’re too late.” I feel a sweet, sadistic pleasure at saying the words. “She’s married.”
“What?” Richard frowns blankly, clearly unable to process my words.
“She’s married.”
“What do you mean, she’s married?” He still looks baffled.
For God’s sake, what does he bloody think I mean?
“She’s married! She’s taken! In fact, she’s just flown off on her honeymoon to Ikonos.” I check my watch. “She’s in the air right now.”
“What?” A thunderous scowl buries itself in his forehead. Definitely Gordon. He’ll throw his laptop at me in a minute. “How can she be married? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She split up with you, practically had a nervous breakdown, met up with an old flame, who proposed on the spot, and said yes because she was in shock and desperately miserable and fancies him rotten. That’s what I’m talking about.” I glare at him. “Get it?”
“But … but who is he?”
“Her gap-year boyfriend. She hadn’t seen him for fifteen years. First love, all that.”
He’s gazing at me suspiciously. I can see the cogs of his brain working, the realization dawning: this isn’t a windup. I’m telling the truth. She’s married.
“Fucking … fuck.” He bangs both fists to his forehead.
“Yup. That’s how I feel about it too.”
There’s a dejected silence. A light flurry of rain patters against the window, and I wrap my arms around myself. Now that the exhilaration of punishing Richard has ebbed away, all I can feel is sore and miserable. What a mess.
“Well.” He exhales. “I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so.” I shrug. I’m not going to share my plans with him. The last thing I need is him interfering or offering stupid suggestions. My priority is to get Lottie off the hook with Ben, for her own sake. If Richard wants to make some fresh salvo afterward, that’s up to him.
“So … what do you know about this guy?” Richard suddenly emerges from his trance. “What’s he called?”
“Ben.”
“Ben.” He repeats the word suspiciously. “I’ve never heard her talk about a Ben.”
“Well.” I shrug again.
“I mean, I know about her other old boyfriends. Jamie. And Seamus. And what’s-his-name. The accountant.”
“Julian,” I can’t help supplying.
“Exactly. But she’s never even mentioned a Ben.” Richard’s eyes rake the room, as though he’s trying to find clues, then they fall on her diary, which is lying half open on the ground. He lifts his gaze to me incredulously.
“Were you reading her diary?”
Damn. I should have known Richard would pick up on that. He always notices more than you think he will. Lottie used to say he’s like a lion half asleep under a tree, but I think he’s more like a bulclass="underline" one minute peacefully grazing; the next charging, head down.
“I wasn’t exactly reading it.” I try to stay poised. “I was just doing a little research about this Ben.”
Richard’s eyes focus on me alertly. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing much. I’ve only just got to the bit where they met on Ikonos—” He makes a sudden grab for the diary. With a lightning reaction, I reach for it too and seize a corner. We’re both gripping it, trying to pull it out of the other’s grasp. He’s far stronger than I am, but I’m not letting him have her diary. There are limits.
“I can’t believe you’d read your sister’s diary,” says Richard, trying to wrench it out of my fingers.